Three Pats of Butter and Five Slices of Bread

I don't eat out very often, although I do enjoy it. I just think there are usually better ways to spend my discretionary income rather than blowing it on a restaurant meal that I figure I can cook better myself. However on this occasion, we were celebrating a birthday, and ended up at the Cheesecake Factory, which usually has good food (and plenty of it), despite its pricey desserts.

This was the first time that I walked out of the Cheesecake Factory disappointed -- and also wondering how the server determines how much bread and how many pats of butter to give a party of two.

The Cheesecake Factory bakes some very good fresh bread that is provided at the onset of your meal. One type is a sweet, dark multi-grain type. The other is a white sourdough. When the waiter put down our loaves, the basket was rather skimpy. There were two slices of the dark bread and three slices of the white. And three small pats of butter.

Is this somthing that is taught in serving school? Do you always provide an uneven amount of bread for parties of two or four or six? And is there a rule that exists to give less butter than there are slices of bread? (The butter pats, by the way, have been shrinking in size for years.)

Although we ordered an appetizer, I still enjoy munching on the dark bread -- with butter -- but the waiter seemed to make himself scarce when I wanted to ask him for more of each.

But what really intrigued me was that when two young girls sat down at the table next to ours, they received a full basket of bread (at least five slices each of the white and brown bread) and seven pats of butter. They got twice as much bread and butter!

Is this discrimination? Did the server know these girls? Why were they given special treatment? Were they younger and sexier than me and my companion? Did they look like better tippers? So many questions, so few answers.

* * *

Whipped Cream

Homemade whipped cream is pretty darn good. If you have a good electric mixer (either a hand or stand model), you can make your own from heavy cream, available at Sam's Club for about $2.50 a quart, instead of the $4.00 it runs at regular grocery stores.

You have to keep your eye on the cream as it is being whipped, because if you let it whip too long, it will turn into butter. That's not a bad thing, since homemade butter is just as lucious. But it doesn't taste that great as a dessert topping!

All you need besides the cream is a little bit of powdered sugar which you add toward the end of the whipping process to give it a little bit of sweetness. Refrigerate any leftovers (if there are any).

This sure beats whatever you squirt out of those cans!

Frustrating Salesmen (and Saleswomen)

I'm not a fan of salespeople in general. There are only a few career sales people that I have run across over the years that have impressed me with their professionalism. Two of them (believe it or not) were new car saleswomen, and that is because I did my research before buying my cars and specifically asked to deal with a woman. One particulary good salesperson was more interested in building relationships, and that is what made him a great guy. We are still friends today, even though our professional relationship ended years ago.

Today I had the "pleasure" of dealing with a salesman who came to call on my mother to fit her for an orthopedic contraption that goes in her shoe. After quickly pulling a model out of his bag, he tied it on, had her walk a few steps and then pretty much quickly got out the door because his cell phone was ringing. I asked for literature about the product and/or instructions. (There were none.) Nor did he instruct her how to put it on. (I'm sure there must be a trick or two.)

I tried to show her how to use it, but I was also having difficulty, so I can imagine this device will end up not being used because the salesperson failed to fulfill his obligation to make sure all questions were answered and the product demonstrated before he slinked away.

I will be calling his company after I speak with my mother's physical therapist, since she initiated the referral.

Where have all the good salespeople gone?

Sticking with my First Choice

The Author at Work

Whenever someone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I said a nurse. Now I was only about four or five years old at the time, but the choices were nurse or teacher at that time, and I thought that carrying around "Nurse Nancy's" medical bag was cool.

Somewhere along the line I lost my interest in nursing -- probably around age ten, when I changed my mind and decided to be a newspaper reporter. I always liked drawing and writing and spent many happy hours pounding on an old manual typewriter at my grandmother's house. I also took old notebooks and turned them into makeshift newspapers, cutting out pictures from magazines and making up news stories to go with them. When I couldn't find an appropriate picture, I'd draw one.

Somehow, the stories were all tragedies of children being killed in fires and car crashes. Ewwwww.

I maintained my interest in journalism all through high school (I was editor-in-chief of the school's newspaper), but I became disillusioned in college when my creative writing teachers were less than supportive about my submissions. I ended up getting a degree in speech and theater, with a concentration in television production ... and the rest, as they say, is history.


Looking back, I probably should have stuck with my first choice, nursing, even though I can't stand to be around someone tossing their cookies. At least I'd have my choice of jobs and be making good money.

* * *

I Love my Dentist

I hate dentists. I think it's a fear many people have. My fear of dentists probably goes back to when I was about four or five, and our family dentist (Dr. Wasserman) didn't believe in using novocaine or any other type of numbing agent.

Over the years, I've had three good dentists. The first one I really liked came recommended by a friend. He was great, but soon after becoming his patient, I moved out of state. The second one I really liked "disappeared" from his practice, nowhere to be found. He was wonderful, reminding me of a dark-haired Harry Anderson (from Night Court).

After losing that dentist, my appointments were few and far between. I always gritted my teeth when I went to visit a new dentist, never knowing if I'd have a heart attack on the chair. I survived, but none of the dentists were worth recommending.

Until I found my my current dentist. He's great. Gentle, understanding and patient. He understands my reluctance to getting my mouth picked at and probed and he actually does what I ask him to do ... explain WHAT he's doing BEFORE he does it. Did I mention he has great listening skills?

Today I had my six-month check up and I saw Dr. Young for a total of two minutes. That was fine with me. The x-rays his technician took showed nothing of concern and his examination of my mouth also revealed no work needs to be done. (He's also honest, he could have told me I needed something fixed and I wouldn't have been the wiser.) Seeing him for two minutes was fine with me.

Oh ... I did find out what happened to the dentist who disappeared. He quit practicing dentistry and went into (of all things) DNA evaluation. He began working as a forensic scientist and became head of Washington, D.C.'s crime lab. Interesting career switch.

Writer's Block

Even though I spent most of my career writing (scripts, press releases, marketing materials, reports -- the list goes on), I seem to be writing more now than ever before. In many respects, it is more satisfying, since I'm not constrained (too much) by the expectations of other people. Of course, the pay is diddly-squat or non-existent. But there is something to be said about branching out into different areas and feeling good about many of the finished products. That is (as they say) -- priceless.

It's also nice to get positive comments from friends. They're either stupid or feel sorry for me.

The good thing about writing on a daily basis is that it helps keep the mind active. But in my quest for perfection (did I tell you I was a perfectionist?), I tend to spend too much time on projects, over thinking them to the point where I become stuck, and writer's block takes over.

Now what was I going to say?

If you promise to do something, then just do it!

Nothing annoys me more than people who promise things and fail to deliver. If you're one of those people, listen up. Don't mess with me. I've just about had it with empty promises and half-baked commitments. Today, I got so annoyed that I just may have gotten someone fired from his job. That was not my intent. I just wanted the folks in charge to know that you don't make promises you can't keep -- and if there's a problem, let someone know!

My 92-year old mother is getting twice-a-week visits from a nursing agency tending to a wound on her leg. On Tuesday, the nurse promised to drop some supplies off the next day. He forgot. He showed up on Thursday, but without the supplies. He then said he would drop them off on Friday between 10 and 11 a.m.

I went to my mother's and waited. And waited. And waited some more.

At 11:30, he called, saying he would be there in a half-hour. Still nothing. At 12:20, he called and said he'd be there by 1:00 p.m.

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

At 1:20 he called .... now he said he would be there by 2:30.

I told him to FORGET IT, but he insisted he would be able to make it this time. I told him "fine," but told him to leave the materials on the ledge next to my mother's door and we would retrieve it (she was not going to be home).

Guess what. He never came.

So I called the main office today and spoke with a supervisor. They offered to send someone out today or tomorrow, but I said that was not convenient. Someone will now be coming Monday.

We'll see.

Gargantuan Tomato

This is the biggest one yet. One pound, two ounces. It's pretty perfect, if I do say so myself.

The Networking Game

I'm not much into "networking," although I recognize and appreciate its value. I'm a person that isn't real comfortable in a room full of strangers, but every once in awhile I push myself to attend an event, even when I don't think I will know a soul. Last night was one of those times. I went to a wine-and-cheese networking event at Momentum Resources, a boutique placement agency that specializes in finding part-time jobs for awesome women.

Well, I'm an awesome woman and eventually I'll be looking for work, so why not go and enjoy some wine and meet some other awesome women?

Although I was hesitant about going, I ended up having a really nice evening. There were about 40 women there (yes, they were all awesome) and we listened to a short presentation and participated in a "speed networking" exercise. It was fun. And I met some nice folks -- even one woman with whom I seemed to have a connection and a lot in common.

The thought of going to this event was like the thought of eating a tuna fish sandwich. It is not something you look forward to, but once you indulge, you realize it is quite delicious.

Conquering the Clutter

Although I am not a child of "The Great Depression," my parents were. So I was used to watching them scrimp and save, and do all their shopping at discount and bargain stores. I also remember how my father would save everything, because who knows when he might need it again. When he died, I spent weeks cleaning out his attic, storage shed, garage and workshop, which was a treasure trove of ... junk. Why buy just one item when its on sale when you could buy two or three and let them rust for the next decade?

Unfortunately, cluttering and hoarding is hereditary (as I've found out). As much as I try to get myself organized, there always seems to be more crap coming in than going out.

I really need to conquer the clutter so I can get on with my life. Is there a 12-step program for Clutterholics?

Weekends - Not my Favorite Days of the Week

I am not normally a fan of weekends. Most people look forward to them. Not me. I just groan when I see Saturday rolling around, since I know I will be spending the next 48 hours in overdrive, without any real rest or relief (if I'm lucky) until Monday morning.

Maybe if I had a full-time job I would be more receptive to Saturdays and Sundays, but in my state of semi-retirement, the weekends are much too busy with those obligatory things that must be done, and which take too much time to do.

So by the time the weekend is over ... I need another one to recuperate!

Pickles ~ Never Again!

I am not sure why I decided to make pickles, since I don't even care for them that much (although I do love the fresh, sour pickles that the authentic New York delis sold from barrels; I don't think you can't find them around anymore).

Anyway, never again.

I can say I tried. I was even semi-successful. But the 10 jars of pickles that I ended up with will probably be given to friends and neighbors.

If I want a jar of pickles in the future, I'll head to the supermarket.

Adventures in Canning

Although I come from a long line of canners, I personally have never canned. But my bumper crop of tomatoes is crying out for some method of preservation. Since there is little room in my freezer, I decided to try my hand at canning.

I purchased a small pressure cooker/canner, even though you don't need to can acidic food under pressure. I figured it would be easier in the long run.

My first project: Homemade tomato sauce.

It actually turned out perfectly -- which means, all the jars sealed. (Jars that don't seal mean you either have to reprocess the batch or put it in the refrigerator and use within the next week or two.)

My next canning project: pickles. (Even though I'm not much of a pickle person.)

The Garden

This is the second year that I've planted a garden. Although it looks like a jungle, it is producing cucumbers and tomatoes like gangbusters and the zucchini is also doing pretty well. I have a few Japanese eggplants and some yellow beans ... and the red peppers are very slowly turning.
I've never been much of a plant person. In face, my mantra used to be "no pets, no plants, no kids ... nothing to feed, water or take for a walk." However, I must say that I've changed my tune over the past year or so.

This is my second year planting vegetables. I made lots of mistakes in 2008, which I tried to correct this time around. However, this year I planted cucumbers (for the first time) and these creepy (literally) plants are invading and taking over.

Maybe the third time will be the charm, so 2010 will be the year of perfection.

Hah!

Dumpster Diving

I know a lot of people who go through other folks' trash. I'm not usually one of them, although I did surreptitiously "rescue" a dresser, drawer by drawer, from the dumpsters of an apartment complex at which I lived in Baltimore.

After I moved to my current home, I had to arrange to move my 92-year old mother here as well. I found her an apartment in a senior citizen retiremenet community about three miles from my house. It was there that I found out that old folks throw out some really good stuff.

The first thing I found in her trash room was a crock pot that looked virtually new. When no one was looking, I "rescued" it from the trash and took it home, thinking that it probably had a bad switch or some other problem.

Nope. It worked fine. It's now sitting on my counter.

Then I found (in no particular order), a practically new microwave oven, a living room lamp, a new, over-the-door ironing board and ... a box of canning jars.

The canning jars were perhaps the best find for me, since my vegetable garden was starting to show signs of extreme production, and I really wanted to try preserving some of my harvest.

Lately I haven't found any treasures in the trash room. But I check every time I'm visiting my mother. You never know what someone might throw out.

Fast Forward -- Redux

So now you know how I became "semi retired." Let's not deal with all the boring details between then and now. We'll fast forward to the present. Here's a recap of the high points between "then" and "now."

• Bought a house
• Moved from the Washington, D.C. area
• Got cable television and found The Food Network
• Collected unemployment
• Planted a garden (Check out the photos!)
• Collected unemployment a second time (thanks, President Obama)
• Signed up for Facebook and found lots of old friends
• Started doing some freelance writing, just to keep my skills fresh (Here's a sample of some of the stuff I'm writing about.)
  
  

There were lots of other things that happened, but not many of them were significant to anyone reading this. Most of my "free" time was consumed with dealing with my 92-year old mother's doctor appointments, shopping, laundry and other needs. Oh. And moving her to her own apartment in my new community.

I have found out that even though I'm semi-retired (and still loving it), there just isn't enough time in the day to do everything on my "to do" list!

The First Day of the Rest of my Life

On September 18, I slept in, meaning that I didn't get up till around 8:00 a.m. I had vowed that I was going to make the most of my new existence, so today was the first day of my new exercise (or walking) program. I grabbed my AM/FM radio with the headphones and walked around the complex for about 40 minutes, figuring that it was about 2.5 miles. I listened to Chris Core on WMAL radio -- a great talk-show host (who susequently also lost his job at the station, thanks to the economy) and made sure I was back by 9:45 a.m., when Rachael Ray would start the cooking segment on her show. I wanted to know what I was having for dinner that night.

The exercise program I started also coincided with a lunch at the Cheesecake Factory. My former officemates were taking me out. I needed to walk off the meal that I was going to consume later that day.

I thought to myself, "I think I'm going to like this new lifestyle."

Last Day - September 17

Most of the day was spent handing in keys, filling out forms and saying good-by to the folks that I actually cared about.

Meanwhile, my boss continued to make himself scarce. I had only seen him ONCE since May 7, and that was by accident in the parking lot. He did his best to avoid me.

I waited till about 5:45 p.m. after everyone else left to leave the building. Prior to leaving, my phone rang and the caller ID said it was my boss. I didn't answer, but listened to the message, as he "lied" about having tried to see me to say good-by. Yeah. Right.

But I left a little souvenir on my door!

Fast Forward!

It took over two months for everyone to get their act together and figure out how to pry their feet out of their mouths. On July 17 I finally got a letter, notifying me that my last day would be September 17.

My last 60 days were very interesting. My immediate supervisor avoided me. Since his office was in another part of the building, he was able to slip in and out using a back door, therefore avoiding my office which was right beyond the front door. Other folks, with whom I had worked very closely, also seemed to be doing the "avoidance dance."

I think they felt that any association with me might spread the reorganization virus.

I used my time wisely ... coming in late, leaving early, burning off excessive sick and vacation time, but not any more than necessary. You see, I'd be paid for 240 hours of vacation and up to $5,000 worth of my sick leave.

It really was a great way to transition into what was going to be my new existence.

You're History ... but not Quite Yet

Although I was told verbally in May 2007 that my position was no longer necessary, I found out that my "last day" on the job would be in 60 days. So I had two months to clean up loose ends, make those all-important doctor and dentist appointments that I had put off and use up whatever leave time I had accumulated that would be lost.

But first things first. I called the State's human resources guru to make sure my rights were protected. She told me that the 60-days noticed began from the date of the written notification. Since I was only told verbally about my position, the clock had not yet started to tick.

So I waited. And waited. And waited some more.

Apparently there had been a snafu. They jumped the gun and notified me before they had gotten official approval from the Gods.

Ooooops.

So even though I was told I was "history," they couldn't give me an official termination letter. I had a brief reprieve.

Don't you just love stupid people???

I'm not Unemployed - I'm Semi Retired

When my position was "eliminated" due to a "reorganization," I thought the same thing as the great Yogi Berra ... "it's deja vu all over again." The circumstances of my job loss were almost an exact replica of what happened to me back in 1992. I had already seen the writing on the wall surmising that my job was in jeopardy, and the only question in my mind was "when" it would happen -- not "if" it would happen.

My employer (who shall remain nameless, but they know who they are) was not that different from whom I worked for in 1992. Only the players were different. Otherwise, all events leading up to that day in May 2007 were very familiar. So when my boss asked me to accompany him to the human resources office, I knew that this was going to be "it."

I think they were surprised I didn't throw a tantrum, spew four-letter words or start flinging the expensive doo-dads that were in the HR Director's office. They avoided the word "fired" and instead used euphemisms, such as "position elimination" and "reorganization." I told them I had expected this decision and politely asked for the information in writing. They squirmed and felt uncomfortable. I felt superior and smug. They stuttered and stammered. I was elqoquent and articulate.

I got a nice severance package and the timing for me personally, couldn't be better. I was going to be free at last!

That was the day that I decided I was not going to consider myself "unemployed." I was going to be "semi retired." And I'm going to be loving it.