Gisele and I – Soul Sisters

giseleI suppose that by now, you guys all think that I hate anyone richer and more successful than I am, but that would be almost everyone, so that isn’t true.

Actually, I like Gisele Bundshen a lot. She has worked very hard to get to the very top of a fiercely competitive business. She speaks like five languages fluently, she is very well-read on many topics, and seems to be a very devoted mother.

Yes, she is married to superstar QB Tom Brady, a man even more stunning than she. g&tThat sounds like enough, but I don’t think it’s a walk in

the park to be married to a man who is so thoroughly committed to such demanding standards. Reportedly, she wakes up at 3 AM to find him reviewing game tapes, and this is in the off-season.


Gisele’s book has just come out. Before the first printing, it cost a mere $700, and it was sold out before it came into print! If you don’t believe me; :

Yeah, I know I need to learn how to do the “click here” thing. Anyway, you can now get it on Amazon for under $50. BTW, props to her for donating all the proceeds to charity. Even though she already has oogobs of money, there are a lot of celebs who would have kept it, so good on Gisele.

To get back to the story, G is off on a publicity tour to flog what I am sure is a gorgeous book. She recently told People magazine that she was rejected 42 times before she got an Alexander McQueen gig that launched her career. So, don’t be discouraged, America. Even the Queen of the Catwalk was told it was a no-go – 42 times.

You know what, Gisele? I’ll see your 42 and raise you by about a million.

I get rejected for shit that I don’t even understand.

  1. Not too long ago, one of the better marketing firms sent me an email to get preliminary info re an upcoming focus group study. After name, age, blah blah, the first question was, “What is the 7th month of the year?” Like a fool, I typed in “July.”

Next screen pops up with – “You are disqualified!” I swear to you! I checked the calendar twice. It IS July!

2. I have submitted articles to many, many different places, magazines, web sites, newsletters, etc. Almost always, they are rejected with some form letter. However, one editor (of an online ezine!) had the balls to tell me that my piece was so bad that she had to ask me not to send any more. THEN, she went on to say that my characters, sentence structure, and content were not up to their level of excellence. May I note here that they had not even published their first issue?

HOWEVER, she said that if I cut the piece by at least 2/3 and followed her detailed changes, maybe…just maybe I could make the cut, and while no money was involved, I would have “bragging rights.” Yeah, honey, I’ll be talking THAT up down at the Quickee-Sack.

3. A while ago, I was asked to write a piece published on one of the rescue websites/newsletter. When I later submitted it to a dog magazine, I got a really nasty email, telling me that I plagiarized the piece and this submission could be actionable as I had agreed to only submit original work, and this was already written. Yes, you fucking moron! It was written – BY ME! Look at the name!

4. I did get a rejection once that was kind of a compliment. A guy in my Italian class asked me out for a drink after class, during which he told me that now that he could really look at me, I wouldn’t do. He said that nice-looking women are bitches that will ruin your life and that he didn’t find me to be a good “candidate.” Didn’t he see me in class? He kind of scared me.

So, HE asked ME out – and I got rejected.

Do we really need to go into the rejections in my assisted living years? No, I didn’t think so. Some of them are just depressing and who needs that?

MY POINT is that I think just as Liz Taylor and I had a moment when I sold her that eye shadow so many years ago, Gisele and I share a bond. Yes, a deep personal bond – several, actually. We are both women. We are both married to men named Tom. That’s pretty much where it ends.

Oh, yeah – the rejection thing. That’s the tie that binds.

Gwyneth Paltrow – Bitch, please..

GwenethGwyneth Paltrow is said to be one of the most disliked people in Hollywood. I guess she is not only rude to everyone, she hugely gets on people’s nerves because of the ridiculous things she says (remember when she and Chris Martin decided to “consciously uncouple?”), and the useless, expensive products she sells via GOOP.

GOOP (her initials) is what she calls her brand. It covers a whole lifestyle. All it requires is that you:

  1. Be a multi-millionaire
  2. Have an unlimited amount of time on your hands

In the interest of having a clue of what it is all about, I looked at a couple of her Goop Newsletters.

In these, Gwyneth shares her tips for living. She generously shared a recipe for “Beauty Milk”. The ingredients include pumpkin seed milk, Moon Pantry tocotrienols, lucuma, schisandra berry and PEARL.

This may be shocking, but I was unable to find even one of these things at my local Market Basket. I guess the beauty milk will have to wait.

1. The last time Tom and I had a vacation, we spent three days of freezing our asses off in Maine because it was the only time of year that we could afford a motel near the water. If you’re thinking of getting away from it all for a bit, I recommend you take a look at GOOP first.

Gwyneth suggests a stylish tent in the Kalahari desert in Botswana for some R & R. Check it out.

2. Her products include such low-cost accessories such as:

skull_gallery_primaryEnamel skull pendant – $1,500

earringsEarrings – $1,250 one is the word love and the other is a safety pin.

throw_gallery_primaryA $900 throw

3. Finally, if you take anything away from today’s post, let it be this – Gwyneth revealed that she steam cleans her vagina. I think this bears repeating.
She Steam Cleans Her Vagina.

She shared that Mugwort V-Steam is her favorite beauty treatment at some Korean spa in LA.

Mugwort V-Steam. It sounds like a provocative encounter with Harry Potter, doesn’t it?

And I think I’m really pushing the envelope when I get a pedicure.



More Martha – Someone Stop Me!

MarthaWhy can’t I get enough of this woman? I have no intention of doing any of the crazy stuff she does, like the time she fashioned massive (MASSIVE) balls out of the depleted grape vines from her vineyard. Then, she festooned them with thousands of lights and crystals.

How she got them hung is a mystery, because the trees were gigantic, as they would have to be to accommodate the size of these orbs. Of course, she had the trees – rare, and hundreds of years old. The result was jaw-dropping. There is no doubt that they were visible from any space station orbiting the stratosphere.

I laughed out loud when Martha made some dish, and said, “This honey is from my own hives, but any quality honey will do.”

Who says stuff like that? And from whom else would it sound so right?! Of course, Martha has a professional beekeeper on staff. She probably doesn’t slap on the old net and lift combs out of the swarms herself, but you know she could if she had to.

I wanted to smack her one, though, when she smirked at an interviewer and said, “I don’t have a microwave.” You know damn well she didn’t think we should have one either.  If there is one amongst you, my reading public, who says that she has not stood in front of your microwave, tapping your foot – you lie. Yeah. I said it.

I learned this a while back in an article in USA Today. We learned a lot of the nitty-gritty of Martha’s inner life. I suspect that Martha has dark depths that no one has dared to plumb, but who knows? Still waters run deep. I’m just sayin’.


– We learned that Martha has forty sets of dishes. Forty! Sets of dishes. They are neatly stored. I have one and maybe 1/3 sets, which I sometimes have to wash because I need to use them. Presumably, said sets of dishes have myriad combinations of tablecloths and napkins to go with them. I found an old package of paper cocktail napkins this past Thanksgiving Day. They had turkeys on them, so thought I was the cat’s ass.

– Martha does not order out pizza. She did it once and didn’t like it. Well, I’m sorry, but that’s just un-American.

– She makes her Christmas gifts, like hand-sewn silk-lined scarves. For me, hand done is if I hand it to someone.

– There is a proper way to iron a monogram. This is good to know because if I ever a) have anything with a monogram or b) find the iron, I can call it up on YouTube.

– She gets up early to rollerblade with her dogs. Maybe I can teach my dogs to rollerblade, too.

It’s for shit-sure, I’M not strapping them on. That has emergency room written all over it.

– Martha says we need preparation and organization, and I can proudly say that I am already making inroads to Thanksgiving preparation. I already hand-dipped the leftover yams in gold paint to be part of the centerpiece come November.

I wasn’t going to tell you this because I don’t want you feel inadequate, but I not only boiled the turkey carcass for soup; I turned it upside down, and fired up the Bedazzler. It will make a nice holder for pine cones and juniper sprigs come December.

– I didn’t get this through Martha, but am thinking of submitting the idea to her magazine. What do you think of votive candles in the toilet when guests come over? Pros? Cons? I put this one to you, gentle reader. Your thoughts?

– Martha says even the most wealthy and influential of her friends want to know how to remove stains and properly fold a towel. Martha – get new friends.

Martha is very tech-savvy. Note: this has probably been a wonderful thing for her, because I imagine that making your own paper can probably get old after a while.

She has her own drone. I am not kidding. According to The New Yorker, she sends it all over her estate and farmland and it takes amazing aerial photos. When asked if it didn’t annoy her neighbors, Martha chuckled merrily, and said, “I don’t have any neighbors.”

Of course, whenever she cooks anything, she point to a beautiful array of multi-colored eggs which her own chickens have laid. She can tell you the genus of each chicken. I know that someday one of them will lay a Faberge.

She went on to mold some craft that she discovered in Turkmenistan, but no worries because you can find the supplies at any Turkmenistany craft store.

Now, I could lie and say that I’ll never post about Martha again, but you know that won’t happen. It won’t happen because she keeps upping her game. Martha just keeps discovering and getting more outrageous, and I love it.

I keep threatening to do some crazy Martha thing someday. My present thought is to turn my living room into a continuous mural of the Industrial Revolution to commemorate Labor Day. I don’t know if it will happen, though.

September seems awfully soon.


You Learn Something New Every Day…..

pose-personaYoga. No wonder it’s been around for thousands of years.

I have been looking for and experimenting with many ways to alleviate stress and pain for years. The most recent being medial block injections. I found the process to be SO not worth the results. I was discouraged. UNTIL……..


One day, I noticed a little studio set back on one of my side streets. It was a little yoga studio, and some force just drew me in. The woman let me pay on a sliding scale and I took my first class.

I was terrible at it, but I didn’t care. It was almost love at first sight. After one class that centered on stress relief, I felt better than I had in a long time. I hadn’t gone very far with the stretches, but what I had done felt amazing. The whole concept of yoga is so gentle and yet so strong.

Even though, I am not coordinated, or limber, or young, I don’t worry about what anyone thinks. That’s one of the beauties of yoga – acceptance, including acceptance of ones own self. I am starting to just get a glimmer of the whole body and mind connection and how they can work in tandem to bring relief, not just of the physical pain, but of the emotional as well. Chakras, poses, terms, so much to learn.

Sadly, the woman who owned the studio decided she wanted to get more into other things and closed the studio. OH, NO!

When she closed, I figured I would just take myself to the library for a video for home. I chose a DVD that clearly indicated that the yoga content was a) for older people, and b) for beginners. Hahahahaha!

You would have to be in Circque du Soleil to complete this routine. I could not figure out how they expected you to get in these poses. I couldn’t figure out how THEY got into the poses. It was ridiculous, and would have been funny, but I wonder how many people tried this, and were discouraged.

Try the Peggy Cappi series. She really does make it more accessible to the beginner. In my case, it is difficult to get in the zone with a dog licking my face, but I try to focus anyway. is also a great source of information. Check it out. You have nothing to lose but your stress and pain.

Note: Clearly, that is not a photo of me above. That would not end well.



Those Crazy Brits

unionLet me start off by saying that I am a HUGE Anglophile. I love all things British, always have. The first time I went, I was in London, turned a corner, and there was Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament. I burst into tears.

To see this magnificent structure that I have only ever seen in pictures overwhelmed me. I couldn’t believe it was right before my eyes.

Weeping copiously, I said to my friend, “I’m sorry. I’m just so thrilled by all this.” She said, “Don’t worry. I can see you’re having a wonderful time.” Meanwhile, I am almost hyperventilating.

Anyway, here are a few things that just slay me about the Brits:

1. I LOVE the word “whinging.” Americans don’t know what it means, but the next time I go to England, I plan to work it into the conversation every chance I get.

2. Clotted cream. We can’t get it here. A friend came to visit me from London last month, so I went all out and researched how to do a real English tea. I made scones – MADE SCONES! Then, I realized that scones suck without clotted cream and some sort of preserve. So, I followed the directions, put heavy cream in a low oven – for 12 hours!

The end result was a mass of stuff that looked like a white blob with a life of its own. It was sort of undulating at me, daring me. No, I didn’t serve it. The birds enjoyed the scones.

3. Names of towns – seriously, people. What’s up with Booby Dingle?

4. We want to sound like you. Note to Americans – stop it! You will only sound stupid. My friend was there for a matter of hours and sounded like the Queen was her Aunt Betty.

5. A chip sandwich is an actual menu item.

6. Do you guys still ship convicts to Australia? Send them to New Jersey. That’ll fix ’em.

7. Cheese Rolling – Now, I understand this takes place in May in the Cotswolds. The object seems to be rolling a huge wheel of cheese down a hill and trying to catch it. If you win, do you get to keep the cheese?

8. I’m sorry, but I watch a lot of BBC, and there is nothing more depressing than you people at the beach. The weather is always cold and raw, and there is no actual sand. The Atlantic always looks gray and foreboding, but God love ya – you’re going to catch some rays if it kills you.

There always seems to be a sad little amusement venue and a fish and chip shop gasping its last. Also, a lot of people bundled up in wheelchairs.

9. Morris Dancing – don’t even get me started.

10. Marmite. Yeah, I said it. Really?

11. Cricket – when does it start? And more importantly, when the f**k does it end?

I will probably go and do another post just for the TV and films. How can a people produce such masterpieces as “The Imitation Game” and still get a kick out of Bennie Hill?

Anyway, I love, love, love the British and the country. I can’t wait to go again, this time with my beloved. Maybe we’ll go to the Cotswolds in May. It’s that whole cheese thing.

My Wonderful #1

IMAG0037Today, I would like to talk about my beautiful sister, Carol. We lost her to cancer on October 17, 2015. I think of her every day and feel the loss when I realize that I won’t be calling her in PA after walking the dogs, or texting her during Patriots games.
I refuse get all sappy and maudlin, because she would hate that. And I would hate doing that, spouting platitudes and meaningless accolades. I love and understand her too much for that.
I choose to celebrate her life, to marvel at the person she was, to believe (and I do) that she is still with us. A spirit like that can never be gone. Energy like that can never be destroyed. I know she still guides and inspires me daily. I know that like I know the sun rises in the East.
As she was the first born, I always called her #1, and she was – in every way. She called me Leezie (my middle name is Lee).
Carol didn’t judge. She had a seemingly inexhaustible supply of compassion and understanding, even when circumstances were beyond anything with which she had first-hand knowledge. She felt all should be forgiven and all given a second (or third or fourth) chance.
She had four sisters, five children, many grandchildren, and too many friends to count. She was a brilliant artist with her handwork, quilting, knitting, embroidery, rug braiding. She was a teacher, a coach, a reader, a cook, a walker, an animal rescuer. She maintained a zest for life, even in difficult times. Her interests and hobbies were many, but she always left her mind open to learning – always learning.
Faith means a great many things to a great many people, and she incorporated the Lord’s teachings into her life so totally. She worked hard at it, but she LIVED it. That’s the thing. She lived it. She didn’t talk AT you about it.
#1 was my loyal champion. She knew my faults and accepted that they were a part of me, but she recognized the good as well, and loved me for who I am. When she loved you, she never forsook you. It was a total embrace, flaws and all. We are all works in progress.
Carol inspires me on a daily basis. It was through her that I learned to just let a lot of things go, to experience the enormous freedom that happens when you let go of anger and hurt, the power of forgiveness.  People are going to do what they want to do and think what they want to think. There is nothing you can do about it. The only thing you can change is how you react to them.
One of the best things she ever said was, “Don’t go where you are tolerated, Leezie, go where you are celebrated.” And I do.
She actually made the world a better place. How many people can say that?

A Dish Best Served Cold

revengeNo, it’s not a recipe piece. I’m talking about revenge. Is it worth it? Not worth it? I guess it all depends on what has been done to whom. I am personally in the school of thought that preaches that living well truly is the best revenge. Let the sons of bitches and naysayers stew that you are still standing. I say, screw ’em.

But enough about me.

Just recently, Tom and I watched a British show, called “Injustice.” What a great show, and it made me start thinking about the concept of revenge.

Years ago, I saw a talk show (Mike Douglas? Merv?) and the guest had written a book on things people have done for revenge. My fave rave was this one: A Hollywood director had tired of his live-in girlfriend. He had to go to Europe for a film shoot and told her before he left that when he returned, he wanted her gone. Any signs of her, gone.

In short order, it dawned on him that it was a monumentally stupid thing to do because she could have trashed his house, stolen stuff, burned it down to the ground. So, he called a friend to go over, look through the windows for any damage, and just keep an eye on the house in general.

When he returned, all seemed in order, but as he toured the rooms, he heard very faint voices. He finally located the source. It seems that the young lady had dialed the time in Hong Kong and left the phone off the hook. It had been a call lasting for weeks, and the guy had to pay a bill of something like $36,000. Probably over $100,000 today. Brilliant!

I have never personally resorted to revenge in any MAJOR sort of way, but I do love that whole vigilante vibe when it is warranted.

And who decides if it’s warranted? I do. In my head. So, while I wouldn’t condone violence, I do love stories of retribution.

Note: The Count of Monte Cristo remains one of my favorite books of all time – the ultimate story of premeditated revenge. Awesome book. I must have read it a dozen times over the years.

Here are a couple that I have personally known about, and in which, I may or may not have assisted.

A very close personal friend of mine was leaving XYZ Inc, of which I have previously spoken in another post. If you read it, you won’t be surprised by this. She had been a model employee, taking on all sorts of extra duties because she was very competent and helpful. Her reward for this was more work and more abuse from more people to whom she had to report.

She eventually got fed up, sent out resumes, and found another job. During her two-week notice, she was told to set up a cocktail reception for prospective investors. The spread included a huge bowl of champagne/vodka punch, which I think was supposed to make our product look better than it was.

Anyway, upon set-up, my friend added a large dose of tincture of gentian to the punch bowl. I looked it up on WebMD, and it does have a lot of health benefits, but it also turns your urine blue. Sometimes green.

Now, I can see how bright blue pee would be disconcerting to anyone. Or even green. The party ended fairly early. I volunteered to stay and clean up, purely for the fun of watching people leave the restrooms. The faces were priceless. I wish we had cell phones in those days.

One friend of a friend left her company after an unpleasant experience of sexual discrimination. She truly deserved a promotion for which she was eminently qualified. They had passed her over for a member of the boys’ club who was a total moron. So, she decided to move on.

In her office, the cubicles were made of that white piping with caps. She stayed late on her last night to “tie up loose ends.” She popped the cap off of every single corner of every single cubicle, and dropped an egg in each one. The company spent a fortune finding the problem and gutting the entire purchasing department.

In that same vein, another girlfriend, who was unceremoniously dumped by her creep of a boyfriend, broke into the other woman’s house (where the creep was living) and put a hunk of Limburger cheese in all the light fixtures.

Now, I had never personally smelled Limburger cheese, and I don’t even know where she got it. But since I was driving the getaway car, I got to smell it. I can only describe it as a cross between trenchfoot and terminal flatulence.

Smell it once and marvel that at some point in history, someone smelled this and thought it a good idea to put it in their mouth.

My college roommate once went to a shoe repair shop, bought a biggest heel she could find, wrapped it with a note that said, “Roses are red, and so is your blood.” Yikes! She’s an eye surgeon now.

All in all, even if you don’t do anything about someone who done you wrong, just letting them know that you are still around and doing fine is all you need. Sometimes.



Baking Bad


I am a terrible baker. I can rock a flaky pie crust like nobody’s business, but aside from that, my baked goods suck. Whenever a recipe has certain words, there won’t be a happy ending. Like these:

1. Grease and flour – anything

2. Room temperature butter. What the hell temperature are people’s rooms?! My butter stays hard as a rock unless it’s August, when I’m not preheating that oven for nobody.

3. Unsalted butter. Then, there is always salt listed in the recipe. It makes no sense to me. Like DNA.

4. Any kind of peaks – do we ever really know if a peak is sufficiently stiff?

5. Yeast – we’ve never been close.

6. Fold in gently – I am a nervous wreck. No matter how gently I fold, those little bastards are deflating by the nanosecond.

I just don’t need the pressure.

Freud said that the definition of insanity is to repeat the same behavior, while hoping for a different result. I must be out of my mind, because every 6 months or so, I give it another whirl.

I haven’t baked since Thanksgiving, so it’s time for my semi-annual baked good fiasco. Mercury must be in retrograde or something.

So, today I am once again Baking Bad, and want you to come along. If you see anything untoward, let me know.

My friend took me out for dinner, and we had cardamom ice cream for dessert. Cardamom!!! Who knew? Not me. It was just the loveliest flavors EVER! So, today, we shall attempt

Orange Cardamom Yogurt Cake – here are the ingredients: Now let’s get into the kitchen and rattle them pots and pans, shall we?


Pan – buttered and floured, excess tapped out – check


Flour, sugar, salt, cardamom, whisked in bowl – check


Orange zest grated – check


It’s batter – and we’re goin’ in – check


Overdone. I was on the phone – checkIMAG0332


Taste test – eh. Not too exciting. I can’t taste the cardamom and it needs a glaze. Grand Marnier will do wonders.

PS – it did.

It’s Just A Matter Of Time




porch-rocking-chairs-103This blog has gone in a different direction than originally intended. Instead of it being instructional or a forum for the older person, it has become the ruminations of my life, and I realize that I am on a greased pole to geezerhood.

If I had a bigger porch, I would have a rocker on it and sit out and whittle little animals out of soap.

It’s going to be a short ride to waving a cane and yelling, “Get off my lawn, you damn kids!” I’m kind of looking forward to it.

When I started this blog, it was with the intention of bringing about awareness. I wanted writing it to be a therapeutic tool. I wanted to share the reality of retirement and its challenges with others, and perhaps hear other experiences. I wanted to let others know that they have not been put out to pasture, that life is not done with them yet.

The last ten years or so have been brutal, and I got so tired of trying. I was so drained, comatose, with not one shred of fight left. Gone, or so I thought.

However, I was blessed, so very blessed with support and love. Some of my loved ones were always there for me. Some, not so much. It has been a learning experience, and not always a good one. No matter how jaded you think you have become, you find that you can still be devastated by someone’s cruelty, judgement, or abandonment. For your own protection, ennui becomes your friend.

Whenever that has happened to me, I actually am embarrassed. I think I have been through enough to know better, to trust less, to question more, to not be tricked again. And yet, I can still be brought up short by something I witness or hear of or experience myself.

I am not much wiser in my dotage, but I do know this. For all the physical and mental problems you may face, FIGHT. And keep on fighting.

If you look, you will find that you do have love in your life. I hope that includes love of self, and THAT, my friend, is what is worth fighting for.

A Little Knowledge Really Is A Dangerous Thing


Thai flagWhen I worked in the city, I took the train everyday. Over the years, I became friendly with a group of women who took the same train. We would chat and occasionally go for coffee or a drink after work. In this group, there was a woman named Jeannie. She swore she never cooked. Ever.
I asked her how she managed to raise three children to adulthood, but she said she only bought stuff frozen, boxed, or ready-made.
Once she told me that she had made a BLT, so I jumped on her with, “So, you must have made bacon.” No. She used Bacos. Bacos! Those awful-tasting bits of simulated nastiness that are supposed to pass for bacon in salads or on baked potatoes. She may as well have used Beggin’ Strips.
It came to pass that Jeannie’s son became engaged to a young lady from Thailand. It being traditional that the groom’s family host the rehearsal dinner, we just assumed that it would be held in a restaurant.
Jeannie told us that in an effort to please the fiance and her parents, who were here from Thailand for the wedding, she was going to have Thai food. Now, our little town has two excellent Thai restaurants, so we thought, what a nice idea. The bride’s family would surely appreciate the gesture, and enjoy the food and ambiance.
We were not prepared for Jeannie’s announcement that she herself was going to do the cooking. What? We all thought she was kidding, and laughed uproariously. Jeannie’s idea of going all out was toasting an Eggo, not just thawing it.
She wasn’t kidding.
In the words of Mary, another member of the Train Gang, “What the (bleep) are you thinking, Jeannie?”
Her rejoinder was, “Well, Janet says if you can read, you can cook.” All (accusing) eyes turned to me.
Well, yes. I had said that once or twice. I knew that somehow, this debacle in the making was going to be my fault. Scene closes.
Note: I’m no Julia Child, but I am a competent home cook, enjoy doing it, and have been for 40+ years. Even so, I would never dream of preparing a meal for a large crowd, knowing nothing about the techniques or ingredients of another culture.
Scene opens. Jeannie’s back yard. The Train Gang had been invited to this event, much to our chagrin. Jeannie said she wanted us to come for “moral support.”
The yard did look lovely. There were candles floating in the pool with flowers around the bases and torches for lighting. There was a nice bar with some fruit, cheese, and assorted crackers (from Stop & Shop.) Cocktail hour went really well, and everyone was enjoying themselves until the buffet table was laid and all were called to dig in.
Now, I could make this story a lot longer, but won’t. I’ll just come out and say it. It was the Hindenburg of meals. Jeannie presided at the head of the table, serving people. She had made Thai sticky rice and had decided to pack it in loaf pans. The operative word here is “pack.” She unmolded them for ease of serving. Have you ever had a slice of rice? You haven’t lived.
Next stop – curry! Two kinds! The first one was red, and Jeannie said it may be “a little spicy.” I don’t know what was in it, but it must never be allowed in the hands of America’s enemies. It gave new meaning to the term, “not a dry eye in the house.” There was no full-on weeping, but tears were shed.
Oh boy, another kind of curry! This was he sweet one. Jeannie had discovered the whole sweet-salty-sour-bitter balance thing and this was to counterbalance the heat of the other curry. She had doubled up on the pineapple concentrate and condensed coconut milk.
If you weren’t already crying from the red one, you could have gone into a hyperglycemic shock from the white one. In the name of all that is holy, give me another slice of rice!!
I wish I could report that no one got hurt, but Jeannie was unaware that if you are working with peppers that are really hot, you have to be careful about touching your eye area. One half of her head was bandaged as the capsaicin had temporarily blinded her in one eye.
The wedding was the next day, and although the swelling had gone down somewhat, the blisters were still weeping and she had to keep the bandage over it. Leaking pus can be very off-putting in a receiving line.
 Her solution was to borrow this very elaborate hat from Mary. It had flowers and a veil, which she tilted rather rakishly, I thought.
The doctor at the emergency clinic had prescribed some pretty powerful pain meds, so to get a mental picture, think of Bluebeard celebrating Gay Pride Day, stoned out of his mind. That’s the most accurate description I can think of.
Oh, well – the wedding went off without a hitch, and Jeannie did regain full sight in that eye. So, all’s well that ends well, but I’ll bet that dinner was the talk of Bangkok for some time.