Who's Peter this time?

Since I once again spent the weekend sorting out & hauling down stuff from my parent's house, I haven't yet had the time to dig through the motherload of letters from which I was going to pull excerpts for the blog.

But, one of the things I discovered was a card game called Showbiz Shuffle. Now between my vocation and my avocation, it was a given that I was going to take this. On the box, it is described as follows: "Collect actors and directors, then combine them with stunts, special effects or other pluses to make the biggest box office hits".

I started flipping through the cards and was mostly just amused by them. I was amused at cards such as the below just because:

Then I was amused by cards such as:

At least a third of the people cards are caricatures of recognizable people. I suspect that more are, but I just don't know the faces well enough to recognize them.

Then I came across the following and stopped dead:

One of the people I enjoy following on twitter is Peter Sagal, the host of the totally fabulous NPR radio program Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me. I immediately went to his twitter page to see if I was hallucinating...and, no, not really:

Overheard from 1990

Today begins the first of excerpts from letters from the past. Some may be from the near past, some may be from the middle of the last century. Others from points before or after. A couple of things they will have in common:

1. There will be background information to the best of my ability, but no identifying information. I have no idea of whether or not some of these people are alive or dead. And, for purposes of what this will be, identity should not matter.

2. These slices of life will, for the most part, either human interest and/or something that interests/amuses me. Occasionally, they will be commentary on the state of the world such as this first one (largely because it was the first one I found that immediately called out to me). Tomorrow, I will be digging into the motherload of correspondence.

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Sent by a soldier in November 1990 stationed somewhere in the Middle East waiting for what would become the Gulf War.

One of the things I meant to say in my last letter was that I am much more understanding now of how much the Vietnam soldier went through. I know that I haven't experienced the combat aspects yet, but I've faced everything that leads up to combat. Also, if things keep going the way they are now, I'll have the combat patch before I go home.

Speaking of going home, it's beginning to look a lot like Easter. If we do go to war, it will probably be between New Year's and Ramadan. The war will probably last about a month and Ft. Bragg units will be the first home after that. If we don't go in, then I'm almost certain that the Ft. Bragg units will be rotated home during Ramadan. After all, VII Corps in [sic] enough to defend Saudi Arabia during the summer. My money, though, says that this whole thing will be resolved by Ramadan.

Glimpses of the Past

While cleaning out closets in my parents' home, my daughter and I ran across just over a dozen newspapers laying on a top shelf..

For a third of them, the Civil War had ended less than 50 years previously and they had yet to see a world war.

Half of them celebrated the end of "The war to end all wars", the Great Stock Market Crash was still a 1/2 dozen years away, and Hitler would not be a citizen of Germany for another 10.

The remaining three celebrate other moments in our past.

I've decided that this blog will show little, if ever, seen slices of history. They will for the most part be human interest.

But, we begin with these newspapers. The images below are quick photos we took with out cell phone cameras. It is our intent to gently photograph each newspaper so that they can be read and enjoyed..this will take some time as they are in somewhat fragile shape.

Aberdeen Daily American - October 14, 1899

The Daily Mirror - June 21, 1911

The Daily Mirror - June 23, 1911

The Daily Mirror - February 12, 1913

The Daily Mirror - June 7, 1916

The Daily Sketch - February 16, 1918

Aberdeen Daily American - November 11, 1918

The Daily Mirror - November 12, 1918

The Daily Sketch - November 12, 1918

The Daily Sketch - July 21, 1919

The Daily Mirror - November 27, 1920

The Daily Mirror - February 28, 1922

The Daily Sketch - March 21, 1922

Los Angeles Examiner - May 7, 1945

New York Times - July 21, 1969

New York Times Special Supplement - August 3, 1969

Of Tires and Donuts

At one point today, I thought that the most stressful thing this evening was going to be coughing non-stop through rehearsal. Who knew that I would have come to look upon this vile anticipation with wistfullness.

Somewhere around 5:30pm, I got a call from my son. The sight of his phone number in my caller i.d. filled me with dread. Normally, the reverse would have been true. However, in this instance, I knew that he and his posse were driving back from Florida where they had spent a fabulous couple of days at Universal and Harry Potter land (or whatever it's called). The fact that he was calling me in mid-drive filled me with foreboding.

"Hi. When I drive the car fast, the car makes a weird bumping and when I drive slowly, it still makes it, but not as badly."

I knew that he had neglected getting his oil changed before the trip and I mentally assigned the knocking to this. I advised him to stop and check his oil levels. This seemed to be the case as his call 20 minutes into rehearsal confirmed. But, they were parked by the side of the road and it was still running and it was quiet but it had made a funny noise. They started it up when I said that it might take a while for the oil to completely relubricate..

A little while later, came another call. (Really good thing I have a minor part in this show.) Funny thing, but the tire had exploded. It seems that the bumpetyn bump of the car had been the tire in the process of going bad., but none of them had ever been in a car with a bad tire before. BUT, I had made sure that my kid knew how to change a tire. At this point, I think I will allow the text message I sent to my sister take over.

"The bumpety thumpetty turned out not to be the oil...which WAS low. It turned out to be the tire going bad and then it exploded. So, they managed to put the donut on and because none of those children had ever apparently been in the vicinity of a flat tire, it never occurred to any of them that just because the tire was bad and unrepairable...that they might...oh...need the tim. So they left the whole thing by the side of the road in the dark in southern South Carolina when they went on their merry way."

They drove along for another 45 minutes til they found someplace open that might be able to sell them a new tire. It was at this point that I became aware of the whole rim debacle and I explained in not quite the most patient of tones that it was going to cost probably $450 to replace a rim and a tire if they could even find a rim that quickly (bear in mind that we are talking the Wednesday before Thanksgiving Day). I was just a little irked because a) I couldn't fathom not realizing they would need the rim and b) feeling helpless because I'm 600 miles away.

The dude told them that he couldn't put a full sized tire on a donut rim and that the donut tire was apparently fine. At this point, I'm sure my child was feeling guilty and the 4 of them piled back into the station wagon and backtracked with flashlights and the kind of enthusiasm only a roadtrip can engender in search of the missing rim. They did find it and tossed it into the back of the wagon.

At this point they were 240 miles away from their overnight destination and reckon that because they are going to drive the thrice-recommended 50 mph that they ought to arrive at some 4 in the morning. Wednesday morning, The Boy plans on getting to Wal-Mart at the instance they open and replace the donut and then they will continue their drive on the busiest travel day of the year.

I guess the lesson is this: each one of these kids are knowledgeable, intelligent college seniors, but the event was out of their respective experiences so they dealt with it...incorrectly. It's one of those things that's hard to anticipate. How do you tell someone all the potential ramifications of a situation if they a) don't occur to you because they seem obvious or b)you fear the Look of Extreme Patience. Do your best to prep your kids for life, but be prepared for them to look at life from a different angle than you.

However, at some point, he will be home and we will have Thanksgiving Dinner and we will all be thankful that we are together.

Christmas and Bouillabaisse

Every year on Christmas eve from at least 1964 until really not that long ago in the Grand Scheme of Things, my parents would play host to the Christmas and Hanukkah Caroling Party in which a good chunk of NY science fiction fandom would turn up at their 13 room house in Brooklyn and then proceed to meander about the Ditmas Park neighborhood singing sectarian, non-sectarian, and (in some cases) highly irreverent songs. It was such a joy.

While the singers were out, my mother and a core of us enthusiastic assistants would stay behind and cook for the masses. As time progressed and I got older, I took over a lot of the grunt work. As more time progressed and my parent's aged and fandom changed, the Christmas eve event became more of a in-house holiday party for 20 of our closest friends and I pretty much did most of the cooking with my sister, my daughter and my hubby pitching in. The past few years, it became a half dozen people who couldn't let go. Last year was the last of Christmas in Brooklyn.

This year my parents are down here living in an assisted living facility and my sister and I are trying to sell the house. My mother has severe short term memory loss and won't even know really that she's missing Christmas although the decorations in her facility will reminder her something's happening. But, my sister and I will bring her and my dad over to one of our houses and try to recapture... something.

But, we will make do...and the purpose of this was not to bring anybody down, but to give a backstory. At the center of every single one of these parties was my mother's Bouillabaisse. There were other stalwarts that lasted for several years and then moved on and replaced (her baklava, my fried artichoke hearts, Scandinavian rosettes). But, always there was her Bouillabaisse, beloved of everyone who tried it. I wouldn't know, because I don't like fish. But, once she wrote it down, I followed it slavishly (because I was NOT going to taste it) and I hear it tasted just as good. It is best served accompanied by a crusty piece of Italian or French bread (God, do I miss NY bakeries).

11 years ago, she was finally persuaded to actually take all her little note scraps and organize them into a cohesive recipe so that it was not lost. I will be making it this year for Thanksgiving and I imagine, depending on how Christmas actually winds up going, for Christmas. But, it is a recipe that needs to be shared. Following, exactly the way she wrote it out is:

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Perdita's Bouillabaise

These amounts and varieties of seafood are pretty nominal. I practically always use scrod because cod is hard to find these days and expensive when you do. I rarely use any lobster, but I usually use ocean scallops (bay scallops are too small and shrink to almost nothing when cooked). Fresh seafood is better, but frozen can be used if necessary. And, actually, chopped clams have no part in any other recipe I ever saw, but I like them as sort of a filler upper in the soup.

I arrived at this version after looking over several recipes - some much more complicated, some very ethnic, some very American. I concluded that Bouillabaise is a fish soup. Strictly speaking, I guess that this is not really authentic bouillabaise in that it isn't made with the same sorts of fish as those used in France, which like those I use, are what's available. But, the flavorings are authentic and the method of preparation is like many of the recipes I looked at. Anyway, it's what I make, and everybody seems to like it.

Shrimp - 1 lb
Hadddock, cod,or scrod - 1-1/2 - 2 lbs
lobster - 1 c (opt)
scallops,ocean - 1/2 - 1 lb (actually scallops are myown inclusion also)
chopped clams, with juice - 2 6-oz cans
olive oil - 1/2c
onion,sliced,1-1/2c
garlic chopped - 2 cloves
tomatoes, stewed - 2-1/2 c
thyme - 1/2 t
Parsley, dried- some
bay leaf - 1
saffron - 1/8t
salt - 2-3 T

Boiling water or fishstock - 1 qt (I usually use water. Stock doesn't seem to make enough difference to go through the trouble. Besides, fish scraps from the seafood store always have eyes in them which need to be removed, and I just can't)

1. Shell and clean shrimp
2. Cut fish into 1-1/2" cubes
3. Heat oil, add shrimp, scallops, garlic and onions. Simmer 10 mins.
4. Add remaining ingredients except fish and clams. Simmer 30 mins more.
5. Add fish forlast 20 mins.
6. Add clams for last few minutes.

Perdita Boardman
Dec.17, 1999

Regrets...I have a few...

I wish just one time that my kids would believe that I have been their age and been where they are now and that I have made wrong choices.

Ultimately, for their sakes, my choices (up to a point) were the right ones..without which they wouldn't exist.

For my sake, though, other choices would have been better or have given me more options. But, at the time, who knew? OTOH, I tended to go with what was easier and less scary. I love my kids and hope beyond hope and beyond prayer that they will make the choices that are right for them.

My one is still in college, so he still has time to think about it...hopefully with just his own future in mind. My other one is so all about what will happen based solely on what has come before and what she perceives should come after. Not taking into account having fun and exploring while she is young and single and still has time to play and explore her options...with no repercussions except those she can slough off in favor of the next adventure.

Me? I don't want to live through them. I'm tired, though, of people thinking I'm going through some kind of depression when I say that my choices (married, kids, age 54) are limited to things I have (in reality) no control over. I just don't want frick and frack to miss exploring all the options and wonderful opportunities they could have if they don't pick the safe and reliable.

I did and regret it more than words can express.

The longest day

So. This morning begins what I anticipate will be a LONG 24 hours.

Warning: implied semi-grossness follows.

Tomorrow, my darling husband has to undergo a certain routine medical procedure that probably most men in their mid-50s are familiar with. As a prelude, he has to be on a clear liquid diet and this evening will be adding certain over the counter medications into his diet to help move things along.

Shortly (or, to be more precise, eventually), my daughter will rise and the guilt/subterfuge will begin. Our plan is to (whichever works):
a) eat when he's on the computer downstairs
b) eat something that has no smell while cooking (pancakes, no bacon)
c) eat something we know he doesn't like and wouldn't be tempted by (artichokes)

He's been up for 2 hours and I've already heard him cheerfully (so far) remark to the cat that he has a rumbly in his tumbly. Entertainingly, he is convinced that Vodka counts as a clear liquid and that with the orange juice he's allowed will help the day go by.

...on no solid food. This could be interesting.