A Pretty Good Day

Well, is rolling to a close and that coincided with Stu's closing out his summer class. So, to celebrate I asked Stu if he wanted to see a movie once he came home from his exam and after I prepared dinner (Chicken Shawarma and a Bulgar Wheat, Edamame and Cherry Tomato salad). So Stu and I headed off and saw Harry Potter.

At Harry Potter we were the only people there except a father/daughter couple. Stu and I had fun making fun of the movie. Midway through the movie my phone rang. It was a scouting friend and I got rid of him by telling him I was at a movie. I used to find days I could come home early and go to movies with Stu. It is always a fun time and we get to regress to father and son (except now the snarky movie comments flow both ways).

Pat loved dinner. I told her that we were having broiled scallops but I outsourced the meal and it came back as Chicken Shawarma, an Indian dish. These are high vegetable, low fat meals that are new and different to make and eat.

Ron Cady called back to let me know that I was selected as a Silver Beaver by the Connecticut Rivers Council (Boy Scouts). I felt bad that I had not called him back. He let me know that I'll have to get my photo taken and attend a dinner. Pat, who avoids scout dinners like the plague, has indicated that she wants to attend this one. The funniest thing is that I get to review the information on the application prior to the award. I hope some of it is true.

The World Turned Upside Down Part 2

On Saturday morning Stu came home after staying with a group of friends and complained that my phone call at 4:19 AM woke his friends up. Apparently I needed to be more considerate. I told this to Pat and she laughed. Had we ever been woken up by the Rock Band crew playing through the night? Of course. But the Rock Band Crew never called us. They just crooned classic Aerosmith through the sub-woofer under our bed.

This probably could have been avoided if Stu had turned off the lights in the house. But at 3:30 I was woken by a playful kick to my shins (a reminder that I should stop snoring). Maybe This precipitated nature's call and the discovery in short order that the light's were on and Stu was not at home. When informed of a missing young man Pat's painful stare illuminated the darkness until I did what the kid's do and texted Stu.

Stu did not respond to the text and a half hour later I could not take the prodding silence and called Stu. He missed the call but quickly called back with some indignation and hushed tones to explain that a group was crashing at Rachel's house.

Rachel is the lead singer of last summer's Rock Band. I doubt Stu's ring tone was as pleasant as her voice.

Buying at the Big Box

I am sitting at Panera Bread doing e-mails, job surfing and all those other wonderful things with a panoramic view of Walmart. It is amazing what the folks at Walmart can do for you. This is a small Walmart (if they can be considered small) but does contain a garden shop, pharmacy, automotive section, and a small restaurant.

Other Walmarts include small Doc-in-a-box operations and even others have tried wedding chapels. You can have a blood test done, pick out the wedding trousseau and have the ceremony all in one location. If you don't take the tags off the dress you can return it on the way out. If the groom doesn't work out you can return him too. Can you imagine the return lines for the wedding chapel? I don't think I really want to have the P.A. system announce the results of the blood test in the middle of the wedding vows.

What can be next for Walmart? Can Sam Walton discover some long lost Native American relative and open up Casinos throughout the country? Given their propensity to pressure supplies to stretch the bounds of appropriate labor I could imagine that some slots would never pay off while others pay off constantly. I'd put the machines right by the check out lines so that the patrons could have a chance at doubling their stake and buying that extra mega bag of beef jerky.

Out in Nevada Walmart could add discount Cat Houses. Maybe they could get their laborers overseas. After all, they have been screwing the overseas labor markets for years.

What Kind of Fool Am I?

OK, so I am a full time house husband right now.

Sure, I continue to look for another job but with Pat working a tremendous amount of overtime I have decided to make the most of some of my domestic goddessness.

And, lets face it, I am not good at the house husband thing. I do not clean well. In fact, I can walk by the same pile of stuff an unlimited amount of time and never notice that it needs to be cleaned, put away, folded, dusted or any of the above.

But, I can cook.

And, I can shop for food. In fact, we on the hill are a bit anal in our shopping. Each week we will compose a full menu and create a shopping list from that. As the list is compose we naturally writ it in order of the aisles in the store to encourage an easier shopping experience. Normally, this is done under Pat's supervision on Thursday night, after the weekly sale flyers, for a Friday trip.

But as Emiril says, "Let's kick it up a notch."

Two weeks ago we did not create the menu on Thursday night because Pat was working. Ever observant, I decided Pat needed something to help her through the week so I got a couple of Cooking Light Magazines and created a menu with a couple of nicer items for Pat. This included a Berry Peach Cobbler, a Mediterranean Eggplant Salad and an Oriental Chicken Salad (of my own invention).

By mid week Pat was either e-mailing or calling me to ask what was for dinner and proclaiming it the highlight of the day. She also hinted that I could do that type of cooking again if I wanted to. When I didn't immediately respond, she begged.

So, last Friday I got out the cooking lights and created a new set of menus. I even made sure that ingredients used early in the week could make a repeat appearance in later meals (waist not, want more).

Friday, to celebrate the end of a long week (for Pat) we had Grilled Ginger Lime Shrimp, Rice, Grilled Asparagus and Strawberries Romanoff for dessert. That went over very well and was fairly easy to do.

Saturday night we went to Max Amore to eat their swordfish special. OK, so Pat ate the swordfish. I availed myself of their prix fixe menu (got to love being forced to have the dessert).

Pat had requested a Roasted Chicken on Sunday. But to accompany this on sale item we had a Marinated Bean and Fingerling Potato Salad. This required that the Green/Wax Beans be blanched and then submitted to an ice bath. I am 50 and had avoided blanching so far under the srict adherence to the belief that the only good Blanche was my Grandmother. However, I relented and it came out perfect. Stu, who last enjoyed green and wax beans when he mushed them into his hair while in a high chair, even admitted to liking these. The cumbled Bacon bits probably encouraged Stu's fondness.

The dessert was a stretch and something that Pat had lusted for ever since the cooking light first revealed the recipe in July of 2008. Rhubarb Maple Fool in Phyllo Stacks. Kind of a Napolean for the veggie eating Canadian set. I got to cook with new ingredients (Maple Sugar), work my way through a reduction, and create Pyllo Stacks (I haven't worked with Phyllo in 20 years). It was really good.

We also had the chicken, beans and rhubarb on Monday. The chicken was modified into Chicken Salad with the addition of Miracle Whip, green onion, and thyme, rosemary and basil picked fresh from the garden.

So far the kicked up menu is working. Pat is excited to have dinner. I am having fun constructing the meals and Stu is letting us know what his meal plans are far in advance.

Please note that I have refused to wear the French Maid outfit.

The World Turned Upside Down

Stu came by this morning at 3 A.M. to ask if everything was OK. He was concerned. Our TV was on and he could hear the floor squeaking so he knew someone was up. He wanted to know if something was wrong and if he could help.

First of all, you should know that the only thing wrong was a combination of too much rich food, caffeine too late, no drinks, Pat having taken an afternoon nap, and once awake and looking for a distraction, a good movie on the TV. When Stu stopped by we were long past the recovery stage and were stuck in the "too far into a good movie" situation.

Still, we were bemused by Stu stopping by and did not react with the air of indignation we've come to expect from him at 3 A.M. It was nice to know he cared and nicer to think that he may one day realize that our mid morning queries are based on the same love and concern.

Of course, once he stopped by we were now locked into watching the entire movie - if only to prove to ourselves that we still can when we want to.

It's Friendship that Survives

While I was away in Canada a tornado came to Wethersfield. Our house was relatively unscathed. The porch suffered some damage and several screens needed to be replaced. We suspect that the porch may have acted like a sail and was stressed by the wind. The furniture and flowers on the porch were all blown around. The force of the wind must have been pretty fantastic.

With that wind force in mind it was with some bemusement that we found the bottle cap.

The cap had been placed on top of the hook holding one of the plants by Pete during the end of the year Troop Adult Committee picnic. There were several caps hidden about the porch, deck and house. It is Pete's game with the homeowner and a game he takes seriously. He only plays the game with close friends.

When I see the bottle cap, previously so well hidden but now so obvious I can't help but smile and think of Pete and my other scouting friends. I will make no attempt to remove this brave survivor.

There are other bottle caps that survive in the houses of Pete's friends and family. Other reminders of his friendship and generosity. Some are known to homeowners and left there as fond remembrances. Others are known only to Pete's co-conspirators and spoken of in whispers.

Friends are important and must be tended like flowers. If you don't give them adequate attention all you are left with are the weeds.

Avoiding A Canadian's Red Glare.

Pat and I once took a romantic weekend away in Quebec City. At least that was the plan until Stu's trip was cancelled and our romantic weekend became a bit larger. Still, we made the best of it and had Stu invite a friend and booked an additional room.

We stayed at the Chateau Frontenac - one of the destination hotels built by the Canadian Pacific Railway and a truly romantic spot. Pat and I overlooking the river and Stu and Andrew overlooking the parking lot.

We arrived on July 1st which is Canada Day - the celebration of the signing of the Articles of Confederation on P.E.I. which effectively established a united and English speaking Canada. This is not the highlight of the year in Quebec City, the emotional heart of French Canada. Coincidentally, we arrived during the International Police Olympics.

After checking in and settling in we met the boys for a walk and lunch.

Right outside of the hotel at the central fountain a protest group wearing and waving the Fleur d' Lis had gathered to chant, give impassioned speeches and burn the Canadian flag. At least I assume so as their French was much faster than I can translate and did not use the usual catch phrases. I was bemused by the number of international Policeman in casual attire watching protests that would not be allowed in many of their countries (the cops were fairly obvious as they mostly wore t-shirts with various spellings of Police and/or badges on them). The local gendarmes did nothing to stop the protest.

One of the protesters singled me out, got in my face and aggressively shouted "Je pense que vous etes tres beau et voudries te montrer la ville. Apres nous pouvons avoir un verre de vin et d'une cigarette dans mon grenier." Unaware of what he said and wanting to be satisfied with my response I took a guess that he was complaining about the English and replied, "Imbecile" while shaking my head with a knowing Gallic tilt. With a satisfied smirk, he went and rejoined the group.

I went off with my group to find a glass of wine.

We returned from our weekend three days later to find that they were shooting fireworks at Shea Stadium in remembrance of Independence Day. They missed the plane.

Old E-Mails

I never like to clean out e-mails and when I do I delete it but never clean out the deleted mail file. Thus I create a long lasting archive that exists until I either blow out the hard drive or change jobs. I do eliminate SPAM and some larger files from the deleted or sent folder but I generally file and forget it. I even had to learn how to set up multiple archives to retain useless information.

Losing my job meant I lost a tremendous archive of old e-mail. That hurt greatly. My last hours were spent culling some special e-mails and sending them home. However, I had e-mails dating back to the last century and lost many a gem.

What do you do with old e-mails? Well, as a long time corporate employee you discover whatever is new is usually old in a new package. Sometimes an old e-mail will shed light on the situation and give you a leg up.

At least that's what we say in public forums.

In private its easy to admit that old e-mail can be used for a variety of reasons.

• You can reacquaint oneself with an old colleague. There's nothing like replying to a decade old e-mail to someone and asking if they still need an answer to the question they asked.
• Send a reminder to a friend of something stupid that they wrote.
• Return any prognostications with a pithy note on their accuracy.

But, more importantly, old e-mails are subtle reminders of friends and friendships. So, I keep them and occasionally respond.

Thankfully, memory is cheap these days.

How to be a Romantic Fool or the Neighborhood Idiot

One thing that I have learned over twenty-five plus years of marriage is that you occasionally have to remind each other why you got together in the first place. The easiest way to do this is on a date but after twenty five years - how do you make this special? I believe that pure idiocy can help.

Last Sunday Stu was out, Pat was working in the office and I was watching baseball in the family room on both the TV and the PC. The game was wrapping up, I was hungry and Pat needed a break from work. I walked over and delivered her a wine cooler (step 1). Returning to my seat in the family room I waited an appropriate time for the wine cooler to be drained and then I invited her out the way the kids do it these days - via e-mail (step 2).

After the Red Sox won and shortly before the agreed upon time I took a quick shower to eliminate the debris from a day of lawn mowing and house repair and then quickly dressed in better than average weekend attire (step 3). I did not interrupt or talk to Pat during this process.

Then came the idiocy part. I left.

I got into the car, drove past a bewildered Pat looking out the office picture window, down a the block to the next cul-de-sac, turned around and came home. Under Pat's watchful eyes, I parked on the street, locked the car,went to the front door and rang the bell. (step 4).

Pat was rather bewildered when she answered the door while still maintaining a phone conversation. I stood there, cold bottle of wine in hand (purloined from the fridge on my way out - step 3a) and asked if I was early for our date (step 5). She looked at me, laughed and told the folks on the phone that she had to go.

Unfortunately, the plan fell apart from here as the first two restaurants were closed as a result of the holiday weekend causing us to drive in a zig-zag pattern across town until we found that our third choice was open.

The restaurant mix-up didn't matter as Pat was both surprised and delighted as a simple Sunday meal was changed to a date. It didn't cost me anything more than a little loss of dignity driving around the neighborhood and being seen hanging around outside our house with a bottle of wine.

Oh, we saved the wine for after dinner.