Yes, the rumors are true: There will be a "Cars 3," and hopefuls already are lining up for auditions. (Photo taken on U.S. 72 West between Barton and Cherokee, Ala.)
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I Chopped Vegetables — And Didn’t Hurt Myself!
I love taking cooking classes. It’s so much fun to be with other folks who
— as hard as this is to believe — are as culinarily-challenged as I am. Yes, it’s true — there are a few of them out there. However, it’s also true that most cooking-class students are talented and innovative food fans who want to improve their skills and increase their repertoire. I mainly just like to eat. Every once in a while, though, I am able to impress. Such as during a recent class I took at the Shoals Commercial Culinary Complex. “Ah, you’ve done this before,” the instructor/chef said as he observed my onion-chopping technique: While keeping the ends intact, slice the onion in half and then half again to give yourself a flat base to work from, remove skin but don’t slice off ends, then make horizontal cuts and then vertical cuts and then cross-cuts, resulting in quick and easy diced onion. Of course, I learned that from my friend Sherry, who is a Shoals-famous cook and cooking instructor now working far away from home. Temporarily, we all hope. I mean, the chef teaching in her absence at the Culinary Complex is a nice guy. He knows what he’s talking about and is helpful and patient and everybody enjoys his classes. But is he Southern sassy? Does he know the difference between oatmeal and grits? Is he willing to stop at every Starbucks he sees on a road trip? Come home, Sherry! We miss you! I’ll even chop up some vegetables in your honor.
Reflections
It was a good weekend for reflecting ... and telling the people you care about that you love them. (Photo taken 9/10/11 on Wilson Lake at Doublehead Resort, Town Creek, Ala.)
Why You Should Go to Walgreen’s
Younger Daughter is right. I need to stop being such a shopping grouch. So what if some companies seem determined to squeeze every last penny out of us they possibly can, even resorting to some bordering-on-the-edge-of deceptive packaging? Doesn’t bother me one bit. Because, as is the way with the world, karma sent some serendipitous bargains my way to balance the disappointment of getting shortchanged on age-attacking wrinkle cream. Here’s the story: I was in Walgreen’s a few days ago in yet another futile attempt to refill printer cartridges (it never works and I always have to buy new ones and I strongly dislike having to pay close to $100 for something as distinctly non-fun as new printer cartridges). But while I was there, I literally ran into happened to see a shopping cart parked next to check-out that was full of tissue paper and gift bags. What first caught my eye were cute black-and-white prints with pops of bright pinks and greens. Perfect for all my friends’ birthday gifts I think about giving in my head. Then I found tissue paper with characters from one of 3-year-old grandson Capt. Adorable’s favorite movies — “Toy Story.” And then I noticed the clearance sign on the cart that said “75 percent off.” Jackpot! And then when I was checking out, some of the gift bags were half-off of the sale price. I ended up with seven packages of printed tissue paper and 11 gift bags with coordinated tags and some also with their own coordinated tissue paper, all for about $12. I felt as if I were having my own “Extreme Couponing” moment. In a small way.
What You See …
You know that one of my pet peeves is product packaging that lies to
us. Packaging that delights in not being what it seems. Packaging that says, “We, the big corporate skin-care people, sit around a table and think of ways we can squeeze every single dime out of you, our clueless & inattentive customers. Because we think you basically are stupid.” Because that’s exactly how I felt when I opened up this jar of and realized that what I saw was not at all what I got. See, you think that when you buy this product, you’re getting a jar full. Wrong! There cleverly is a hidden smaller jar inside the outer jar — a maneuver that effectively cuts the amount you thought you were purchasing by … oh … say 15 or 20 percent? And I know, I know — the actual amount of the product is clearly and accurately marked on the packaging. But, really, who thinks, “Well, it says ‘1.7 ounces,’ but clearly this jar holds less so I won’t be surprised when I open it and find evidence of marketing trickery!”??? Nobody, that’s who. I’m sure there’s a survey somewhere that says this size jar is the size customers prefer. And then when filling that size jar endangered the profit margin, some smart employee came up with this chicanery. I am shaking my head in disgust … but of course my skin stays smooth and resilient despite the frowning and wrinkling this stunt has caused. And that makes me remember I’m nearly out of Regenerist Micro-Sculpting Cream and probably need to get some more. Sneaky, Oil of Olay — very sneaky.
Things I’ve Learned This Past Weekend
Random thoughts, as a former co-worker used to say, from a cluttered mind:
1) I have fearless and perhaps slightly insane friends, such as my Alabama friend who did not let a little thing like a hurricane stop her from driving up to Baltimore and helping her daughter and future son-in-law move there from Atlanta. “There sure are a lot of cars driving the opposite way,” she said from the road on Friday night.
2) I have fearless and determined children, such as Younger Daughter, who is not letting university dysfunction and red-tape deter her from taking the classes she wants to take — and who, in the process, gained some appreciation for parental efforts. “When I was in school, I just showed up to class and didn’t realize all it took to get there,” she said.
3) I have fearless and smart grandchildren, such as 3-year-old grandson Capt. Adorable (also currently my only grandchild) who put up with a noisy family party just long enough to be polite and then grabbed his aunt’s hand for a quick getaway, knowing she was as ready to slip outside as he was. The Captain also was apprehensive about a tree-cutting project that involved a loud chainsaw and a great deal of shouting but did not want to miss out on the action — he knew he could hang with his daddy and be assured of staying safe and secure.
4) I have fearless yet generous parents, who said, “Sure. Of course. How can we help?” when I volunteered their nursery/tree farm for a gathering of my high-school class. Couldn’t have done it without them.
5) I have fearless and fun classmates, who don’t worry about wrinkles and bad knees and expanding waistlines but simply want to reconnect and share. And eat wonderfully yummy food and drink local hometown wine.
Eats, Shoots and Tofu
Picking the right spot for lunch is important. It can set the tone for the rest of your day, so you want to make sure you get it right. For example, if you’re in Huntsville, Alabama, and you want someplace quiet and sleek and soothing in a grownup sort of way, then go to Sun Cafe on Old Monrovia Road. This gem of a restaurant offers Asian dishes and an innovative sushi bar along with attentive service that is so good you’ll be in & out within your alloted lunch time without ever once feeling rushed — or abandoned. The food is flavorful and fresh, and you’ll return to your desk feeling reinvigorated. Unless, of course, you’re there at the same time as we were: a trio of grandmother, 7-months-pregnant Older Daughter and incumbent grandson 3-year-old Capt. Adorable. Older Daughter and I, for the most part, behaved ourselves. and the Captain did not misbehave, exactly. He just, in his usual “I-love-everybody-and-I’m-quite-sure-everybody-loves-me-too” 3-year-old way, talked to everybody he could see when standing up in our booth. And then, when socializing got too much and he needed a break, he flopped down on the cushion to take a quick nap before popping back up to continue his conversations. Luckily, everybody there smiled patiently and thought to themselves, “I would never allow MY children to behave like that out in public,” seemed equally as delighted to share their lunch hour with the Captain, so it all turned out okay. And I have to apologize for the lack of photos here. I’ve got a new camera — a Nikon P90S or something — that I’m still figuring out how to use. My centuries-old Kodak EasyShare was a clunker in comparison, and I’m unlearning all the quirky bad habits I had to develop to work around the Kodak’s limitations. It’s as if my new camera can actually read my thoughts and KNOW what I want to do before I actually do it. This means I have to think nice thoughts such as “Oh, the light is lovely there so I need to press the shutter NOW” instead of “Why won’t this #$%^& shutter press when I want it to?” It’s a challenge.
Proof that I Actually Can Sometimes Every Once in a While Cook
Okay. Here’s a test for book-club members. My four-woman group recently read a newly published book about family relationships that’s been making the rounds lately. (Side note: We were
sort of “meh” about it, but more on that later.) It was my turn to host, and since at our mettings we always try to outdo and impress each other prepare a meal that ties in to the book we’ve read, I felt as if I’d hit the jackpot because one of the main characters in this book is a chef. Food descriptions are scattered throughout, and, honestly, we all agreed that they were the best part of this book. Anyway, I took my cue from the book and made, among other things, Elvis Cookies (roasted banana ice cream sandwiched between peanut butter cookes and rolled in caramelized bacon) and a spinach frittata. So the question is: What book did we read? If you’ve been keeping up with book-club news, you should get it. Of course, the other question is: Did anybody actually believe I’d made this entire meal myself, all by myself? As a widely known non-cook, I can understand folks’ skepticism. After all, while I worked in the kitchen that day, my husband anxiously kept asking me, “Honey? What are you doing? Do you feel okay?” and my fellow book-club members were stunned into silence when they saw their plates. At least, I think that’s why they didn’t say anything as they were eating.
These Are Not Your Mother’s Maternity Clothes — But If They Are, Ask If You Can Borrow Them
Have you seen maternity clothes lately? If you didn’t know these photos were taken in a baby/maternity boutique,
would you have guessed? These are from Older Daughter’s current favorite shopping destination — Posh Mommy, in Madison, Ala. At close to seven months pregnant with 3-year-old grandson Capt. Adorable’s younger brother, she ends up here anytime she’s got a few spare minutes. Her favorite part of the store is the baby and children’s sections – more on that later — but she’ll still wander through the maternity aisles and point out her favorites. However, always the practical one, she won’t let me buy her one of these pretty dresses since, as she says, “I don’t go to an office anymore and I just wear yoga pants and t-shirts all the time so you should save your money.” But she looks beautiful and glowing in whatever she wears, and since she generally has better financial sense than I do, I keep nagging her to try something on until she gets irritated and goes to look at receiving blankets graciously give in and do what she wants. Back to my original questions, though. Did you realize maternity clothes now are practically indistinguishable from regular clothes? I first noticed this trend four years ago during our first round of maternity shopping, but this time it’s even more pronounced. And I think I know why: Maternity clothes have become much more stylishly mainstream in the past 30 years or so (combining runway details with hidden expanding-tummy tricks) and, at the same time, regular clothes have become much more maternity-like (with empire waists, soft fabrics and flowing lines). It’s as if the two met in the middle and created a love-child of chic and sexy yet comfortably wearable non-maternity maternity wear. And yoga pants.
How Many Women Does It Take To Host a Bridal Shower?
Answer: Five — one to be the decorator, one to be the chef, 
one to lose her car keys, one to obsess about the eggs getting cold and one to be the calm and peaceful center of it all — and she was the one whose house we had invaded. Five of us gathered together this weekend to host a brunch/shower for the bride-to-be daughter of another dear friend, and it was a great success. There were a few chaotic moments, naturally. Such as when we first were faced with an empty table and no real traffic-flow plan. Or when each of us at different times couldn’t find our A) phones, B) car keys or C) shoes. Or when one of our daughters — who shall remain nameless — asked the hostessing moms in honest curiosity, “Uh … what was y’all’s color scheme, again?” (This was the event for which we exuberantly made lots of tissue-paper flowers. Lots of them. In whatever colors of tissue paper we could score on sale find to match the lovely Gail Pittman dishes one of us bravely offered up.) But it all came together and our enthusiastic abundance of various colors saved us tons of money simply underscored the joyous celebration. And the idea from our chief chef to serve scrambled eggs in martini glasses and let guests add toppings was genius. Genius! So much fun, and of course the scrambled eggs stayed toasty warm in the chafing dish as promised. Add to that fresh fruit, cheese, and a variety of breads along with the local must-have of delicate almond-flavored petit fours and we had a delicious and pretty menu. It was as much fun for us, the hostesses, as it was for everybody else — and that’s the best kind of party to have. The mimosas helped, too.
Coffee with Cathy 