Author: Susie (Page 5 of 48)

Over the past several years, I have become fascinated by an HBO/MAX television show entitled “The Gilded Age.” Part of the fascination is that two of my favorite actors (Christine Baranski and Cynthia Nixon) are main characters. The other is the opulent setting – fashion, architecture, furnishings, and manners of the 1890’s are depicted in eloquent detail. It’s so amazing that I’ve taken to researching the period to see just how accurate the writers and set designers are – and they are amazing.
Contrastingly, I have become discouraged by the erosion of common courtesy and customer service in my own time period. Clerks that don’t say “thank you,” tellers who don’t make eye contact, and the never-ending series of automated responses one gets just to report something to a company. Usually this involves a company I spend lots of money with (television, internet, electric, for example) and I spend hours – literally hours – on the phone just trying to get a real person on the line.
I dove into this topic on the internet and I found the following helpful “tips” as to proper etiquette for the 21st century. Note that these are “tips” and “suggestions.” These include:
1. At the workplace, respect others’ time, be punctual and communicate professionally.
2. For social gatherings, bring a small gift when invited to someone’s home, be mindful of noise levels, and offer assistance with cleanup.
3. In online interactions, avoid offensive language, respect privacy and be mindful that your digital footprint is important (whatever that is).
4. In everyday interactions, use “please” and “thank you,” hold open door for others and be mindful of personal space.
The 1890’s were incredibly different. Not only were rules of etiquette followed, they were viewed as stringently as laws. To deviate from the standards could mean expulsion from society – at least in terms of invitations and attending events. These rules covered a lot of ground, including:
1. Introductions and Courting: Formal introductions were crucial, with etiquette guides outlining proper procedures. (No online meetings or “hook ups” then!) Courting rituals were elaborate and included carefully planned interactions as well as chaperones.
2. Social Gatherings: Invitations to social events were sent out well in advance. Guests were expected to arrive and depart at specific times and both men and women were expected to follow specific rules of dress and behavior (can you imagine?).
a. Conversations were expected to be polite and restrained, with a focus on maintaining social harmony.
b. Seating arrangement were crucial, with the goal of promoting social mixing.
3. Everyday Etiquette: Walking in public required adherence to specific rules, such as keeping to the right and avoiding jostling.
a. Smoking was generally discouraged in the presence of ladies and men were expected to be mindful of their cigar etiquette.
b. It was considered rude to stare at others, use a toothpick in public, or engage in loud or boisterous behavior.
c. Women were to be impeccably groomed, avoid fighting, and maintain a level of modesty (oh, my!).
d. There were also specific rules for visiting , including how to sit, how to greet the host, and how to behave in the presence of an invalid.
4. Breaches of Etiquette: Breaches of etiquette included such things as staring, fidgeting, or failing to acknowledge someone. Failing to acknowledge a greeting, or stepping on someone’s foot, were also considered faux pas.
The actual list was quite lengthy and quite specific. In fact, there are books about this topic – from 1890. These days, we can’t even get a paragraph about how to behave nicely. Maybe they were too strict, but maybe, just maybe they were on the right track! What do you think? Please? Thank you!

My golden years have brought some interesting changes in my life. Many of these changes, I’ve discovered, have occurred in my freezer.
Let me explain.
For decades, I froze selected vegetables from my garden, soup, stews, and other delights and carefully noted the contents and date on each item. This is a fairly accepted practice, and exceedingly useful.
Of late, however, I have discovered the joy and adventure in items that have been frozen at some unspecified time, and without a label. Is it soup? Salsa? Perhaps just sauce? This has led to some interesting dinner menus, let me just say. One of the most memorable was the time I made an entire pot of chili, only to discover that what had looked like tomato sauce was strawberry jam.
Then I decided to make a lasagna casserole for friends who were having a rough time. I selected a large container that I was confident contained spaghetti sauce. I allowed it to sit on the counter to thaw while I cooked noodles, browned meat, and chopped onion. Soon, I was ready to make my layers and bake the casserole.
I popped the lid off the freezer container and found it was completely thawed. It was also NOT spaghetti sauce. It was some kind of beef stew.
Hmm…that really didn’t seem like the right thing to layer the noodles and ground beef with. But, I prevailed. I found some sauce in a jar and my lucky friends received both lasagna and beef stew. Or whatever that dish was. I really wasn’t sure, though, it may have been jambalaya or some sort of soup. Hopefully, whatever it was, it was edible. If not, I’m sure I’ll hear about it. (Though perhaps not. You know how friends are…they often don’t tell you home truths like “that beef dish was horrible” or “that haircut is awful.” But that’s why they are friends!)
I also discovered enough popsicle sticks to last about fifteen years. They were out of the handy bag in which they are packaged and loose around every shelf and drawer of all three of my freezers. There seemed to be enough that I realized I must have, at some point, purchased a second bag of 40 popsicles and opened it, as well. I think in all, there were 63 popsicles. They have now all been relegated to one drawer, and if luck holds out, they will stay there until all have been consumed.
But popsicles are like Tupperware lids. They turn up in strange places, don’t they? And often without anyone really moving them.
If all that wasn’t strange enough, the behavior has escalated. I decided to clean out my little freezer and plan meals to empty it out. I found a large bag which had once been opened and now sported a clip on it, protecting the contents. I had helpfully taped the cooking instructions onto the bag. It said, “Heat in 375 degree oven for 20 minutes, turning once.” Excellent.
What I had not taped to the bag (nor could I recall) was the actual name of the product. The bag contained a number of little golden nuggets. Bigger than tater tots, but not as big as breaded cauliflower. Were they cheese bites? Sausage crumbles? Jalapeno poppers?
No idea. But we’re going to find out tomorrow night, as they are the side dish to whatever meat was in that closed Tupperware.

I won a short story contest with this entry in 2017. Hope you all like it! (just a bit longer than usual, not much!):

Tucker was tired of waiting. She had said she’d be here today, right here at this place, to meet him. Like so many others, so many broken promises. He wasn’t sure he had it in him to trust again, and yet, here he was. Waiting. He turned around and faced the window again, looking, almost searching. She wasn’t there. He didn’t check the clock, but he was sure it was past the time that had been set. She wasn’t coming. He knew it in his heart, and yet he waited.
The man with the deep voice came by. He refilled his water and smiled kindly. “Be patient,” he said, as though he was reading Tucker’s mind. Tucker wasn’t that tired of waiting. He was also nervous and excited and just wanted her to get here.
Tucker passed a few moments watching the city workmen putting lights on the trees alongside the street. It was only a couple months, maybe less, until the Christmas holiday would be here. Right now, Tucker could still see autumn in full glory. Tucker didn’t dare hope he would be in a relationship by Christmas.
A few more long minutes passed. He heard her approach first; the creaking of the door; a firm yet gentle, footstep. Then he smelled her. He inhaled deeply and breathed in the light, spicy perfume. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to smell that wonderful scent first thing in the morning, after a long cuddle. He turned as slowly as he could and saw her for the first time. She was breathtaking. He was so enthralled he was quaking. He finally met her gaze, and saw her wide, open smile and bright eyes. Were they blue? Hazel? Something light, not like his own deep brown. And what he saw in those eyes made the hope he thought was gone flutter a little, like a leaf in the breeze.
She held out her hand and he took it. “Hi, there,” she said, simply. He shook her hand and then quietly stood, standing as tall as he could. Maybe this time, he thought, would be different. Maybe this one, he prayed, is the one. And he stepped forward, stepped carefully closer and said hello.
It was not an exciting first experience, perhaps, but both of them seemed content. For Tucker, it was absolutely perfect. They went for a walk, to a place he had been before – the walking trail along the levee. He loved to watch the Great Miami as it churned, and to smell the fishy smell and to see the people out on boats and jet skis. There were no boats or skis this late in the year, but some ducks and geese provided entertainment for them.
It turned into a long walk, and as they walked, they found more and more to share. Tucker could not believe how interested she seemed in getting to know him. For reasons he did not understand, he felt he could be open with her. He was afraid, but he could not resist, so he just allowed it to happen. He shared everything that was most important to him with her. He told her how much he loved the outdoors – how free he felt when he was in the woods or a field and could just breathe in the air and hear the animals. He told her how he loved games. He wanted to show her, but they had no games with them, so he could only imagine how much fun they could have. He let her know how much he needed affection, and touched her as often as he could without being repelled. He didn’t think he could stand it if she rejected him.
As they walked, Tucker reveled in the sights, sounds and smells of the Midwest fall. Leaves crunched under their feet, and smelled of trees and bonfires and all good things. The leaves were changing colors, and at one point the woman picked up a large red maple leaf and carried it in one hand, twirling it around between her thumb and forefinger.
He loved the touch of her hand and the way she walked close to him. He listened as she pointed out flowers and trees and shrubs – she seemed to know the names of every one! And they all sounded wonderful and different as she talked about them. She used his name when she spoke with him and he loved the sound of it from her voice. As they walked under the bridge and into a wooded area, she talked quietly to him about her hopes and dreams. She admitted that she was lonely. At one point, she stopped and turned to face him. He simply stared back into her eyes, searching. She smiled and said, “This is going unbelievably well, isn’t it?” His heart leapt, and they continued their walk.
Tucker had had this happen before; this feeling that everything was perfect and he had had the rug pulled out from under him. He knew he was big and clumsy, and he knew that sometimes he came on too strong. He had a lot of first dates, but not very many second ones. And the times he thought he had a permanent relationship, well, they hadn’t worked out. The complaints about him seemed endless, he reflected.
Samantha had been very affectionate at first, but had ultimately decided that he had too much energy. He demanded too much time. She had wanted to cuddle and watch movies, but never wanted to play games, go outside, or even take walks! He had really liked Toni at first, but she had quickly proven to be both fussy and demanding. She was very possessive of her things and picky about her furniture and collections. Her grievances with him grew so much that eventually she even said he ate too fast! The last relationship had been the hardest. He had liked Robyn very much. She had been kind and fun-loving, and he felt very good about her. He had told her from the beginning that he hated cats, and she kept it from him at first that she had three. When he finally realized it, he balked, but Robyn insisted on him getting to know them. She even wanted them to take a vacation with the dreaded creatures! He tried to understand, but he felt his honesty had been betrayed.
Tucker thought about his buddy, Jack. Jack had told him women were fickle and he preferred his bachelor life, as he called it. Jack ran around with his buddies all day, and all night. He ate food that wasn’t good for him, and didn’t keep regular hours. Jack said it was better that way, and easier, and he loved the fun and the freedom. Tucker thought about that lifestyle, and though he knew Jack thought he was nuts, it wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted something more permanent.
This time, though, this time felt different. It felt right. The time flew as they continued to share themselves, and to learn about each other.
First impressions, Tucker knew, could be misleading. He didn’t want to have that hope swell up, to fall into infatuation and then to fall in love and then to be left. Again. He didn’t want any of that, but despite what he wanted, this woman with the soft hands and deep gaze was making him feel all of it. Tucker felt something more, too, or maybe he just wished for more. He wanted this woman. He wanted her very much.
He did everything possible to impress her during that first meeting. He walked close beside her, not ahead, not behind. He listened to her carefully and attentively. If distractions came into his sight or hearing or head, he ignored them. He focused only on her and tried to memorize every nuance of her speech, her gestures, her posture and her interests. He tried to curb his exuberance, and his passions, and yet let them show through. He wanted her to know him, and appreciate him for who and what he was. Tucker silently cursed his German heritage, feeling it had led to many a character flaw that ultimately led to women rejecting him.
Their walk finally brought them back full circle. A couple of blocks before their destination, she stopped. She was looking in a store window and Tucker became concerned. He looked briefly at the tree in the window, decorated with many ornaments and garlands. Wrapped packages were strewn carefully around the base of the tree. Tucker looked back at her and could see her eyes mist over as she gazed at the display, but she smiled when she turned to him. He felt his heart begin to pound when she said quietly, “I feel so alone anymore. I really don’t want to be alone another Christmas.” Tucker stood quietly beside her, willing her to feel comfort in his warmth.
Then she turned away, still smiling and said, “Well, look at us. Maybe we won’t be alone this Christmas.”
They turned and began to walk again.
They had been together for over two hours. He felt exhausted from trying so hard and from sharing so many things with her. They had returned to the meeting place, and he sat down, waiting for what was to come next. He knew what he wanted. He already thought of her as his own. What he did not know was what she wanted. Tucker suddenly didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to communicate to her or how to express what he was feeling. He was very nervous and could only stare at her.
The familiar deep voice broke Tucker’s trance. “Well, how did it go?” it inquired.
His lady responded, “It was wonderful. He is perfect in every way. I want to take him home right now.” Tucker couldn’t believe it. No second date? They were going on first impressions?
The deep voice said, with a chuckle, “Well, if it doesn’t work out, you can bring him back.”
Tucker sat, rigidly at attention, eagerly awaiting her next words.
“No worries,” she laughed. “This is the best Christmas gift I’ve ever given myself and is one sale you will not be refunding. This great, Great Dane will make my life complete.” With that, and a new leash, Tucker went out with his lady to live his grand life.

Recently, I’ve become aware that there are a lot of products in the grocery stores that sound fabulous, but that simply don’t live up to their descriptions.
I know the manufacturer’s probably employ a host of staff to develop pictures and written scripts on boxes to entice the customer to purchase something. Maybe I’m such a terrible cook, I’m unable to get the mung bean pasta to look anything like the fluffy, delicious picture. It simply looks like a pile of fox dung. In fact, the fox dung in our woods looks a tad more appetizing.
Perhaps my mistake is in thinking that anything that is primarily made from mung bean would be tasty, appetizing, or just plain good. It’s many things, but “pasta”? It is not.
Alternative to standard pastas have become prevalent in the past few years. Folks are on keto and paleo diets which make eating white flour (and may I add delicious) pasta products a big no-no. So we look for “alternative” pastas. In our household, we have tried the horrible mung bean pasta. Just don’t do that. We’ve also tried lentil, chickpea, black bean, and a rather mysterious “plant-based” pasta. I say mysterious because it’s not clear exactly what plant or plants this “pasta” is based on.
All of these serve as a vehicle for meatballs and sauce that are edible. None of them heat up well. What I mean by that is, they are terrible heated up. Nothing like good old baked spaghetti should be.
These products have “pasta” written in big, bold letters on the boxes. The actual plant from which they are made is much smaller. The pictures look like normal noodles. The actual cooked product, not so much. And the textures are typically like rubber bands.
These products, I confess, have not been recommended to me by any of my friends or relatives. Unlike our trip to New Orleans, before which every person I knew told us we had to – HAD TO – get coffee at Café Du Monde. They suggested this because everyone I know realizes that coffee is my absolute favorite beverage. So we went there and had coffee and beignets. The beignets were the best pastry I’ve ever put in my mouth! The coffee was the worst. I had to surreptitiously find a trash can and remove it from my presence. To be fair, it had hints of coffee – very bitter coffee – with overriding notes of used car oil.
We’ve had other experiences with much-touted food that has left us bewildered. Years ago, friends took us for an hour-long drive to go to a restaurant so that we could get “the best Salisbury steak you’ve ever had.” While the meal did include some type of ground meat (steak would be a stretch), it was difficult to cut, harder to chew, and tasted a little bit like the bottom of a shoe. It was a long ride home, bouncing through the country with an upset stomach.
This spring, we visited a winery and purchased a product the staff assured us “tastes like a Dreamsicle.” Shades of my youth! We opened it last night and there is definitely a strong orange flavor. It mostly tasted like Dayquill. I tried mixing it with some orange-flavored water, but that just made it taste like Tang. It made a lovely coral stain on our sink as we poured it out.
Food products are just not living up to the hype. I think I’ll stick with bacon and eggs, cinnamon toast, and my mom’s recipes.