Tag: cheese

A Free Food Dream Adventure

I was in a store with friends. This clean, mostly white, and well-lit place was like a fancy grocery store. No friends from real life were present but the people there were all known to me as friends. I knew that we were there for the second time. The first time, we’d made minor purchases. Liking the place, we returned to buy more.

So, we’re in line to pay, and we’re comparing how much our purchases will probably cost. Most of what we’re buying is food, especially cheese and bread, it seems like. The owner, a young and petite white woman with black curly hair and red lips, is behind a counter ringing up purchases.

I estimate to my friends that I’m buying several hundred dollars of food. Then it’s my turn and I step up to pay but the owner waves me off. She tells me that she knows who I am, that I’m a writer that she admires, and that she loves my books. I’m perplexed as I’ve only self-published a few books and had a few stories sold, so I tell her that I think she’s thinking of someone else. No, she insists, she knows me, knows who I am, and I will never need to pay for anything in her store. Her insistence stirs guilt in me; that’s not the way the system is supposed to work. I’m also flattered but doubtful. We talk more; she stays on point. I surrender and walk out without paying.

Dream end.

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Munda’s Wandering Thoughts

Here’s a hodge podge of things I’ve been thinking about this morning.

Food & Friends. We did our deliveries this morning. Half the route was canceled. That’s always worrisome. We don’t know what happened to those individuals. Fingers crossed, they’re okay. Okay is always a relative expression and has its own spectrum of meaning.

As I drove around, I wondered about the Big Beautiful Bill’s impact. The future is murky. Food & Friends is financed by a combo of state, local, and Federal coffers. Fed picks up the brunt, 65%. Fundraisers, private grants, and donations augment these monies.

From KFF and other online sources, F&F’s funds come via the Older Americans Act (OAA). This is administered through Health & Human Services and an agency called ACL, the Agency for Community Living . This is where it gets disorderly and messed up. Under Trump, the funding was withheld. H&HS is being reorganized. 10,000 positions have been terminated. I dislike using that euphemism, ‘layoff’. They were fired; terminated.

As with most things, the enshittification under Trump is striking here. “According to a recent HHS press release, ACL is releasing over $1 billion of Fiscal Year (FY) 2025 funding for Older Americans Act programs to state, local, and Tribal grant recipients – funds that had already been appropriated by Congress but withheld by the Trump administration.”

Researching my gall bladder issues, I realized I must give up yogurt and cheese. Sob. I’ll miss them more than steaks and burgers. Alas, I must also say farewell to pizza. And doughnuts. Lunch meat and bacon have been long gone. Butter is now gone, too. The list of what I can eat is getting short. I can still eat fruit and veggies, which I love. And nuts, as long as they’re unsalted, as my edema/lymph edema requires a low sodium diet.

A radio weather report said that thunderstorms were coming. We all reacted, “Oh, no.” Even the announcer was worried, adding to the report, “Hopefully, we won’t have a bunch of lightning strikes and fires.” Exactly. We’ve been fortunate so far this year.

Looking out the window, my wife said, “There’s not a cloud in the sky.” It’s a different picture, sixy minutes later.

‘Back home’ in Penn Hills, PA, a new plan has emerged for Mom. Mom is 89. She has multiple health issues. Trips to ER are regular as seasonal decorations being put up. She lives with her boyfriend, Frankie the Hand, 95 years old. At that age, he has problems of his own.

We the children have been agitating for her to move into assisted living and sell her home. Frankie’s children have been advocating the same. They have been adamant about not moving. Part of the issue is that Mom’s 1940s era home is three stories with narrow steps with steep rakes. A glide chair has been place between the main level and the upper bedroom level. To address that, Mom will move into the main level. The back deck will be converted to a bedroom. My brother-in-law, a plumber by trade, will do most of the work, aided by construction and electrician friends. Pat began the work today. It’s expected to be done in three weeks. It’s a noble plan but extremely flawed. It’ll buy some time but the fact is that Frank has cancer, he’s losing weight, suffering dizzy spells, blind in one eye, and getting deaf. That’s not a good description for a care-giver. We’ll see what happens.

As with everything, time will tell.

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Sexist of Me

Daily writing prompt
Where would you go on a shopping spree?
View all responses

If a shopping spree is planned, you can leave me out. If that’s an option. I’m only interested in shopping sprees when I go to a book store, although I don’t mind shopping sprees in wine and cheese stores (nudge, nudge, wink, wink).

My wife is the shopper, and I support her shopping sprees. I’m the driver and help carry the booty when we’re perambulating through shopping venues. She’s a meticulous and thoughtful shopper. Not one for quantity, she seeks quality and deals. She can go anywhere, though. Loves to visit Goodwill stores, flea markets, ‘thrift’ stores, and ‘vintage goods’ places, trying to sniff out interesting deals. She’s fond of shoes and doesn’t mind a shoe shopping spree. It just wears me out. Then again, with both of us, a shopping spree is a once in a while thing when the moon is the right color thing, and doesn’t often happen.

When it does, I’m in the driver seat, but she’s the navigator, telling me where to go.

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Sunday’s Theme Music

Mood: coffeeager, a mood inspired by eagerness fed by a couple hits of coffee

Hello to my fellow Milky Wayers. Another meh day in Ashlandia on Earth in the Sol system. Fog and clouds shield us from sunshine. Rain scurrying toward us. Temperature is 46 F with a high of 52 F drifting in. Could be much, much worse. Nothing’s on fire, no volcanos erupting, no huge, destructive storms bearing down on us. I’ll go with meh.

This is Sunday, February 18, 2024.

Peaceful reflective day for me. I’ll be back to writing in a while but letting the mind wind down a little from last night’s dream first. Jarlsberg cheese was involved. That’s all I’ll say on that.

Tucker continues doing well and improving. Papi continues to insist that he belongs to the night. We’ve lost track of the local cougar; no sightings but domestic animals continue to disappear. Whether that’s the cougar’s work is unknown at this point.

I’m back with Chris Rea again. I played “Highway to Hell” by Rea the other day. Then I watched an old episode of WILTY (Would I Lie to You) last night, where Bob Mortimer mentions Chris Rea and “Let’s Dance” in his story about Chris Rea breaking an egg into a bath for Bob. I always enjoy Bob on this show because he clearly enjoys himself. “Let’s Dance” is on the same album as “Highway to Hell”. (The song is on several albums.) Anyway, once The Neurons heard Bob say, “Let’s Dance”, the song started up in my head and remains in the morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks) today. I’ve included the video of the WILTY episode for your entertaiment pleasure.

Stay positive, remain strong, lean forward, and vote, please. Here’s the music. Cheers

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Sunday’s Theme Music

Happy National Cheese Day! Yes, it’s Sunday, June 4, 2023, which, as all know in the US, is National Cheese Day. Yes, America’s founders, Washington, Adams, Franklin, and the like, loved cheese. They regularly ate cheese while working with Jefferson on the founding documents. Jefferson practically lived on cheese during those days. Whenever he got stuck, someone would say, “Get Tommy some cheddar.” One of the reasons why we have problems with the Second Amendment in the Bill of Rights was because of the Great American Cheese Shortage. They were trying to come up with the right words but ran out of cheese. Quoting T.J., he wrote in his journal, “I can’t think without my cheese. I crave colby so deeply that it plagues my dreams. Damn it all, when will we get more cheese?” Today’s conversations about gun rights may have been much different if they hadn’t run out of cheese. That’s also when the expression, “Cut the cheese”, was originated when someone passed gas.

I hope that cheesy tale didn’t curdle your spirit. Mozzarella with you, can’t stand a little weird humor? I know, calling it humor might be slicing it thin. Remember, just brieth and move on.

Yesterday went so well with the weather, we’re doing it again today. 60 F now, we have expectations to pop into the mid 80s F, a lovely summer prelude. More yardwork on the agenda. With all the late rain we had, the bushes and trees went nuts and need trimmed back.

Jimmy Eat World is in the morning mental music stream. I was taking in an eyeful of luscious full moon last night, recalling how, during cheese shortages, people looked up at the moon and saw cheese. “Oh, if only we could reach it,” they’d tell one another. “We’d have all the cheese we want.” Sometimes they built great edifices, like towers and pyramids, in an attempt to reach the cheesy moon, or climb the highest mountains. They’d come down from the mountains and people would greet them and ask, “Did you get some cheese?” But no; they usually came down empty handed, except one guy, who came back with some tablets. People were furious with him. “Tablets? We can’t eat those. We want cheese.”

Anyway, while taking in the moon, the night’s beauty took my breath away. From that, The Neurons began feeding different songs with the phrase, ‘take my breath away’, in it. There are a few, and my mind busied itself, eventually branching out to songs about breathing or with the word breath in them. Eventually, The Neurons rediscovered “Pain” by Jimmy Eat World from 2004. The song landed in the morning mental music stream and has been going ’round and around in it until now, when I free myself by offering it to others. Don’t know why, but that’s how it works.

Stay pos and carpe Sunday. Time for more coffee, don’t you think? Yes, The Neurons agree, it is. Here’s the music. Cheers

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Four Dream Snippets

I recall four brief dream snippets from last night/this morning. In the first I was taking broken material and setting the edges together. After I did that, I’d fuse them into one piece. The materials were mostly like thick, green safety glass. After sealing them, I’d shape them. This was all being done with a little effort by using my hands. Strangers began coming by with more of the glass for me to use, but would also sometimes bring other materials that I’d blend into it. I passed out the fixed sections so people could take them to protect themselves.

The next dream segment found me wandering around this place as the sun set and dusk crept over the land. It was an outside venue. Other people were sitting and talking in small quiet groups. As I went around, I discovered a small stash of cut watermelon pieces. I took some for me and my friends, then went back and told my friends about the stash. I went back several times. The second time I returned, I used a different angle so I could see more of the stash, and discovered it was larger than I realized. The third time, I saw that the watermelon was different. Others were using it too, I deduced, but there was still a great deal of watermelon. As I investigated it I found a glass, which turned out to be a champagne flute filled with champagne. I then found a second one. I thought, well, if there’s flutes of champagne, they must be storing them temporarily, but it was odd, storing champagne like that. Removing them and setting them aside, I saw grapes and cheese. I put all of that back and left in, worried about being caught.

The whole episode caused me to think about where else things might be. I looked in another place and found a stash of candy bars. I didn’t see a name on them because they were face down, but they were large, in dark brown wrappers aligned in a row and stacked deep.

Next, I was signing my name to documents while seated at a desk. I was doing this in response to some vague demand; the papers were expected to be signed. A man came along and leaned over my shoulder and watched me sign.

“Just as I thought,” he said.

“What?” I replied.

“There’s power in your stars.”

That amused me. “What stars?”

“The stars in your name.”

“My name doesn’t have any stars.” As I said this, I signed my name again. My signature and name were just as I did in real life, and the ink was the thick black that I prefer.

He said, “The stars between your names. There’s a lot of space in those stars. You can do a lot more with them.”

I responded that I didn’t understand what he was talking about. He pointed to where I was signing. “You’re signing your name twice.” True. “In between them is a star.” Also true, which I hadn’t noticed. “Those stars have huge capacities. You should be using them”

The final snippet found me discovering a small cardboard box. I opened it. A kitten was inside. It meowed at me, so I picked it up. I immediately knew that there was another box with another kitten. After getting the second kitten, I took the two of them and put them someplace safe. I watched until they started playing. Then they saw food and began eating. I closed where they were, knowing they would be alright.

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A House Dream

I was split about what I was calling this dream because of its varying facets. WTH.

I was a teenager. I’d biked back to visit an area where I previously lived, to see the friends still living there.

But my friend wasn’t home. Platinum blonde and white, with hair and clothing styles lifted from the 1960s, aunts and older female family friends were there and told me, “Make yourself at home.” I was in the kitchen with them and felt uncomfortable because it wasn’t my place. They scoffed away those protests while they stayed busy chatting and doing things.

The large, bright kitchen was fresh, airy, and uber-modern. Hidden doors and cupboards were everywhere. The refrigerator opened and unfolded like a transformer toy and held an amazing amount of food. My astonishment rabbited higher with every revelation.

One aunt was looking for cheese. Announcing, “I can’t find it, I have to go to the store for it,” I replied, “Wait, no, I know where it’s at.” I showed her some unfolding refrigerator section that she didn’t know about where the cheese was tucked away.

After that, I walked around the home’s bottom level. My friend’s mother returned home at that point. Short and fair, blue-eyed, with pink lipstick and white gold hair cut like Marlo Thomas in “That Girl”, she told me that I was welcome to stay as long as I like. I demurred but walked around because the house fascinated me. The living room had two large, comfortably furnished conversation pits, but the back of the living room had two natural reflecting pools surrounded by cliff walls. I saw my friend’s Mom take her bikini top off and sit back, relaxing and meditating, but looked away, not wanting to impose on her.

Going on through the house, I found a large green lawn adjacent to the living room. No walls separated them. Another front door led into that area from the outside. Two front doors! I was quite impressed and thought, every house should have two front doors. It made sense.

I had my bike now, and pushed it toward the house’s back, where I encountered the ocean. Yes, there was a large beach, reminiscent of central California, inside their house, or the house wasn’t closed in on that end. I couldn’t decide which it was as I enjoyed the crashing waves and different bird varieties.

My friend still hadn’t returned. I decided to head home. I pushed my bike back up into the living room. Seeing his mother, still topless by the reflecting pool, I called out to her, “I’m going home now. Thanks for everything.”

She came to me, putting a tee shirt on as she did, and asked questions about my planned route home. Announcing she was going that way, she said that she’d ride with me, and pulled her bike out. She was doing some shopping that way.

We rode our bikes along a rutted narrow dirt road filled with potholes and talked. She asked me why I liked her. I told her because she was intelligent, clever, charming, and beautiful. I raved a bit about her house, which I thought was amazing. She was distant in reply; I realized she wasn’t paying attention but was focused on riding her bike.

We arrived at a little market where she wanted to stop to buy bubble gum. Small wicker buckets at angles on wooden platforms abounded in a cramped, small stall. She told me to pick out some gum for myself and then said, “Oh, I need to get tongue for the dogs.”

“Tongue?”

She was holding up several packages. “Oh, yes, they love it.”

I was bewildered. “But isn’t that bubble gum?” Then I thought, who would make tongue-flavored bubble gum? I must have misunderstood.

That’s where it ended.

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Layers of Dreams

I was walking, and needed to cross the street to get my car. I decided to sell that car and get a new car. A new car wasn’t available, so I kept walking.

It was a suburban street, one like a winding paved street through a housing sub-division. My mother came by in a car. She was driving a big green convertible. The top was down. Ice cubes filled the back.

She stopped to offer me a ride. I said, “Why are you driving this big boat?” It looked like a ’63 Lincoln. She replied, “It’s my car.”

“Why is the back was filled with ice?”

“In case I need it.”

Thinking, why would anyone need so much ice, I got in the car. She said. “Of course, I really shouldn’t be driving. I’m drunk.”

I said, “Let me drive,” and opened the door to get out. My wallet fell onto the street. I kicked it a little ways away. As I went to get it, my mother drove off. I could see her looking in her rearview, so I kept shaking my head.

I went into a store to buy a new car. As I walked around, I encountered others and realized that I wasn’t wearing a mask. Finding a mask, I put it on and continued walking around. I encountered many others without masks. I always asked them, “Why aren’t you wearing a mask?” They began avoiding me and leaving the store.

I was at home. People were coming for a meeting. I was preparing snacks for them. Mom was helping. I arranged food on plates. My wife came up with a large platter of uncut cheeses. “What should we do with these?” she asked.

“Cut them and put them out,” I replied. Then, I cut them all with one knife, making little slices as Mom and my wife watched. As I was placing the slices on plates with other food, someone said, “The plan is changed. We won’t be eating. We’re meeting someone else.”

My wife asked, “What do we do with this cheese?”

I answered, “Wrap it up.” Then I wrapped it up, to show her what I meant.

I still needed a car. Going outside, I found a gleaming black machine. I circled it, admiring it from different perspectives. “I think this is my car,” I told a friend who came by.

He laughed. “Of course it is.” Seeing confusion on my face, he said, “It’s always been your car.”

Dream end.

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Drinks in a Cone

Some clever folks have come out with coffee in a cone. Which, you know, immediately raises interest in, what kind of cone, and why coffee? Why not beer, or wine in a cone?

The coffee in a cone uses a waffle cone. The problem of coffee leaking through the cone quickly arose. The entrepreneur addressed the issue by adding four layers of chocolate to the cone. If you’re not a chocolate lover (I can’t believe those words can even be true), then you might think, doesn’t entice me, thanks. I don’t like chocolate. But surely other coatings can be applied to the cone. Like caramel or maple, or something. I don’t know. Don’t ask me, I just think here.

Returning to collateral ideas, I brainstormed about what kind of cone I can use to hold my beer, and what I should coat it with. Cheese?

Pardon me a moment while I address my gag reflex.

I like beer and cheese but I canna wrap my brain around drinking beer in a cheese coated cone. Hmmm, wine…maybe.

Can you imagine ordering? “Hi, I’d like a red blend wine cone.”

“Which red?”

“Three Vineyards Oregon blend.”

“What kind of cone, sir?”

“Do you have anything gluten free?”

“Yes, we have a pretty nice olive and rosemary rice cone. I have samples here. Would you like to taste it?”

“Oh, yes, thanks. Oh, that’s good. And that’s gluten free? Okay, I’ll try that.”

“Yes, sir, what size?”

“Grande.”

“And what kind of cheese would you like as your coating?”

“Hmm…I’ve having a red wine…do you have sharp cheddars?”

“Yes, we have several cheddar variations, including white. There’s the list, up here behind me.”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t see that. Hah. If it was a snake….”

“Would you like to sample any cheese?”

“Yes, let me try that Face Rock sharp white  cheddar, thanks. I always like Face Rock’s cheeses. Yes, that’s good. I’ll go with that.”

Fifteen dollars and a few minutes later, you have your grande cheese wine cone. Of course, even with the coating, the coffee dissolves its cone cup in about three minutes. I believe we’d have a about the same amount of time for the wine cheese cone. Chug, chug.

Going back to the beer cone, we can probably have an entire sandwich in a cone, you know, like turkey with Swiss cheese. Using a rye flour cone, we’ll wrap the innards with the turkey and layer it with hot melted Swiss cheese. Then we’ll deep fry that sucker, fill it with beer (“What beer do you want, sir?”) and sell it at state fairs. And then, someday in the future (which, I know, is a bit redundant, but I’m selling an idea here), we can have National Drinks in a Cone Day.

Next: Pizza in a cone. And then stir-fry in a cone, and burritos in a cone….

Isn’t progress amazing?

Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

 

 

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