Table Trade Off

My daughter delivered my new table, assembled, of course. It fir the space perfectly, which is a lucky thing as I just pulled the wall width from my head, not always the most reliable source.

My granddaughter has been asking for a desk, so the timing couldn't have been better. I asked if she wanted anything painted on it, and she was happy with her name only. So I did her name in purple and black, (her room is painted purple), and bought her a black pencil and paper holder from the dollar store.

I asked if she wanted some ribbon on the black mesh like desk things, and she said yes. I used some satin ribbon from my stash and added a couple of bows.

Her Dad picked it up so she has her desk, and as this is my grandchild who loves to paint and draw, it should get some good use.

We talked about some summer projects last night at her brother's lacrosse game. Did I know how to make windsocks? Could we paint rocks? Could she do a canvas like I use?

Oh, it's going to be a fun summer.

New Tables All Around

I bought a new table yesterday, not the sort usually used indoors, but it suits my purpose. I have such a small space, the table I used, not to eat at or anything useful, seemed to work for storage only.

When I do art work I like to stand, and sometimes walk around whatever piece I'm working on. Impossible when working at the kitchen counter or a low table against the wall.

My new table is a counter height cart, I guess you could say. It has two wheels on one end, and legs on the other. I can easily move it away from the wall and walk around it, to work without killing my back.

It came in two boxes, but was delivered today, assembled and ready to use. I'm all set to start a new art project. But first, I have to paint my granddaughter's name on the old table.

It's old, and more of a desk than a table, with a handy small drawer in the front. Perfect for a little girl who loves to draw. I have to give her a signature on the tabletop that is as unique and inspiring as she is.

Finally, a family member interested in art. I can't wait to see where she can take it.

Where Have All the Gentlemen Gone?

I remember when I was a girl, and found it curious that when walking with my Dad, he kept moving from one side of me to the other. I asked him why he did that, and he informed me that a gentleman always walked on the curb side of the street.

A gentleman always held the door for a lady, took her arm or had his hand at her back, being thoughtful, and protective, I suppose. When a man is attentive like that it makes you feel cared for, and okay, not politically correct maybe, but it also makes you feel feminine.

I feel good that I raised my son right. He may not walk on the curb side so much, but he opens doors, carries loads, offers his arm in assistance. His son does the same, at age 11.

Friday night I went to the high school to watch the parade of grads, as my oldest granddaughter is graduating this year. The tradition in town is for all the grads to arrive for prom in old cars. One by one the old cars, some souped up ones, even a few trucks and floats, arrived and the grads exited and made their way to the school.

Some of their teachers formed a reception line, and shook hands with each student before the grads were introduced and entered the school. There was quite a crowd gathered on both sides of the street, friends and family eager to see their grad dressed in their prom finery.

What I found interesting is that for the majority of the time, the guys walked to the reception line and left their date to follow behind. And half the time they hadn't made any effort to help the girls from the car. What is wrong with these guys? Were they never taught any manners?

One couple arrived sitting in the back of a half ton truck, and it was going to be difficult for her to depart in a long dress and heels. She crouched down and he took hold of her at the waist and lifted her down. The crowd cheered, maybe because all of these parents and grandparents watching recognized the actions of a gentleman.

I think it's sad that all these young woman, dressed in such beautiful long dresses, and the young men in their suits, are missing out on that old fashioned kind of interaction between men and women. You know what I mean, that flirty feeling, finding that feminine mystique, feeling pretty and appreciated. and for the guys, a chance to be that gentleman, to be attentive, to be the strong male.

They looked fantastic, and I'm sure they had a great time at the prom, but for me, I feel they are missing out on something, that could have made their night even more perfect.

Maybe these young adults should watch some old movies, or even a few red carpet events to see how it's supposed to be done. Or at least how it was done, and done well, back in the day.

Living With Disappointment

My neighbor belongs to a group that meets every Thursday afternoon to play cards, and enjoys a pot-luck dinner after. When we were shopping earlier in the week, she bought what she needed to make peanut butter marshmallow squares, her contribution to the meal.

We share meals back and forth, and other tasty treats. It means we might have one less solo meal to cook, or won't be eating leftovers for the week.

I fully anticipated that she would share her peanut butter squares with me, as I shared my recipe with her and drove her around to get the required ingredients. And, oh look, it's Thursday.

I heard her knock at the door and watched her enter with my cookbook and the empty dishes I'd given her earlier in the week...full.

She was on her way home from the dinner, mentioned she had been to Costco the day before. She handed me a cookie/cracker thing, individually wrapped,  purchased by the box.

I had to ask. "Did yo make the squares for the dinner?"

She said "No," she'd make them the next week. So, I got this thin biscuit that looked like Melba Toast, with almonds and cranberries. Like a thin slice of biscotti, maybe?

I tell you, it was no peanut butter marshmallow square, and now that I've had my mouth watering for a taste, may have to make my own. It's a simple 3 ingredient recipe. One package of butterscotch chips mixed with 1 cup of peanut butter. Cook over low heat, stirring constantly until chips are melted and mixture is well combined. Add a package of mini marshmallows (the colored ones make a colorful treat), mix and pour into a buttered 9x9 inch pan and refrigerate. Soooooo good.

This is one of my must do, expected, traditional recipes at Christmas, but I don't see any reason it can't be enjoyed as a light summer treat.

And then there's Ambrosia, or what I've always called 5 Cup Salad, now I want some of that too. I see a trip to the grocery store in my near future.

Poached Eggs

I was thinking my fondness for poached eggs came from the breakfasts I used to enjoy with a friend. After I left work, but before I left the city, we would meet for breakfast, before she went to the office.

We had the same thing every time, poached eggs on toast, with bacon.

I always thought there was a knack for making a good poached egg, so never attempted to make them at home.

So many restaurants offer an all day breakfast, and I've usually ordered scrambled eggs, until recently. Out with another friend, I threw caution to the wind, and decided to try poached eggs for a change, and they were excellent.

Last night I made a corned beef hash, and it needed a poached egg to make it complete. I remembered that another friend had given me two silicone cup things, for making poached eggs. They float in the boiling water, and you can put the lid on the pot, lower the heat and cook them to your desired level of doneness.

And they worked great. I added a touch of butter to the cup, and when it was melted, the egg. The cup floated, and never tilted even when the water boiled.

Dinner was very good, if I do say so myself. But today I had other memories coming back.

My Mom had an egg poacher that had four metal cups that sat in a frame in a special pan. You filled the pan with some water, added the rack, added some butter to each individual cup (before the nonstick era) and then the egg.

I also remembered that my grandmother made my grandfather a poached egg on toast every morning for his breakfast. I can picture him sitting at the table in their place in Florida, having his breakfast.

I'm adding poached eggs to my list of favorites, my list of comfort foods, there are just too many good memories associated with them.