Cooking the NYTimes and Other Assorted Retirement Activities

  I began this blog when I retired, as I had intentions to Cook the NY Times recipes as written, then share same with you, dear readers. Needless to say I've veered off the beaten path if not gone over the cliff with other topics, seldom writing anything about cooking. At least for today, that changes.  I do want to thank the NYTimes Cooking section as it has pushed me outside my cooking comfort zone.  A definite kitchen changer for me is the book Salt, Fat, Heat, Acid   by Samin Nosrat.  There's a terrific Netflix show by the same name. We are smack dab in the midst of Farmer's Market season.  I hope you are aware of where the closest Farmer's Market is to you and that you frequent it as often as possible until the outdoors ones close.  Around here, that's sometime in October and by then, many of the veggies showing up in abundance right now will be a distant albeit delicious memory. You're probably aware that food found at the Farmer's Markets a...

TO:  Parents, Grandparents and those stewing in anger and frustration over the opening of school FROM: Mary O'Brien, Career Educator, Retired School Administrator RE:  Redirecting that well deserved sense of Righteous Anger You might feel like this right about now: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bwi6_Ugq8jA I get it. You get it. We all get it. There is nothing good bubbling within the fast approaching start of school. Virtual?  Wonderful!  Horrible! Hybrid model?  Wonderful!  Horrible! In person?  Wonderful!  Horrible! The purpose of this memo is to encourage you to blow up your well deserved sense of Righteous Anger directed at the decision your school board has made about when, where, how, etc. the return to school. I wish to convince you to turn that Righteous Anger to where it belongs.  Not with your state or local administration. No, fling it directly at the White House and Republican members of Congress.  Throw it like you flung m...

Just a guess here, but I'm thinking that you, like me, have a (relatively) long list of things you miss.  You missed.  You continue to miss on account of the unprecedented COVID-19.  Some probably have more degrees of significance than others.  On the good days, you're able to put the list into perspective. When the days aren't so smooth, at least for me, the list becomes a thousand ton weight pressing on all internal organs, smooshing them into one indistinguishable mass.  (There's a descriptor, right?) Something I have found very useful when I'm feeling smooshed, and even when I'm not, is practicing yoga.   I can viscerally remember the first yoga class I took.  It was shortly after my mom "went down", becoming bedridden following the rupture of an abdominal abdominal aneurysm.  (She lived 4 years, way beyond statistical prediction, and was the happiest bedridden woman on the block during most of that time, but I digress).  At the end ...

Well, hmm.  Here we are, weeks after the Grand Opening, and in a surprise to probably just about no one, cases of COVID-19 are rising in places where people are gathering without social distancing and wearing masks. Today I found myself reminiscing about three laws that were passed to protect us from ourselves and others.   Law Number One: the seat belt law. Gradually studies demonstrated that wearing a seat belt in your car protected those belted in from serious injury in case of an accident.  (Anyone remember the PSA "Seat Belts Save Lives?") Slowly but surely, from 1966-1970, seat belts became a standard feature in new cars.  People complained about wearing them.  Vociferously.  Seat belts choked you.  They prevented you from turning the steering wheel.  It was more difficult to reach the ash tray when wearing a seat belt.  You couldn't change the radio station or adjust the volume if the seat belt was holding you fast in place. ...

Recently my Flip Flop Friday post indicated that I had no words.  Fortunately, people far more thoughtful and articulate than I have shared their words and in that way STOOD UP to make a difference.   Talking with those of us who are of a certain age, I've heard and shared the refrain: "I thought we did this work in the '60s.  The Civil Rights Act.  The Equal Rights Amendment.  We thought we made the world a better place for the generations to come." Wrong. I still don't have the words.   I've gone back and read the words of those who made an indelible mark on my mind, heart and soul during the '60s.  What I've discovered is they are probably a little too comfortable since those were the words that initially motivated me to do social justice work.  And what I've also discovered over these past few weeks is that I am, indeed, a little too comfortable with my self-assigned place in the social justice movement.  In other words,...

It feels to me as if many of us are experiencing what I've heard called quarantine fatigue.  The novelty aspect imposed upon us by this novel COVID-19 has nearly, if not already completely, worn thin.  The social messages of hope, endurance, persistence, you can do it now seem so much like the way Charlie Brown's teacher's voice is portrayed on TV: Wah, wah, wah.   Enough, already.  Enough. Stay At Home has been replaced by Stay Safe.  Each state has its own interpretation of how Stay Safe is meant to be understood and even then, individuals demonstrate a dazzling array of behaviors within guidelines.  What has been proven to be true to stop the spread of the virus, to flatten the curve, seems to be: 1) Stay Home.  2) And if you do go out, Social Distance and Wear a Mask.  Then comes along: you can start forgetting about 1. So, is it that for the past however many days, Stay At Home has served as a bandaid on the deadly scourge of COVID...

Presenting the Seashell Class of 2020! Over the past 4 winters, I've collected seashells while walking the beach.  Yes, this does mean you pretty much walk with your head down and/or learn to scan the sand while strolling.  I do a combination of both. What has fascinated me is how, on some days, a plethora of one type of shell will wash up on the beach--and then you won't see it for days or weeks or, for me, the rest of the season.  A couple years ago, there were multitudes of a shell.  This year, I could barely find any of them.  Ah, the magnificence and fickleness of Mother Nature, although I'm sure there are scientific reasons behind this. So, here we go!  Let's begin with the 2020 Prom Queen, Valedictorian and Salutatorian: The Lightning Whelk, accompanied by the Princesses, the Buttons. This shell was buried in the sand at the edge of the water.  I saw the very bottom sticking up, gave it a yank, and voila! Next up, the coquina she...