A RELATIVELY NORMAL FELLOW

I have to go to the bank this afternoon.  Well, I could put it off until tomorrow, but then I'll be kicking myself for not doing it today, so I might as well cross this chore off my list. When I leave work, it's raw and rainy outside.  When I arrive at the bank, there are zero parking spaces to go inside, so I opt for the drive-up.  This way I stay warm and dry and still get my cash.

The drive-up is an odd place where the exchange between bank and customer is done through a plastic tube that carries checks and money via a space-age, air-jetted tunnel system.  It also has a television screen so that I can see the teller and the teller can see me.

Today's teller is a dead-ringer for Arthur Fielder, former (and currently dead) conductor of the Boston Pops.  I'm not certain that pseudo-Arthur-Fiedler understands how the teller-vision works, though, because he seems to have OCD ... NOT that it's a BAD thing.  He has this whole routine: shake shake shimmy touch the nose shimmy touch the nose shimmy touch the nose -- repeat, repeat, repeat.  I'm not so sure I like the fact that he is touching his nose and then will be touching the money he is about to hand over to me, but, when it's all said and done, I'm sure the money is filthy with other bacteria and crap, anyway.

This is when things turn weird (or, weirder): Pseudo-Arthur-Fiedler lifts up his leg, perches it on the table where the camera is, and leans forward.  I'm not initially sure if he is exercising or trying to show off his bumbum.  Suddenly, he lifts both of his arms in a giant arc as if he is prepping to start conducting Leroy Anderson's greatest hits.

Holy crap -- he really IS Arthur Fiedler!

But then, just as I'm thinking I'm about to hear the Boston Pops play, pseudo-Arthur-Fiedler starts tying his shoe.  On camera.  While I watch.  He puts his foot down, leans to his left, grabs my cash out of the dispenser, counts it out, and sticks it back into the plastic missile.  I cannot tell if he remembers he has just repeatedly tweaked his nostrils and tied his shoes while doing a semi-split,  all while in full view of me and anyone in the aisle to my right who may have privy to the monitor in my aisle.

"Anything else I can help you with today?" he asks cheerfully.

Hmmmmmm.  An eye wash might be pertinent suggestion, and possibly some hand sanitizer, or maybe some Lysol spray for the envelope filled with nose-touched money. 

Honestly, though, he is quite jolly and very affable.  Except for the ritualistic mannerisms in the teller booth, he seems like a relatively normal fellow.

POPOVER PUCKS

Today is a beef stew kind of day.  It's chilly out, and the football game of interest isn't on until this evening.  I'm cleaning out the spare room that only made it halfway through its original blow-out this summer, and trying to reorganize enough to get Santa's Workshop set up (gift wrapping station).

For some reason, I am craving popovers.  It has been so long since I made or ate popovers that I don't think my kids even know what they are.  I love popovers, so I dig out my mother's recipe ... a.k.a. Betty Crocker ... and give it a whirl.

The popovers look fabulous when I take them out of the oven -- warm and tall, though I know the tops will fall in shortly.  For some reason, the popovers weigh a lot.  They're very heavy, not too heavy, but heavy like when biscuits end up more like hockey pucks than rolls.  I also seem to have forgotten how eggy they taste.  I don't remember them being so yolky (yeah, I may have made up that word), so I try to cut that flavor with a slab of butter melting inside the popover's center.

When the butter trick doesn't help as much as I'd like, I pull the popover I am eating into pieces and dip it into the gravy of my stew, making the roll more like Yorkshire pudding.  That does help, but still I am disappointed by my memory mismatching my reality.

Oh, well.  I have leftover popovers and stew, which isn't a bad thing at all.  The spare room doesn't get finished, but I'm over it, at least for now.  I can always use the popovers as paperweights to hold stuff down until I can put it where it belongs.

SATURDAY SHOPPING ADVENTURE

With the help of 2/3 of my children, my Christmas tree is up.  I figure if I'm going to drop money and time and energy on the holidays, might as well reap the benefit of the decorations.  Oh, and it's my only semi-open weekend until Christmas.  If it doesn't get done this weekend, it may not get done at all.

I feel productive, so I decide to hit a few stores on Saturday, use up some coupons and such.  I plan to hit Christmas Tree Shop, Kohl's, AC Moore, Michael's, DSW, CVS, Staples, Yankee Candle, plus two wine tastings and a visit to my invalid eldest sister.

I have a couple of things that I want at The Tree, and I sort of find them.  I have to bring some holiday decorations to my sister at The Home, but I forget important things like the photo album I need.  I do, however, find a good sale on batteries for the Christmas toys I have not yet unpacked from storage (but will on Sunday).  The Tree has taper candles in purple and in blue and in pink, so I have to decide which way I'm going with the Advent candles.  I end up with the purple/pink combo, buying enough candles to get me through Advent and beyond, should we lose electricity again.

The Tree and Kohl's are in the same mini-mall, so I come out from one store (surprisingly easy wait to check out), take a look at my awesome Kohl's coupons, then decide I am too cheap and too bored to go shopping there.  I'd just end up buying stuff for myself, and that defeats the purpose of today.  I head over to AC Moore with my 20% off coupon, but there is zero parking available between Market Basket and Home Depot, the sandwich stores surrounding the craft store.  I swing through the lot, get into the line for the traffic light, and head down the street to Michael's, instead.

Michael's isn't too horribly crowded, and I snag a space about four from the end.  I wander inside, anticipating some decent sales.  I didn't get much at Christmas Tree Shop, and it would be nice to bring a few more items to my sister, although she keeps losing everything we give her, so I don't want to invest into anything that will break my heart nor wallet when it goes missing.  I find nothing worthy of the coupon I am holding (15%) , and they have zero photo albums, so I leave empty-handed.

I decide that I do not really need new shoes nor sneakers nor boots, even though I have a coupon, so I pass right by DSW.  CVS is next, and I cannot think of anything that I need except the AA batteries that I already bought at The Tree.  The coupon I have for CVS has not quite expired yet, anyway, so no harm, no foul.  Since I did not get the photo album I need, I also pass by Staples.  There's no point in buying the photo paper for my printer if I don't have the photo album for the finished product.  I also do not need to stop at Yankee Candle because it's almost a sure bet that they won't have Advent candles, and I plan to improvise with the tapers I bought at The Tree, anyway.

I stop at wine tasting #1, discover one of my favorite sommeliers is the guest host, then grab my usual vino verde.  From there, I go to visit my sister and set up her few decorations, find her coat for her, discover that she is missing her fall coat, give her the mail and a pink knit hat, and avoid awkward questions about Thanksgiving.  After this fun adventure, I need a second wine tasting ... except ...

Neither wine store on my docket today carries small bottles of prosecco, and I'm craving mimosas.   I don't like having a full-sized bottle of prosecco because it's too much for one person in one sitting, and I hate opening the bottles.  So, I head to the small liquor store tucked inside the grocery store, buy the four-pack of small bottles of brut wine, and continue on my way to yet another liquor store.

The second wine tasting is next to a grocery store, so I check and see if the grocery store has stew beef.  (Why I didn't do this at the last place is a complete mystery).  The store was out of stew beef the other day, so I don't hold out much hope, except that the store DOES have stew beef, and it is on SALE.  I finish up my day with wine tasting#2 at liquor store #3, where everything tastes good but I am definitely not worthy of a $60 bottle of Aussie wine, so I buy beer.

All in all, I don't do too badly.  I am out for less than four hours, I only spend about $70 total, my wine and beer are restocked, my sister has been visited, and I can make beef stew for Sunday dinner.  Okay, so my list of things to buy and places to go isn't as successful as I'd planned, and a bunch of "today only" coupons end up in the recycle bin, but think of all the money I save today by efficiently eliminating stops from my shopping. 

Yup, positive thinking.  Not as productive as I'd like, but at least the tree is up.  Thanks, kids, because without you, the tree would've gone the way of my list: partially completed.

SCRAPERS, SCRAPERS, WHO'S GOT MY SCRAPERS?

I am notorious for losing things, replacing them, then finding the things that I lost in the first place.  It's a nasty curse that has led me to own not one, not two, not three, not four, not even five, six, or seven... I own so many windshield scrapers that I've lost count.

I own small scrapers I can maneuver with one hand; I own long scrapers that can reach the center of the windshield; I own medium length scrapers that are ideal for windows; I own several scrapers with brushes on them for getting the fluffy snow (when it IS fluffy) out of the way.  I own enough windshield scrapers to open my own windshield scraper kiosk.

Of course, the morning of the first frost, I leave my house, confident that I have at least two scrapers in my car.  I start the car, crank up the defroster, and prepare to start scraping the windows so I can make the mad dash to work. 

There's only one problem: No windshield scrapers.

I check the trunk -- Nothing.  I look under the seats -- Nothing.  I recheck the trunk and start tearing things apart.  I still have some of my summer gear back there, but the trunk is organized.  I can find walking poles, several umbrellas, two life jackets, a sun hat, some flip flops, my water shoes, two sets of oars for the kayaks, a whole slew of waterproof bags, emergency tools, cleaning supplies, and some random sports balls.  I close the trunk, check the seats again, then re-check the trunk, now to the point of pulling crap out of every crevice I can find.

If I ever intend to get to work, I'll have to improvise.  I unload my backpack, find my wallet, pull out my Stop & Shop card, and start scraping the windows, the back windows, and, finally, the front windshield.  I don't even bother putting the card back; I shove it into the center console as I pull my car out of the driveway.

Later, after work and after another semi-crappy day, I hit the store and load the groceries into the trunk.  The trunk ... that now looks like a mini-bomb has exploded all over it because my formerly well-organized belongings have been tossed (by me) all over the damn place. 

I do find the two scrapers tucked neatly into a bag and stuffed carefully next to the emergency tool kit.  Apparently, I never restocked all of the scrapers I own when I changed over from my old car to my new one six months prior.  The scarpers won't do me a damn amount of good now, but at least I know where they are.

On my way to the basement to do laundry later, I spot the other three scrapers/brushes that I removed from my old car.  These scrapers/brushes haven't made it to my car yet because I traded in my previous vehicle for this new one at the start of the summer.  I gather up the scrapers from the basement floor (where I dumped them last May), and I prep them to be returned to my car.

Not today, though.  I'm not leaving my house today.  It's too cold, and I'll probably just have to scrape the windshield, anyway.  My brain knows that I have enough scrapers now to outfit the entire neighborhood, but I know me.  Give me a week or two; I'll have lost them all by that time.

WINTER BASIL

Ah, the last sweet smell of summer ends today.  No, it does not end today because we have our first official frost; it ends today because the basil plant needs its final pruning before being put out to pasture.

I bought the basil plant at the store part-way through summer, and I paid less than $6 for it.  The dang thing grew and grew and grew, causing me to nickname it The Hulk.  It produced enough basil to keep me and several others in caprese salads for weeks at a time. Even when I bring The Hulk inside for the winter, it still continues to produce leaves.

However, the plant isn't going to make it through the winter, after all.  It has been showing signs of extreme exhaustion for a while now, so I know the best thing for it is to save the leaves that I can and put the rest outside for compost.

Poor Hulk.  It almost makes me cry to trim the sad baby, but I know there's no going back.  The stems are all drying out and turning brown; if I don't act quickly, I'll lose the last of the basil altogether.

After saving the remnants of this year's basil, I do rescue a few semi-healthy sprigs from the once-hardy plant and immerse them in a water-filled mason jar.  Yup, I guess I'm not quite ready to say good-bye yet as summer hope springs eternal. 

I will know in about four weeks whether or not any of the sprigs actually root and produce winter basil plants.  Then, I will know for certain whether or not summer is over.

I MAY BE STUPID, BUT ...

I'm having a bad week.

First, I need to pick up some stuff at the store after I leave work on Monday.  I'm all set to go, but, for some reason, I double-check my wallet.  I am 99.99% positive that I have plenty of cash in there, so I feel silly for even looking.

Damnit.  I have $7 cash; no credit card, no checks, no bank card.  Pissah.  I have to swing by the house before I do anything else.  Walking out of work, I am yelling at myself: "You stupid, STUPID person!  You STUPID, STUPID, STUPID person!"

Tuesday we have all-day meetings.  At the end of the day, I stay late to make some copies that I need.  I copy several pages of things back-to-back, hole-punched, collated ... you name it; I'm copying it.  I am finally ready to leave work when I realize that one of the worksheets is copied wrong and that I missed an entire page.

It's fixable and it's minor, but I am very tired.  I haven't been feeling well all day and woke up with vertigo in the morning (walked right into the wall ... twice).  I could go home now and fix the copying mistake the following day, but it will bug me all night.

Damnit.  I gather the papers that need to be correctly re-run through the machine and stalk down the hall while muttering, "You stupid person.  You stupid, stupid person.  You STUPID, STUPID, STUPID person!"  I stay and re-copy the pages correctly, adding another fifteen minutes of work onto my day, which doesn't seem like much, but it's dark when I finally get outside ... and it's cold ... and it's raining.  Pissah.

This morning I am trying to get out of the house so I can get to work early and get my feet under me before the day begins: Set up the classes, bookmark the PowerPoint slides, make sure the audio for the article is running.  I showered the night before and only need to straighten my bangs, which look like miniature ski jumps the way they stick out.  I plug in the straightener, get dressed, cut it close to leaving time, and prepare to hot-iron the crap out of my errant bangs.

Damnit.  I forgot to actually press the "on" button, so the straightener isn't even tepid, let alone hot.  I hit the regular "on" button as well as the "turbo on" button, then madly attempt to fix my hair, all the while chanting, "You STUPID person,  You STUPID person.  You STUPID person."  My hair ends up looking pissah, and by pissah, I mean I look like a groomed spaniel.

Lastly, I have a remote start for my car.  I've never actually used the remote start in the six months that I've owned the car, but I figure today is the day to start because it's chilly out.  I point the remote through the window of the living room, and ... nothing.  I try again and again and again to remotely start the car.

Finally, in the driveway walking near the car, I try it again and the car starts.  It also locks itself up like Fort Knox.

Damnit.  I cannot even get into my own car.  I try hitting the button on the remote to unlock the car.  Nothing.  I try my other set of keys.  Nothing.  I try shutting the car off.  Nothing.  Pissah.

Now, I know damn well that I can unlock the car with my regular key, if necessary, by pulling the strange metal doodad out of the remote entry, but I finally manage to get the driver's door unlocked.  For some reason, I've sprung the trunk, as well, probably because I started beating the shit out of the remote.  In the meantime, I am harrumphing around the car and in the car, gritting my teeth and hissing, "You stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, STUPID, STUPID, STUPID asshole of a person!  Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

During one of these Stupid Person moments this week, a colleague stops me to inquire of whom I speak.  Who is stupid, she wants to know.  Me.  I am. Hopefully, though, this is the last of it for this week.  Just in case it's not, though, I don't stay late at work today.  Instead, I haul ass, come straight home, inform my son we are eating leftovers out of the fridge, and get into my pajamas by 6:00 p.m.

Before bed, I decide to make lunches for tomorrow.  I get out the bread, the mayo, the knife... Oh, yeah.  I came right home from work.  I didn't stop at the store.  There is no sandwich meat for lunches.  Damnit.  Here I go again.  "Stupid person.  Stupid, stupid, stupid..."

Time for bed; I'll try again tomorrow.  I know defeat when I see it.  I may be a stupid person, but I'm not a total idiot.

I SMELL FIRST SNOW

Snow, snow, snow, snow, snow, snow, snow, snow, snow, snow, snow, snow, SNOW.

When I leave work this afternoon, I walk out of the building, take a deep breath, and say out loud to no one, "I SMELL SNOW!"

My buddy in Western Massachusetts says it is snowing in his neck of the woods.  I am waiting, somewhat impatiently, for the snow line to move across the radar map and blanket my neck of the woods.  

There's nothing quite like the first snowfall of the season, regardless of how major or minor it may be.  I keep peeking out the windows past the sheer curtains and the shades, searching through the darkness of the early evening sky. 

Nothing yet, though; no first snow.

I check the radar again. Little by little the snow inches northeast.  The temperature, however, is holding steady here at 45 degrees. 

Maybe.  Maybe ... probably not.

I haven't given up yet, but it's getting later and later, and I've had a long day.  Sorry, snow, but if you don't make an appearance soon, I might have to wait for snowfall #2 ... or #3.  It's comforting to know that the snow is just a few miles away, and that thought will lull me to sleep tonight.  Well, that and the knowledge that my nose was right.