The Soup That Grew

One of the chief benefits of living alone, is that you almost never make a mistake. I speak of cooking mistakes. Who sees your errors when there is no one to see? Much like the tree that doesn't fall on the mountainside. When something you cook turns out badly, it's called "destiny" and when you forget to add something you should have remembered, there is no one to say " tut tut". If your dish becomes a disaster, no one frowns. It suddenly morphs to compost and composting is never a mistake. I aimed today, to make French Onion Soup, but as it turned out: well, we shall see. A good many onions went into the crock along with water, a dab of butter and S and P. While the hours went by as it bubbled slowly out on the deck due to its highly fragrant offerings, I wondered also what to do with the left overs from a date at the Greek restaurant: namely potatoes, carrots and broccoli that I left after eating the prawn souvlaki and salad. With the leftovers, I concocted with water, a clear broth adding fresh celery and herbs. Later in the day, I suddenly remembered that you ought to fry the onion not boil it. Too late, the crock was gently bubbling the onion in its own juices. Not to mind. There must be all kinds of Onion Soup. The vegetable broth needed draining now, and  the dregs would go into the compost but the clear stock was saved. The onions were transparent in their broth  and then emptied into the frying pan to be sizzled with butter along with the addition of flour for thickening. A bit later, in goes  a smash of wine for flavour and more herbs. The onion didn't fry up well, but was presentable. I poured the onion liquids into the large wok that was holding the almost fried onions and then poured in the vegetable stock. It all looked rather loose, therefore, I decided to help by dropping in a few opportune handfuls of  macaroni. I love any kind of pasta.  And what onion soup can ever go without parmesan cheese shredded into it? There wasn't a lot of colour, therefore, to me, it called for small green peas to brighten it up. The soup still was somewhat watery, therefore, I remembered about having perogies for breakfasts. I added eight of them to the liquid for good measure and they looked adorable floating about while waiting to be flipped. The perogies were of the potato sort. When they had cooked having been flipped, I extricated them from the broth and kept them for the morning breakfast to fry up and savour with sour cream. The rest of the pot looked appealing now, since the macaroni had not only grown up, but also helped thicken the dish. It looked seriously like something  deliberate. I am having a bowl of it with ketchup, my weakness, while I write.  No one but I would know how my French Onion Soup grew into such a delicious pasta dish with deep mysterious flavours, no mystery to me.  

Comment On Comment

 I have opinions just as you have about a news item, and when I read an article in the media, I want to participate and add my thoughts to be shared with all the other readers in the comment section. I am not unprofessional in writing comments, or rude, or disrespectful of anyone or anything. But I do make comments that don't always agree with the writer of the piece. To me, comments make for debate and debate is the way we get closer to the truth. Not just my truth, but that of others, so that somehow we can shed light on the subject we have at hand. I have on occasion, been temporarily disallowed to comment because someone did not like that I didn't agree with their hype. I quite realize, being just as well educated as they are, that sharp comments can be viewed as offensive but mine are never offensive or against any social kind of issue or breaking any laws. I do speak my truths but I also welcome those who make comments that are opposed to mine for the reasons I have already set out. Nevertheless, now when I attempt to make a comment in article comment spaces on the national media sites, mine are greeted with an exclamation mark and not posted. Why? Why is all I ask. Most of the comments are in agreement with the writer of the article but I suppose my name is black-listed but I would like a specific reason. I feel that if the media, in a publicly paid for site is banning people from the most innocent comments, there is something wrong with "freedom of speech" access. Even worse, is that like being kicked out of a school for a minor demeanor and never being allowed back, I am block out each time I try to comment. For example, the other day I wanted to express along with the comments of many others, my similar grief at the death of a favorite character. It was wholly sincere and inoffensive but it was not allowed for me to comment. What happened was that in ire, I discontinue taking my news source from such fools, and tuned in to other sources that have a more adult business. If a news media group bans people without a reason to  on each and every comment, it tells me that they don't read them. They simply have a black list and zap you out and disallow any further comments. This smacks of pomposity. It sounds to me as though this kind of action is removing one's right to participate in news reporting through comment. I pay for, with my taxes, small as that might be,  just as you do, but it should not take away my right to make intelligent comments that do follow all the rules. Maybe I overstepped a bit once or twice in the past,  but who hasn't and who has minded when they are slapped on the wrist. This kind of banning by media, should not be allowed without giving evidence at why. The media are hopefully the very proponents of free speech. My final take on this kind of idiocy, is GRRRR. 

Click, Snap, Tap

 No, those noises are not made by a rice cereal. They're the sound of someone "taking a picture". And that has changed over time. "Click" was once the sound, "snap" was what we called the picture taken with a click, but now, it's "tap". A cell phone tap. Among the many taps of the cyberspace era, some are for taking pictures of other things or oneself with others or alone. Selfies. Like, who really cares? Very few of them are keepers. I am harbouring boxes and boxes of something called "slides" and very old photographs that are posed by those who could stand perfectly still for minutes at a time. What am I going to do with these pictures that someone thought were times important enough to preserve? I dare to think they will be tossed into a flame somewhere. Why that should bother me, is mysterious because these people lived in a time when women had to wear floor length skirts and hats as big as a floor. Everyone in them, looks dour. I imagine, it's hard to hold a smile that long and anyway, most of them likely had bad teeth because there were no dental plans or implants or water picks. Also, women wore corsets and men, stiff collars. Ouch. Not much to smile about. More recently in the middle of the last century when I was once youngish, we travelled the world. It was cheaper then and no line-ups to see what is now covered with plastic shields, security guards and fences. It costs a fortune to tour, and is no longer comfortable, cheap or charming to do so. It was Then, this is crazy, Now.  In that day, the sound of picture taking was indicative of a time when you'd go home later and show your travels to family and tolerant friends. When the little movie cameras came along, it expanded into snaps of every child's important life moments such as learning to walk, smear birthday cake and graduate high school, not to speak of doing weddings. Every family had a wall of portraits, of smiling happy families with Dad, Mom and the offspring. Those were the days when a family meant one family in a lifetime. Very different today. One of the walls of family fame that I visited lately, had Mom's side and Dad's side and former Mom's and Dad's sides with their kids. Times two or three. I gave up trying to say such as, "I see the family resemblance" because frankly, I didn't. They were all mixed up like a macaroni salad, these people. In the fifties and sixties day, we were invited over to sit and watch someone's trip to a hot island somewhere and the beach, the palm trees, the sunsets and the turquoise pool with wet people in it. I always dreaded those invitations because picture watching makes me sleepy, especially hours of it.  I don't like my picture taken or taking them. The reason is, I worry about what will happen to the pictures. Most of us look at a picture a couple of times and then put it somewhere until there is a family reunion or a funeral. Let's be frank here. I don't take pictures any more. What I can't remember can't be worth remembering.

Short Text? Not Me

 I was warned by one of my latent friends the other day, that my texts are too long and that it causes stress for him. I reminded him that I write and that writers aren't into shorthand language. I try to keep my emails as compact as I can, but I refuse to use caps for phrases as do some who think it's all very cute and "now".  That's their fun. Punctuation? Yes, I use that, too. In fact, I don't use a cell phone for other than phoning. I do not want to be fiddling with a piece of equipment for no particular reason all day, nor do I need to "keep in touch" with everyone, every second of my life no matter how much I like them. I use a computer, too.  Not that silly tiny thing that most people can't seem to put down that grows out of the palms of their hands. Why do I do this? Because that's what I do. There is a choice. The person who had stress when reading longer texts, forgot that he is the one who controls how much stress he will tolerate and if my longer e mails are bothersome, he can go fly a kite. But that requires two hands and one of his is inoperative since it holds continuously, a cell phone. Evidently, studies show that children are less literate than they once were. "Why" has an easy answer.  Most kids have cell phones, we are told for safety, and are trained from an early age in how to use them by those who are as illiterate as they will become. Reading? No. No. As one of my illiterate friends reminded me, there ARE audio books, you know. I must admit that if I am away, I do use my cell phone for everything but it's only in desperation. They are very handy objects when it's necessary to have them. But using those things anywhere other focus is happening such as visiting, eating and studying, they should be turned off and basketed. I do not enjoy sitting opposite other members of my immediate society who are gazing and giggling at their cell phones that I can't see or hear. It's as rude as whispering into someone else's ear or speaking a language others don't speak within the company you are in. Cell phones don't come with good manners manuals, but they ought to. Calling me old fashioned, outdated, cynical, jaded and all that, isn't going to change my mind. There are many of us out there, who aren't going to be middle-school thinkers any more. Also, speak clearly and not rapidly. I am not at all deaf and I'm not into running the fast talkers race with you. Use sentences and please leave out the F word and "like" for everything you describe. Okay maybe I am an old crank, but I am literate even though I do sink to using a reader app often. My favorite authors' tales go by without page turning, but their words are pure and sweet to the eyes. 

Dangerous People

 We've all encountered "dangerous people" in our lives. They've never been caught and likely never will be. They haven't committed a crime in being dangerous; they've gone on emitting their poisonous manners but what they don't know, is that they can be quite useful. I use, as an example, a boss I once worked for. When he came on the work scene, we were used to a boss that accepted us as we were, appreciated our efforts and was there to help out if we need that kind of support. Our old dear boss had been lifted by the company to higher heights and when we saw the new boss enter the meeting room for the first time, we had high hopes. The company whom we trusted, let us down. They were the danger. Our section was comprised of persons with a great deal of experience. We were appreciated by the people we served and considered part of our system because of being close to them. We understood each other  more and our products were enhanced within that kind of security. But the company suffered concerns thinking that we were just too strong and secure for their liking. They considered it dangerous because although the company over all, was served by us, they felt we had become just a bit too scary and maybe too powerful. We had developed along with our former boss a set of routines and strategies that worked for us all. When the new leader came in, he wanted the power that we would have handed over had he shown some respect. He didn't. We were called into his office one at a time and told what our plan would be and it was his only and had nothing to do with our input or cooperation. Ten people asked for transfers and got them within the first three days of our new boss' "reign". I was retiring in two years so I stuck it out in spite of my "new" schedule and assignment. There were my private tears and anger but after that emotional tide passed through, I decided to get back in control and use my experience to show the new boss what I was made of. We, the boss and I after a civil chat, made a deal and he could see the benefit of it, for some reason. If I had only one more full year to go and a bit, I felt I had some power, too, and I could use it. That bad boss, taught me far more than any other lesson in my working life. Dangerous people might not realize how much they help unknowingly,  their victims. Without the use of anger in dealing with these bullying bosses, they are taken by surprise. They are used to confrontation not cooperation. Using one's brain and knowledge to overcome such threatening people is not physical rantings and complaints, it's knowing your enemy and working out a plan that it cannot step over or on. Dangerous people think bullying and loud noise and threats will get them what they want but aha, it doesn't work that way. A quiet, firm response, is unexpected. Just as someone in the martial arts uses the strength and power of their opponents to win, you, too, can do just that. It's a matter of studying your enemy and seeing how you can accomplish that task. Work beside them and learn how they do it so that you can find a way to do it better without using offensive tactics. You might even, as I learned, teach the bad boss, some lessons. Mine, before he was finally ousted, thanked me!  Pay attention, listen and learn to help yourself. Dangerous people make us stronger and more self-reliant. We draw on their negatives and turn them into our positives. Even if you quit them, you learn from them. It's a lesson one never forgets.