The Last Supper: A Tale of Food Warmups and Their Inevitable Demise

(Today’s entry written by an anonymous guest)

Ah, leftovers. The culinary ghosts of dinners past, lurking in the depths of our refrigerators. They start their journey with such promise, don’t they? Packed away in their little containers, they’re like edible time capsules, waiting to transport us back to a meal that was, presumably, worth remembering. But as with all good things, the appeal of leftovers has its expiration date—both literally and metaphorically. This is a story of how food warmups become less an act of sustenance and more a dance with destiny.

Act 1: The Rekindling

It begins with a spark of optimism. You open the fridge, and there it is—the lasagna from three nights ago, looking just as hearty as the evening it was born. The microwave chimes its readiness, and you eagerly await the reunion of flavors. But alas, it’s never quite the same, is it? The once-crisp edges now tread a fine line between chewy and charred, a culinary tightrope that not all dishes navigate successfully.

Act 2: The Cooling Off

By day two of the leftovers saga, the relationship between you and that once-beloved dish starts to cool, much like the center of a reheated piece of lasagna that refuses to warm up. You open the fridge, see the container, and think, “Maybe I’ll just have a sandwich.” The lasagna, with its slightly less vibrant sauce and noodles that have seen better days, begins to understand that its time in the spotlight may be coming to an end.

Act 3: The Forgotten

Days pass. The lasagna is pushed further back into the fridge, making room for newer, fresher meals. It becomes part of the landscape, like a forgotten landmass on the map of your refrigerator. Occasionally, you’ll catch a glimpse of it and think, “I should really do something about that.” But action seldom follows thought in the kingdom of leftovers, and the lasagna remains, a testament to meals gone but not quite forgotten.

Act 4: The Final Goodbye

The inevitable can only be delayed for so long. One day, armed with a trash bag and a sense of resolve, you finally face the lasagna. It’s not quite the meal you remember; time and refrigeration have taken their toll. With a sigh that’s part regret and part relief, you bid farewell to what once was, acknowledging the cycle of food warmups and their eventual disposal. The lasagna has worn out its welcome, but fear not—it makes room for future meals and the promise of new leftovers.

In the grand theater of the kitchen, the saga of leftovers is a tale as old as time. They remind us that not all meals are meant to last forever and that sometimes, the best thing we can do is let go and make room for the next culinary adventure. So, here’s to the leftovers, the food warmups, and their eventual journey to the great compost bin in the sky. May they rest in peace, or at least in biodegradable pieces.

Adventures in Hosting Hockey Billets: A Culinary Comedy on Ice

Do you know what a billet is? In the fascinating world of junior hockey (and probably in many other corners of the universe), a billet is basically a kid who crashes at your place during the season. It’s like having an extra teenager but without the luxury of sleepovers being optional.

These young gents somehow manage to become part of our family dynamics, for better or for worse. Despite their potential to be younger than 18, they’re essentially barred from turning 21 until after the New Year’s confetti has settled. Now, let’s talk about their culinary preferences – if it’s served at a drive-thru, chances are, they’re all in. And don’t even get me started on their cleaning skills; let’s just say they believe in the “out of sight, out of mind” cleaning philosophy.

But wait, there’s more! They have this inexplicable aversion to drinking water from anything other than a plastic bottle, and when they finally decide to tidy up their mess, it’s a production worthy of a mini-cleanup crew.

Yet, despite these quirks, here we are, embarking on our fourth year of playing host to these hockey hopefuls. Surprisingly, most of them are charming and grateful for the roof over their heads. We even engage in riveting conversations after dinner, where they enlighten us on the intricacies of hockey (and occasionally, inquire about our day).

Our biggest challenge? You guessed it: the limited menu dictated by the hockey season. It’s like a culinary Groundhog Day, with pizza, burgers, and lasagna making repeat appearances on the menu. I once attempted a culinary revolution with my “FlavorTown” creations, only to receive lukewarm reviews at best. The struggle is real, my friends.

Currently, we’re hosting two hockey enthusiasts. One is a culinary daredevil who’ll devour anything in sight, while the other is a tad more discerning. As we eagerly await the arrival of a new recruit, we’re crossing our fingers for another member to join the “I’ll eat that” squad. If not, well, it’s back to the drawing board, or should I say, the repetitive menu board, while my wife indulges in her frequent salads. (Did I mention that vegetables are more of an optional garnish in the hockey world?)

Blood Encouragement

In mid-January, I became eligible to give blood again. This meant I received a few unanswered calls on our landline phone. I received additional encouragement to give blood when the evening news had a story about a blood shortage. The news story said donors would receive a $20 gift card. I didn’t walk but ran to my computer where I scheduled my appointment for the next day.

When I give blood, it is almost always “double red”. This allows me to do a good thing, but not get frustrated with the inefficiencies at the blood donation center. I am only eligible every 16 weeks instead of the standard 8 weeks. I still get the mini-physical. I just get half as many as those who go every 2 months.

Now, back to the blood. After signing in and a brief wait, I was screened for the day’s donation. Wisely, I had done my pre-donation questions on-line. There were a couple of new ones that were mostly HIV related. After getting the lowest blood pressure reading in a few months, I was pushed out the screening door toward my home for the next 45 minutes.

After my extra long-eyelashed employee sweet-talked me and set up the equipment, the donation process began. It was while giving the intermittent squeezes to the object in my palm that I noticed the extreme violence on the monitor mounted just to my left. Since it was the climax of the movie, the violence was at its peak. The good guys were releasing their powers on the almost equally gifted bad guys. There was blood, tears, and perseverance through certain death blows. Did I mention blood? Yes, there was plenty of that.

After a point, I couldn’t resist asking my attendant, “Who chose today’s movies?” After she replied, “I did.”, I had nowhere else to go. I watched this movie end as the next one started, “The Covenant”. I let the blood flow on and off screen until my bag was full.

I don’t think the visual blood accelerated or hindered the donation process at all. However, I would vote for no visual entertainment, but most certainly non-violent videos in this setting. I understand it is their work environment. Maybe a music station that covers the spectrum? The attendants need to be entertained. Whatever decision is made, I suggest a “no blood” policy in their future choices.

Sock and Underwear Blues

For those who rely on their Christmas gifts of socks and underwear to ignore the obvious need to replenish these items immediately, this tune is for you:

(Verse 1)
To the tune of jingle bells, hear my dryer spin,
Losing socks every day, where do I begin?
Through the laundry maze, we go, searching high and low,
But what’s lost is never found, into the void they go!

(Chorus)
Oh, socks and undies, they’re a treat,
The best Christmas gifts that are oh-so-neat!
Socks with stripes and undies so grand,
The unsung heroes, isn’t it grand?

(Verse 2)
Last year’s pairs are tired, they’ve really lost their flair,
Holes in toes, faded rows, elastic’s beyond repair.
But then comes Christmas morn, with gifts in shiny bows,
New socks and underwear, watch my face just glow!

(Chorus)
Oh, socks and undies, they’re a treat,
The best Christmas gifts that are oh-so-neat!
Socks with polka dots and undies with lace,
Put a big, warm smile on my chilly face!

(Bridge)
In every drawer and closet, they patiently await,
For their moment of glory, oh, they just can’t wait.
From cotton to wool, and every blend in between,
These are the unsung heroes, if you know what I mean!

(Verse 3)
So here’s a toast to the socks and undies we hold dear,
May they last through the year, bringing comfort and cheer.
Next Christmas when we meet, I hope to find once more,
A bundle of joy, from the store, that I absolutely adore!

(Final Chorus)
Oh, socks and undies, they’re a joy,
Far better than any other toy!
Here’s to the gifts that keep our toes and tushies snug,
Socks and undies, give them a hug!

(Outro)
So let’s celebrate these gifts, so simple yet so fine,
For socks and underwear truly make Christmas shine!
Merry comfort to all, and to all a good-night,
May your feet and your seat stay cozy and bright!

Ode to Pants

Everyone had pants under the tree this year. My AI friend, when prompted, came up with pant’s ditty:

(Verse 1)
Oh, pants, dear pants, you’re my daily strife,
Full of zippers, buttons, the story of my life.
High-waisted or low, you come in all sizes,
But why, oh why, do you hide surprises?

(Chorus)
Pants, oh pants, what’s your grand plan?
Sometimes too tight, or way too span.
But without you, what would we do?
Naked bottoms in the morning dew?

(Verse 2)
From skinny jeans to baggy slacks,
You come in styles that leave us waxed.
Cargo pockets or denim blue,
In pants we trust, forever true.

(Bridge)
So here’s to pants, our fabric friend,
Supporting us from start to end.
No matter the fashion, no matter the trends,
Pants, you’ll always be our rear’s best friends!

This was not “his” best work. Yet, with the extra sugar from cinnamon rolls and our caffeinated bloodstreams, it strangely hit a cord.

I Like A Better Ratio

A couple of weekends ago, most of my family made a quick trip to North Carolina to celebrate my in-laws post-50 anniversary. We were grateful we could go. We squeezed in a college graduation before returning to our home briefly, and then driving to the airport for the North Carolina flight. With waiting on flights, layovers, and time in the air, we had over 10 hours involved with transportation. Even including the two nights we spent there, we had less than 40 hours in North Carolina. It is travel:to:non-travel ratio I want to discuss.

I don’t know where “whirlwind” begins on the travel spectrum. If you are absent from your house for 48 hours and 20% of that time is spent in the “there” and returning from “there,” it may not qualify as a tornado, but maybe a “tree-bending breeze” or something like that. When we fly to Europe with a roundtrip travel time of over a day, I like to have at least 7 days between the flights. (Notice the greater than 4:1 ratio.) If you will travel great distances for a few hours at the destination before beginning the return trip, we are unlikely to be travel buddies.

Whatever your ratio is, your “whirlwind trip” will look different. If you hate traveling with no upside, there is unlikely to be any ratio of “travel-to-non-travel”. As a medium-ish homebody, I tolerate but accept brief periods with disruptive travel schedules…as long as I have a few months to prepare for the flurry of activity taking place within the compressed time. I may not be the most fun to travel with. Fortunately, my wife doesn’t complain…much.

Liberating the Leaves

When we moved into our Texas home over 13 years ago, our little plot was full of a few sinners. In the backyard, we had an elm tree that stretched out over the back fence and over the fence in the neighbor’s yard. In the spring and fall, the tree was responsible for the leaves and seeds it scattered liberally across as many pools as it could. The neighbor on the other side must deal with our shedding pine trees. Not only do our trees dump needles on their roof, but the pine tree’s root systems are evident in their properties.

This brings us to what tradeoff occurs in the currency known as “neighborly love.” With our Texas winds coming largely out of the south, the most likely place for potential sinners to live was to our south. In our case, our neighbors have an oak tree that drops its leaves in December or whenever it feels like it. Based on our neighbor’s response, it doesn’t matter when the leaves drop. The only thing that matters is when the last leave drops. This tree and our similar oak tree have provided bags full of leaves and acorns. While lawn maintenance is an accepted part of suburban life, I feel I have been carrying more than my share in the past few years.

When the winds shifted and were coming north yesterday, I could not resist doing a little raking. Yes, it was Christmas. The gifts were done. My wife was finishing up our late lunch, and the kids were looking over their gifts. (The days of multiple new video games have passed. Trying on their new clothes or admiring their new domesticated item was the peak of excitement. ) Having two hours to invest in my yard, I changed my raking strategy to encourage the wind to be my helper. I had minimum success when raking the grass. The greatest success was on the sidewalk. The matted leaves along the edges of the sidewalk were happy to dance back toward my neighbor’s house once I liberated them from their brief residency along my walkway. I was not vindictive. I was just willing to see how far the liberated leaves were willing to travel. Not all traveled as far as I wanted. Some did.

With my early acknowledgment of my failure as a neighbor, I hope my credibility is improved. We all have pet peeves. (I probably have more than most with interviews for new pets conducted regularly.) With a rake as my weapon, I am grateful my imagination and my wife’s ears are the only place this pet peeve lives.

Cowboy Christmas

As I strutted back from my leisurely stroll yesterday, I stumbled upon a quartet of figures lurking on the sidewalk before my humble abode. These mischievous mischief-makers exuded an enigmatic aura as they crept closer, like a synchronized troupe of stealthy street cats. And oh, their fashion choices! Clad entirely in black, they seemed to have stumbled upon a clandestine cowboy convention, each sporting a flamboyant cowboy hat as their ultimate fashion statement. It was as if the Wild West had collided with urban street style, right before my bewildered eyes. Truly a sight to behold, my peaceful neighborhood transformed into a mysterious and unexpectedly fashionable catwalk.

Other Possibilities:

  • Could they be evangelists from the “Cowboy Church” combing the neighborhood looking for that special resident who would greet them at the door proudly sporting his/her own cowboy hat?
  • Or, could the Cowboys be carolers who were called to wear this attire while singing the Christmas songs of the Southwest?

I didn’t have time to think of any other possibilities. My steps brought me even with them on the street. It turned out it was my neighbors coming back from getting their Christmas pictures taken. They were coming back from the park, where they tried to coax out their best smiles before the sunset.

I don’t know if they “got” their picture. They did get my attention. It provided a great reminder of the lengths families will go to to try and create a facade. They could just get their Christmas pictures done on ChatGPT. 🙂

Ants In Our Drains

Obviously, this is a play on “ants in our pants.” If only it were not true!

A few weeks ago, our downstairs toilet was having problems. We were not immediately certain it was the toilet. The biggest clue was the bathroom had an earthy smell to it. To me, it was clear it was not emanating from the sink. So, after trying to clean up the earthy smell with products designed for the tank, we eventually found a plumber who would come to the house when he said he would.

The twosome shows up and provides a quick estimate. Once I saw how easily the toilet moved side to side, I knew the “unless we find something else” would quick in. In this case, the ring that secured the toilet to the floor and to the sewage was rusted through. When the integrity of the pipes was compromised, the ants were granted access. Even with the toilet now fixed, we are still fighting the consequences of this breach. How might you ask? Good question…

  1. To remove ants from your sink, use a half cup of baking soda with an equal chaser of vinegar. Rinse in 10 minutes with hot water. Ideally, this will work. When the resident teenage boys leave licorice in the sink overnight, the success of this treatment is uncertain.
  2. For your garbage disposal, ice cubes with baking soda are supposed to circulate in the pipes once they are chopped up by an “angry to be invaded” disposal. Not sure how well this worked. Because of the kitchen’s proximity to the “breached” bathroom, ant traps were set out previously. At today’s lunch, the hockey boys discovered ants feasting on the hamburger buns. The backup package proved necessary when the “extra roughage” argument was rebuffed.
  3. I bought a squirt bottle for equal parts of water and vinegar. It is mixed but not yet tried. I am uncertain what impact vinegar would have on the hockey boys. Would they melt or lose their appetites or some other unpredictable outcome? I might test the mixture’s effectiveness as they travel for an away game this weekend.

Early in this experience, I poured myself a bowl of honey nut cereal. The ants were not well camouflaged. The milk only proved they didn’t have scuba equipment. I threw in a few dried cranberries before eating and drinking the contents of the bowl. If I am going to win this battle, I will have to do it while staring them down–antenna to eyeball.

The Coons Go On An Adventure

While my photography doesn’t give evidence of it, a mother and 4 kits were involved in this siting.

My “whimsical friend” described the raccoon mating cycle like this:

During the whimsical season of summer, raccoons embark upon their enchanting mating rituals. These cunning creatures engage in romantic escapades from mid to late summer. Ah, the dance of love!

And behold, the magical outcome of their passionate encounters! After a gestation period ranging from a swift sixty to seventy-four days, a joyous event unfolds. The raccoon family welcomes the arrival of their delightful cubs, up to four in number. Oh, the adorable offspring that grace the world!

As the days pass and the sun gently caresses the earth, the baby raccoons undergo a wondrous transformation. Their curious minds awaken, and their eager eyes and ears open wide, revealing the wonders of their surroundings. This enchanting sight typically occurs around eighteen to twenty-four days after their birth.

With each passing moment, the young raccoons grow stronger and more adventurous. They embark upon their own playful journeys, discovering the realm around them. In a mere span of four to six weeks, these remarkable creatures find their footing and embark on their first steps, exploring the world with their tiny paws. Oh, the marvel of nature’s progression!

Thus, we witness the circle of life unfolding in the raccoon kingdom. From the fervent mating season to the birth of their precious kits and the swift development of these young ones, the raccoons teach us the beauty of growth and the wonder of life’s ever-changing tapestry.