JustOlder

The Art of Licking the Bowl

My husband is more adventurous than I when it comes to new cuisines, but he is definitely less committed to food, in general.  In fact, he is so far removed from the realities of appetite that he thinks you should be hungry in order to eat.

I had just finished making banana nut bread, to use the bananas he forgot until they were brown on the outside and pulpy on the inside.  I put the batter in the pan, popped it in the oven, then licked the spoon clean – shiny clean. To tell the truth, I really wanted to go for the bowl too, but I knew I should share, so I asked him if he wanted to lick it, and of course he did.

Twenty minutes later, the bowl was still sitting on the counter.  I asked him if he wanted it, hoping he would say no, but he said,

A Virulent Strain of Hickies

Disease are always scary and, like most people, I get concerned when I see evidence of something going around.

There is a new virile strain of something called "Hickies," and it seems to be reaching epidemic proportions. Those poor people who catch it have ugly, red and blue marks on their necks (and who knows where else), and it looks like the devil. My mom says it resembles a condition that was called "Monkey Bites" in her day, but years ago it was fairly rare and people didn’t get such severe cases. I guess the strain has mutated into something stronger.

Grandma's Outfits - Then and Now

When they were my age, my grandmothers would not have dressed the way I do, because it would have been totally "improper", and un-lady-like. In fact, were they to see how I dress at this time of life, they would have a true hissie-fit. These were women who did not own a pair of long pants, much less five-pocket jeans, and a trip to San Francisco required hat and gloves. Neither of them was a fashion plate, but they adhered to the modes of the day – and they didn’t question them.

Black and white photographs of my grandmothers show middle-aged women in print cotton dresses, with bodies that had been re-formed (perhaps deformed) early on by tight-laced corsets. They are wearing sensible shoes on their small feet, and their hair is either in a net or in tight curls close to the head. No running shoes, no tee shirts, and little or no make-up. Yet they somehow seem comfortable with themselves, and that is how I remember them. Looking back, I wonder if they weren’t more at home with their bodies and with their roles as older women than are my counterparts, and I, in our modern frantic world.