It is 93º outside and the time is 10:30 AM. By noon, 104 deg. is expected.
The end of July hovers in our roasting.
When life is unbearable in a California roasting oven, a CostCo or Sam's trip is required. It is air-conditioned.
The chilled fresh produce room can hold 20 people, easy. The chilled dairy products room can hold at least 50 people, as long as everyone keeps moving.
CostCo is a horror to experience on any week, any day, or any hour. So much fortitude is required to gird up any given body part when entering its gates of hell. Once a membership is flashed to an employee, air is sucked straight out of one's lungs and a spectre of doom hovers around anyone with money in pockets or purse. Common sense flees, prices seem reasonable, and the hunt begins.
We had a list given to us by his sister: a specific list for specific number of guests. Twenty hamburgers, twenty hot dogs, and six chicken breasts to be halved seemed very reasonable. When reaching the meat section, my high I.Q. husband starts figuring and asking, "Does one hamburger really mean these? Where each is larger than my hand? Six pounds--is that enough? Chicken? Nine pounds? Can one chicken breast really be halved and be substantial? And, hot dogs? Surely not the cheap ones, skinny and pathetic. Let's buy these." $25 + $25 + $40 + .... It was $175 totaled up for twenty people to eat just grilled meat. What are our relatives? Ravenous cannibals, piling plates with nine dollars worth of meat? Then John reasoned buns and condiments were necessary. Throw in a jar of jam, a new purse for Mother's Day, a three-pack Redi-Whip, and some vitamins, our wallets opened as spectres vacuum green bills, and a nice cashier smiled, "Have a good one." God help us. We are too old to take this pressure. When CostCo was Price Club 30 years ago, we called it the One-Hundred Dollar store, enjoyed strolling the aisles. Now, it is closer to Two-Hundred-Fifty Dollars, and our legs hurt. Still our car wanders there. It is an addiction.
Thanksgiving is nearly over,
Thanks Be to God! Although it is just a
stop-gap in the days between Halloween and Christmas, Thanksgiving should be a
time of family.
Memories of a frantic
kitchen with Moms, Grandmas, and teenage females are made alive by the scents
of current day Thanksgiving meals. Hours
and hours from the day before until the table is laden with the delightful
turkeys, stuffing/dressing, gravy, mashed/creamed potatoes….so much thought,
love, and hard work went into presenting a massive meal.
Memories then were fond
and delicious. Now? Instead of carefully preparing pies to show
pie-making prowess, CostCo and WalMart provide the ready-made varieties. Let’s be honest here: their pies are cheaper, labor free (for the consumers), and in
some cases, better than the pies cooling on the counters.
Lift a glass to toast the
maker of the feast! With modern
providence, family can sit down in the family room and actually enjoy each
other. With aluminum pans, plastic
utensils, and heavy duty paper plates, even the clean-up allows for time to
laugh, play games, or karaoke with off key singers.
When life is unbearable in a California roasting oven, a CostCo trip is required. It is air-conditioned.
The chilled fresh produce room can hold 20 people, easy. The chilled dairy products room can hold at least 50 people, as long as everyone keeps moving.
Nostalgia only goes so far.That is my definitive word on the subject.I have several subscriptions to magazines that tend to recall the past through a heavily fogged lens.Some recall fondly the joy of hanging out the laundry on clotheslines, and then sleeping on fresh-air dried sheets.I, too, did that as a child.I also helped wash those sheets in a wringer washer with two rinse tubs.Then I hung the sheets and brought them in.They were a stiff as a board at times, and felt like sandpaper.The towels were much worse—drying off with them was an exfoliating experience.
Some recall the pleasure of snapping beans on the porch with an elderly relative.I did that, too.And, I have to admit, listening to my grandmothers talk was something I will always treasure.But, I was the one who helped plant the beans and hoe out the weeds.Then I was the one who picked the beans, under the hot Midwest sun.Being the youngest member of the bean snapping brigade, those were my jobs.So my fondest memory genes hit a wall when thinking about beans.
Yes, recalling the past is a mixed bag. Right now, I am nostalgic for the time back in 2010 when I didn’t have this blasted cold/sinus infection.When was that?November?Maybe, October?I don’t know.All I do know is that I am so thankful that we have a Costco nearby and I can buy a flat of Kleenex with Aloe Lotion for less than $12.When we bought the first flat, we foolishly thought it would last us until the spring.We are into our second flat, and it is only February.
I recall being able to sleep through the whole night, without getting up to cough up ‘stuff’ and blow my nose.It was wonderful to have the Kleenex box on the nightstand, instead of clutching it with my left arm while reaching for a fresh tissue with my right.
Go to the doctor, you may suggest.I did that, and got a prescription for antibiotic, after I described accurately the color and texture of the nasal discharge.The doctor probed the sinus areas on my face, and I mentioned that there was one area over my right eye that was about three times its normal size, and that she should be able to see the bruising that was surely there.Try Sudafed, some mentioned.Use DayQuil, others said.Have you tried the Neti Pot?Oh, yes. I have done them all.
The Neti Pot, by the way, is an experience to be…experienced.Don’t rightly know how to describe it without grossing out every reader who checks this blog out.Only those who are with me in my misery know what I mean.My oh my, you know that to which I refer.
Yes, nostalgia is a strong attachment and longing for something that brought each person a delight at one time or another.To be able to breathe again, to smell fresh air, to appreciate humor—someday I will have those things again.
