Tag Archives: food


Brimfield Flea Market is host to antiques, industrial salvage, oddities, miles of fields and food vendors as well as paintings, porters and dealer personalities. These antique dealers stage their tents awaiting sales while buyers scope the huge territory waiting for just the right item. My September visit demonstrated both sides of that vintage coin. A dealer’s display of this  little guy stopped me in my tracks. What is he waiting for?

– a glass display box?

– the next onlooker reaction?

– better eyeware fashion?

– someone to purchase him?

– his next meal?

I know, perhaps:

– sunlight?


– an undertaker? 

It seems the taxidermist left him in the dark and feeling a little stuffed.
Photo challenge



Raspberry vinaigrette:

2 T olive oil

1 T balsamic vinegar

1 T raspberry jam

1 t mustard

Sprinkle of garlic powder

Sprinkle of white pepper

Dash of salt

Whisk until oil is visibly blended

Salad: Romaine, walnuts, dried cranberry, feta cheese (and chicken, if desired).

Our girls are finally settled in their new apartments as of today. It’s been a lot of hard work and I am excited for them. However, tonight my husband and I got back to some 1×1 cooking. The above vinegraitte recipe is the result of  a sadly quieter house at the same time it is a renewed sense of being together. I was the sous chef but didn’t mind, since I learn the family recipes and food secrets my husband has tucked away in his Cordon Bleu brain.  The last time Richie made this recipe, he whisked it up in moments and kept the ingredient list to himself.  I historically just eat the fruits of his labor! I love working side-by-side in the kitchen again but why am I still writing at this hour? Perhaps some other 1×1 cooking is in order…

Gone but not forgotten

Our daughter has been in Philadelphia for several weeks. I miss her terribly just knowing she’s further away than usual. When I opened the refrigerator this morning, I saw her face. Maple syrup from the restaurant she likes. Dunkers that she  usually buys at Trader Joe’s for her dad. The bottle of Coke I had to buy yesterday because it showcased her name. Tomorrow I’ll buy some cream cheese and have a loaded steak and whiz sub for lunch. Somehow the visuals and city references bring her closer to home. It’s been a Rocky road for me. Ah, yes, that too will shorten the distance. A mom has to do what a mom has to do.

Welcome to their World World

I took my elderly, but physically and mentally capable, parents on a grocery trip today. As we approached the supermarket, Ma reminds, “Don’t forget to take a basket this time.”

“OK, I know.” my father obeys.

Wondering why an 85-year-old man has to carry a week’s worth of groceries, I bite.

“Why does Dad need a basket? Don’t you guys push a carriage?”

My ‘what will the neighbors say’ Mom explains that they sometimes split up in the grocery store. Evidently, Dad meets back with his haul for a couple of aisles. When he unloads his arms, he also takes items out of his pant pockets. To him, those pockets are a practical and smart way to transport his personal selections. To my mother, it’s a criminal and front page police news article that will transport him to the slammer.

We arrive at our destination and even though I’m driving, we all agree on a space.

I was ready for my walk around the store.

My mother starts off by heading to aisle 4 and my father stops in dairy. He looks at all the butter and selects nothing. We find my mother looking at oils. She asks why he wrote canola on the list? They’ve been buying vegetable for  60 years?

I think my jailbait father was trying to justify his culinary spontaneity as I went back to the dairy aisle to find some yogurt.

A few minutes later, I find my father doing time at the deli and my Mom cutting down aisle 12. I think the efficiencies are now kicking in.


She zig-bags back for half-and-half while he takes his basket toward 12 for hard crust bread.

I decide to use the time to pick up candy for the office. I tell them I’ll meet them in produce.

When I find them, they are discussing the lasagna. He already looked. She looks too. His favorite pre-prepared lasagna splurge is nowhere to be found.

Or so I thought.

There is plenty of lasagna, just none packaged with his expected two meatballs. My mother moves into management mode and pulls someone from behind the counter. I lean on a paper towel display to absorb the situation. It is explained for the third time.

The counter help thinks she’s helping when she points out the lasagna.

“There aren’t any meatballs my mother explains.”

“Oh! I can put that combination together for you in just a moment.”

She moves back behind the counter as my father says, “Thank you. I love that spinach lasagna.”

“Ahhh, spinach lasagna. That’s a different story. I can show you where that is.”


So, with that over and us no longer near produce, my father states he’ll be right back with celery and a green pepper.

My mother goes to the back of the store to pick out a pork loin.

I hang out with the turkeys and pumpkins. They too are waiting for their big moment to leave.

Feeling like a lost child, I remained in the spot where I last saw my parents. They both come back. My mother references her short grocery list for the fifteenth time. I think we are all set.

“Do we need anything else?” she asks.

Sounding like a lost child, I hear my father whisper: “I’d like some apple cider.”

“I looked for it earlier. I even asked. It’s down the first aisle with the milk. They only have it in gallons.” She is very matter-of-fact.

My adult father is back and explains there are probably half gallons near the apples.

I tell my mom I’ll circle back with my dad and we’ll be right back. We walk arm-in-arm to produce. I feel like I’ve been there before.

We quickly find the cider, put it in his basket and head back to meet my mother at the carriage.

The carriage is where we left it. My mother is not.

We stay where we are and wait.My father unloads his basket. We wait. We wait. We wait.

Here she comes…and she too has found a HALF gallon of cider!

One culinary equation is solved twice.

I announce that I’m checked out, I mean, checking out.

The errands with my parents had become a chore.  I was trippin’ and felt like a basket case.

Lend Me Your Ears

We just had some good old fashioned comfort food.

It’s what I call, here in New England, cornah-on-the-cob.

My husband was just like the kids in ar old neighborhood though:

“What are we having with it?”


“Your cholesterol is too high.”

You’re high if you think I’m eating this without buttah.

“Very funny, what else?”

Well, I didn’t buy lobstah, so just use some buttah.

“Are you a Yankee comedienne?”

No, we just don’t happen to live in Glostah, where there’s a few extra cohd hanging around.

There wasn’t a lot of dinner conversation but my Irish self was comfortable with the food I boiled.

My husband just went to read a book.

On his way into the next room, he tried to hide his peanut buttah sandwich.

Almost taken out

I literally had my life in my hands. Both hands were on the steering wheel but luckily had enough instinct to save me. I pulled into the local Asian restaurant and quickly paused at the entrance to decide if I should go straight and park in the back or turn left and park in front of the door.

My hands held tight to the wheel and decided not to turn.  The driver of a parked vehicle looked left but not toward the entrance and backed toward me. He had no idea I was there.


I stopped altogether and decided to stay there until the driver realized he almost took me out along with his crab rangoon. I thought about what expression, or gesture, to give him once he attempted to exit alongside me.

He realigned his wheels, changed gears and looked up.

He moved toward my bitchy face just as I recognized his face.

I was suddenly in a much worse position than him. One of, if not THE, nicest guys in town. Genuine and sweet not just to me but our girls. Welcoming and interested not just in my husband but our entire family.

He recognized me right away and acknowledged my vehicle in a way only he could. He flashed his infectious smile and yelled out, “Hello darlin’!”

The stress of the day rolled off as I rolled my window further down to appropriately respond, “Hi sweetie!” I moved forward to now get out of his way.

“I’m so sorry. You know I love you.”  I heard him yelling an apology as his vehicle moved toward the exit.

I drove to the rear of the lot screaming,”I love you too!”

It was a scream – literally and figuratively. We had the instincts to save each other from embarrassment before we died of it.  I’ll always remember Kevin trying to take me out the day I went to get take out.

Fabulous Friday Night

This fine evening started with the end of a week at the office!!! It continued in this grand way:

– I went in the grocery store on the way home to buy, yes toilet paper, and came out with a free individualized sample of Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia!

– I treated myself on the way home and stopped to get a haircut.

– I got home to find my toy collection photos in the July FPCC newsletter.

– I went through the rest of the mail and had a handwritten letter from a dear old friend.

– My husband brought me to a local seafood locale for a clam strip dinner.

– I came home and my daughter asked me to brush her hair!

Now Otis is cuddling with me as I post my journal entry….great day!