Tag: slice of life

At the Store

I was going through the frozen food section, toying with the idea of buying ice cream. This was definitely an impulse thing. Although several interesting flavors called me, I wasn’t sure I was going to buy any.

A couple shopping behind me had some frozen object in hand. He said, “This says it’s three and a half servings.”

“Three and a half!” The woman laughed. “No way. I’ll just eat that myself.”

She tossed the item into their cart and they moved on.

I smiled. We’ve all been there.

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The Morning eMail

My wife heaved a sigh. She’d just come into the home office with her tea and settled down on her computer to check her email.

“My NYTimes is again in my junk folder, along with Ashland News,” she announced. “Two pieces of junk mail are in my inbox.”

“It’s probably the AI that’s supposed to be so helpful,” I answer. She laughs.

Complaints about her emails have been going all week. She uses Hotmail, which is now Outlook. Or maybe it’s the other way. Whatever you call it, she’s displeased with its performance. Every day, she has to check to see where her trusted emails have gone and delete the spam that now hits her inbox. As a product, the Hotmail/Outlook app seems to be going backwards.

It’s not consistent, either. It first started with her saying last Monday, “I didn’t get my NYTimes newsletter.” Then she said, “I found it in my junk mail.” That continued for several days before it went back to her inbox. That’s when Ashland News went to junk mail.

“I don’t understand,” my wife said. “Why is it doing this?”

A search of the net suggests many ways to try to fix this problem. None of them mentioned why the problem began. I decided to use AI to see what it said. ChatGPT blamed new adaptive AI which Microsoft introduced last year.

I passed that on to my wife, who laughed. “Great. AI is screwing up my email. What a perfect metaphor.”

I laughed, too. “I don’t know how much I trust of what one AI says about the other. It’s like wondering, what does your wife think of your girlfriend?”

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On Mom

If I come and visit

Will you know my face

Will you talk to me

Like your son

Or lace your words with hate

Will your texts ever change

From anger and demands

Will you stand and hug me

As you kiss my head

Can we sit and laugh

Remembering what we ate

Playing games of Tripoli

Hoping for a good hand

Or will you stare

Not speaking

Leaving me

In silence

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Memories & Laughter

In the last few months, a parent, stepparent, and two friends died. Last week, Mom threatened suicide and is now in a nursing home at 91.

Mom used to light up when I came through her door. She always wanted to feed me. Her cooking was excellent – especially her potato salad and spaghetti and meatballs.

She loved playing games, especially cards. She always told me that she enjoyed how I made her laugh.

Thinking of her made me remember others. Grandpa Paul passed in 1976, age 65. Multiple uncles and cousins followed, and a half dozen friends made during my military service.

I mostly remember their laughter and the fun of being with them.

That brings me joy.

Of all that was endured, it’s the laughter and fun which remains.

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At Its Best

Sunlight streams in through the open blinds. Winter snow melts away as light clouds cruise through a blue field.

My wife sits up. “This would be a good day for our roasted veggie soup.”

The roasted vegetable soup is all about potatoes, carrots, broccoli, and garlic. After quartering, cubing, slicing, the veggies are rubbed with salt, pepper, olive oil, and turmeric roasted at 425 degrees. Rubbed with oil and housed in foil, the garlic is roasted with them.

When the vegetables are done roasting thirty-five minutes later, the garlic cloves are released and added to the vegetables. They all go into a big pot. Two quarts of mushroom broth is added. Boil, then simmer or thirty minutes.

As they boil, biscuits are rolled out and baked.

Such wonderful smells flavor the air. This is when our house is at its best as a home.

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