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Zucchini Fritters, Week Twenty-Eight in the No Longer New Abnormal
It’s sweltering outside. The humidity and the temperature are high. Though I have a good number of chores to get done, I’m choosing to spend this time writing this blog in air conditioning. I haven’t planned what I’ll write, so as unoriginal as it is, I’ve started by mentioning the weather. Inspiration is not forthcoming. I just walked away to go into the kitchen. I cubed and toasted bread to make breadcrumbs to go with the zucchini I purchased today at the farmer’s market. In fact, the bread came from there last week. I‘m making zucchini fritters. The eggs that go in the mix come from another stall at the farmer’s market. I didn’t see the right onions, so I’ll have to go out for them. I so enjoy the sweet and savory combination of the fritters.
Procrastinate, Week Four in the No Longer New Abnormal
“Procrastinate now, don't put it off.”
― Ellen DeGeneres
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I spent yesterday procrastinating. I cooked, I baked, I looked things up online. What I didn’t do was tally my expenses for budgeting and taxes. I am not fond of bookkeeping. Nonetheless, I was able to sit down and focus after I did everything I could to avoid the inevitable. It wasn’t as bad as I anticipated. Nor was it as fun as taking the day off.
Mother's Day Ambivalence, The Nineteenth Week in the Second Year of the New Abnormal
I, like many, have mixed feelings about Mother’s Day.
As a daughter I knew that I loved my mom, and I also yearned for her acceptance, spending far too much of my babysitting money to bask in the momentary approval of an expensive Mother’s Day gift. I’d set up Arlene’s Kitchen, honoring our mom. It was a made-up restaurant in our home with hand-written menus for the family. Nervous about what I might cook, I’d prep all the possibilities from eggs, any type of French toast or bagels & lox. As down home as those brunches were, they were followed by the certainty that my clean-up techniques would be met with inevitable disapproval. No one could make a countertop shine like my mom.
Swimming on Vacation, The Fourth Week of the Second Year of the New Abnormal
I swam for an hour, my head submerged in the warm pool with tiny, wavy prisms, iridescent in the sun-drenched water. The luxury of having a pool to myself is priceless. Being able to move seamlessly underwater, thanks to my swimmers’ mask, allows me to stay beneath the surface, enjoying what I’d describe as a meditation in motion.
On Repeat, Week Sixteen in the New Abnormal
What I'm Not
We just took a trip to a resort in Punta Cana, in the Dominican Republic. It was beautiful. The weather was warm and clear, and everyone was friendly. I wanted to enjoy this vacation. Last year was hard and I was looking forward to some R&R. But the food, though plentiful, went from bland to awful. The amenities promised were elusive or not as advertised. The other travelers seemed to be content, but I couldn’t help notice the missing details, the absence of my desired holiday away. I would go for a run on the beach, grateful for the easy breeze, and the laps of the ocean. Yet, I kept thinking of all the things I didn’t like about being...
Back to the Basics
I learned to iron from my mom, but not before I scorched a shirt or two. Cotton and Polyester were the fabrics of my childhood. And, although I liked my Danskin striped shirts and ribbed pleated pants, cotton was the classier choice for anything other than playing in our Haddontown neighborhood. When inside I had chores, one of which was the ironing.
I would set up the creaky ironing board in the kitchen close to the counter with the electrical outlet. And then I’d carefully plug in the Sunbeam, aqua iron until it was hot enough to smooth away the folds. I would iron my father’s shirts for work, my sister’s and my blouses, leaving the trickier ironing of dresses to my...
