Who Da Cook?

The other night I cooked. 

“Big Deal, Jane,” you’re probably saying to yourself – right? Well, for me, it IS a big deal.

For one thing, it’s hard to muster the energy to cook for one.

And for another, I still haven’t located most of my pots and pans. I have one large wok, a soup pot and a Dutch oven in my cupboard. I do have all of the lids for the rest of my cookware in the cupboard as well.

But the balance of my pots and pans are apparently buried in the abyss that is the garage.  I’m guessing they are in a box on the bottom of some pile.

And I’m not interested in going out there and trying to find them. Someone would find me in late February in a frozen rictus holding up a 10” non-stick pan in triumph, but by then it would be too late.

So I’m waiting for a spring thaw before handling that major chore.

Nevertheless, I made do with the cookware I have available and made a pot of chili.

I have never proclaimed to be a good cook. That was Vince’s domain. He could take whatever odds and ends we had in the pantry and the fridge and make something good out of it.

But me? I have a few set dishes I prepare fairly well and I stick to them. I’m pretty darn good at making party foods. And I can throw together a salad like nobody’s business.

But God forbid that I don’t have a specific ingredient on-hand for one of my stock dishes. I either have to make an emergency Kroger run – or I don’t make the dish.

I do not wing it.

At any rate, I had bought a package of ground beef thinking I would make a pan of lasagna (another one of my staples because my dad liked it and that's who I primarily made it for). 

It's important to note that I would never offer lasagna to any of my Italian friends because  they would scoff at my store-bought noodles and sauce from a jar. Trust me. I know my limitations in the kitchen.

Since my father-in-law is not that picky, I figured I would bring my lasagna and share it with him over the weekend. And what I mean by saying he’s “not that picky” is that he’s pretty much happy if (a) someone makes food or (b) someone brings him food.

The only problem was that the weather report predicted yet another snowfall, and I didn’t want to drive over the river and through the woods. I don’t, after all, have a sleigh. And I wasn’t going to grandmother’s house, anyway – so that was just plain silly.

Besides, I discovered that the box of lasagna noodles I had was more like noodle dust. Evidently, those delicate sheets of wheat and, well, whatever lasagna noodles are made of, didn’t survive the move. (Wonder if I should make a damage claim with the moving company? Nah. I think I’ll just suffer the $1.95 loss.)

Normally, my response to not being able to prepare the dish I’d planned is to let the ground beef sit in the fridge until it looks disgusting and even a starving person would turn up their nose at it. And then I’d finally throw it away all the while feeling guilty at being so wasteful.

But I’m trying to be a more responsible adult here. And since I had all the ingredients to make chili, that’s what I did.

I opened cans of tomato sauce and paste and beans and diced tomatoes. I cooked the beef and added spices.

Now – if Vince were here – he would stop me right about this point and remind us all that ketchup is about as spicy as I get.

Haha.

And, okay, so that’s basically true. But I did use a package of mild chili seasoning. And I added garlic and onion. And I was perfectly happy with how non-spicy my chili was.

Now when I would make chili for Vince, I’d have to make two pots. One small one for me as described above. And a bigger pot for him where I would throw in the spiciest spices I could find in the cupboard. I’d add so much I’d think I was making the food inedible.

But he’d always surprise me and say it still wasn’t spicy enough. (Insert eye rolling emoji here!) So he would add more cayenne, red pepper flakes and, if he had any on hand, some jalapenos or whatever really spicy peppers there are. You know – the kind that if you accidentally touched your eye without washing your hand after handling them, you’d be in for a world of hurt?

Yeah, those.  

Now, to be honest, I was sad that I wasn’t making two pots of chili. I had a moment where I had to sit down and regroup. But then I got up and soldiered on.

After the pot had simmered on the stove for a while, I ladled some into a bowl, added a little cheese and a dollop of sour cream and - I've gotta say - I truly enjoyed that bowl of chili!

Then, afterwards, I remembered why it is NOT fun to cook. The dreaded clean-up.

But, still. I figured I get an A for effort.

I have enough chili to get me through the winter. Some of it has already been stored in the freezer. But I suspect I will not be interested in making chili or eating it again until next January.

Maybe my second culinary effort will be chicken noodle soup?

Perhaps. I have the pot to make it in. And it would probably get me through February.

But first, I’ve gotta finish this chili.

Umm…anyone up for pizza?!

Let. Me. In!!

Last Thursday at 6:45 a.m. I groggily awoke to my alarm blaring and Maggie Minx whining. Time for the first of at least six walks of the day. For the dog – not the alarm clock. And most certainly not for me.

So I stumbled out of bed, walked to the front door and, in the dark, sleepily donned winter boots, heavy coat, gloves, scarf and ear muffs. I clipped the leash onto Maggie’s vest and out the front door we went.

Because I feel like I’m a well-prepared Girl Scout, I always have a flashlight and a fresh doggie poo bag at the ready in my right pocket. My cell phone is always in my left pocket in case I witness Armageddon outside my front door and must dial 911 – or I fall and need to call paramedics to check for broken bones and help me up.

Hey, it’s better to be prepared than not – am I right?!

It was a bitter 19 degrees out and I was not really thrilled to be walking in the dark. But I’ve thus far not been able to train Maggie Minx to use the commode – so frequent outside walks are a necessary evil.

After about 15 minutes, when Maggie had sniffed sufficiently and I had disposed of the now-used doggie bag in the handy dog poo receptacles provided by this community, we headed for home.

Maggie apparently had had enough of the bitter cold and was all ready for her morning chow – so she jumped up against the door in anticipation of heading inside to the warmth and her morning sustenance.

Only the door wouldn’t open.

I tried several times…and then with a sinking heart, realized that in the dark, I hadn’t moved the lower lock to the “unlock” position.

I don’t carry a spare key in my pocket either. Some Girl Scout I am, huh?

I never worried about locking myself out of our house because we had a keypad on the garage door as well as the front door. Thus, I rarely carried a house key. But at this new place? There isn’t a keypad in sight. Sigh.

At first, I leaned against the door in defeat for a few moments. A tear or two may have slipped out of my eyes, but I can’t tell for sure if it was sadness, frustration – or simply the blowing wind.

After heaving a huge sigh and forcing myself to think clearly for a moment, I realized I had the maintenance guy’s cell phone number in my list of contacts. So I texted him and told him I’d locked myself out and needed his help.

He responded that he was on his way in to work – but wouldn’t arrive until 8 a.m.

It was, at this point, 7:16 a.m. I had – at minimum – 44 minutes to endure the frigid elements.

Maggie wasn’t thrilled, but we turned around and walked for another 10 minutes. I figured moving was better than standing still. On the other hand, the wind was whipping. Despite my winter garb, I was getting very cold and I couldn’t imagine how my 10 pound Yorkie was faring.

I had met a total of four neighbors by this point and I walked by every one of their places to see if they had any lights on. They didn’t…and I didn’t feel comfortable knocking and possibly waking them up to come to my aid.

So we went back to my front door. I picked up Maggie and cradled her against the front door jamb. We were protected a bit from the wind – and that was a good thing.

Eventually, the maintenance man arrived and I was never so happy to see his little golf cart making its way to my driveway.

As he unlocked the door, he said, “This is for sure not the first time this has happened and it won’t be the last.”

With teeth chattering, I replied, “Uh, no. For me – buh-lieve me – it is!”

And that very day I headed to Home Depot to have half a dozen spare keys made. I vowed that I would sprinkle spare keys all around my yard. Sure, it isn’t going to be terribly safe, but – as God is my witness – I will never get locked out again!

And, yeah, I’m sort of kidding about putting keys all around my yard. I know that will wreak havoc on the lawn mower come spring. Besides, with all the snow we’ve had lately, I fear I wouldn’t be able to find any of them anyway.

But my very next purchase from Amazon was one of those little bungee key chains that I can slip over my wrist so I will always have a key on my person.

Good Girl Scout reputation restored. Whew!

Changes Afoot in Jane's Domain

I realized the other day that this past Christmas was the first year in my adult life that I didn’t send out a single holiday card or letter.

I had the cards. I had the stamps.

But I didn’t have the time.

I suspect that waiting until Christmas 2022 to update people about the goings on in Jane’s Domain in the months since my beloved Vince passed away is a little too far off.

So, folks, consider this my annual letter.

For one thing, I sold my house and moved. Yeah, I know. That’s actually a major thing and has consumed much of my time and energy in recent months.

I knew that the house Vince and I had happily lived in for nearly a decade was far too big and far too much responsibility to handle alone. And, honestly, I didn’t really want to live there without my Vince. Every morning I sat on the loveseat in our beautiful living room drinking my morning coffee without him made me incredibly
sad. 

So I spent several months decluttering and downsizing our belongings. And then I spent time cleaning, staging and making the place look as though nobody lived there.

Have you done this house selling thing recently? Egads. One cannot live in a house without daily messes – crumbs on the floor, damp towels hanging on the towel rack, dish soap and scrubbies on the edge of the sink.

So I made the bed every day as if a cranky drill sergeant planned to stop by and inspect by bouncing a quarter off it.

My solution to not having crumbs on the floor was simply not to cook or eat in the kitchen. Instead, I grabbed something from the fridge (those ready-to-eat salads were a lifesaver!) and took them in the car with me as Maggie Minx and I sat in various parking lots waiting for the showing to be over.

And my solution to never having damp towels on the towel rack was to never take a shower.

Oh, c’mon. I kid. I did take showers. Weekly.

No, really. If you must know, I took showers at night and then washed my towels right away so there was never evidence of a mere mortal living on the premises who required bathing.

As I did these things I smiled imagining what my parents would have been like if they’d tried selling their house while they were still living in it.

They would’ve pooh-poohed the idea of staging a home. They were fairly neat people, anyway, but they would never have removed the laundry detergent from the laundry room. (See? Nobody EVER has to do mundane chores such as laundry in this magical house!)

Mom and dad would have balked at removing family photos off the fireplace mantel or their wedding picture in its gilt frame that had graced mom’s dresser for over 50 years.

And if a realtor scheduled a showing while it was during their happy hour, I could just see them sitting in their family room with their glass of wine in hand telling potential buyers to ignore them. (But who knows? Perhaps mom and dad would’ve invited them to stick around for a drink!)

I, on the other hand, knew I wanted to show my home in the best possible light. And that meant that I had to polish and shine and scrub and clean daily – while at the same time continuing to pack and declutter and organize in anticipation of my upcoming move.

I was both grateful and sad when an offer was made on my house as I truly hated leaving my wonderful neighborhood. But I know that the friendships I made while we lived there will endure.

As my neighbor and friend Suzy has said many times through the years, “You’ve joined the dark side and you can’t escape us now!”

Hmm. That sounds much more malevolent than it was intended. She merely meant that once you become a neighbor, you’re always a neighbor. And a friend.

I love that.

The current housing market, while great for sellers, isn’t so great for buyers. And I didn’t want to deal with trying to buy and sell at the same time.

So I moved to a community in nearby New Albany. My apartment is a smaller 2 BR/2BA flat with a 2-car attached garage. Eighty percent of the residents here are 55 and older. So I don’t have to worry about the neighbor’s music being cranked too loud or wild parties keeping me from my beauty sleep.

Well. On second thought, I am not sure about the first thing. Older people can be hard of hearing. And I think my “beauty sleep” ship has long since sailed.

But so far I love living here.

Now when my furnace needs some attention, I can call someone who has to come out and fix it. And I don’t have to open my checkbook.  Bonus!

And when the snow needs to be cleared off the driveway, I don’t have to get out there with my handy-dandy shovel and get to work. The maintenance guy comes by with his snow blower and by the time I get up, it’s all been cleared.

This is comfortable for me. For now, anyway.

So that’s one major change in Jane’s Domain.

I’m sure there are other things that I will tell you about in coming weeks.

Stay tuned.

Oh, and Happy 2022, everyone. Stay safe. Stay well. And if you want my new address, let me know. Cards and housewarming gifts always welcome. (😉!)