Image Grenade

I’m cold. I’m nearly always cold.

My husband, refusing to be held financially hostage by Philadelphia Gas Works refuses to buy heat, so with an old house and a thermostat that rarely goes above 65 degrees, I’m generally layered in long underwear, long sleeved tops and a sweatshirt. And then there’s my head. With nothing more than a ½ inch of silver white curls, it’s not like my brain has a whole lot of insulation. To combat this, I began wearing skull caps. It began as a way to keep my melon warm after exiting a shower, but as the temperatures in my casa began dropping, I began wearing them indoors. Then I began buying several. I’ve a red and white one with a big Boyton-esque cat on it, a black one with red iron crosses and two for my team Chelsea; one in girlie pink and the other one in blue, natch! And while it’s not as bad as a doo-rag or answering the door with a barnet full of curlers,  I did feel a bit of a pratt when I have to answer the door wearing one.  And then I realized I wasn’t silly, I was retro. As a kid, one of my favorite bands was the Monkees and while Mickey Dolenz almost share a birthday, it’s Mike Nesmith who shared my penchant for the hat. It was groovy. It was, in a world sporting long hippy hair, avant garde. And while my homespun fashion statement may not have been on the runways during fashion week, (David Beckham and most men having abandoned the look several seasons ago, ) it’s good to know while I hang on to an erstwhile trend, I share a groovy, retrofabulous look with a music icon cum millionaire (his Mum made a fortune inventing White Out a.k.a. Liquid paper.)Can your accessories tout that kind of pedigree?

A friend relayed this story to me recently.She and  her nephew’s partner were discussing names. “Well my full name is Crystal Gayle” she said

“Oh, were you named after the singer?” my friend asked.

“No, I was named after Crystal Meth(amphetamine)
My friend’s mouth dropped open and there was an audible pause before she recovered and countered with…. “If I were you, I’d tell people the story about the singer.”

I am an unabashed foodie. I’ve cooked food from nearly every country on the planet and if there is life on Mars, I hope there’s a cookbook that describes their planetary cuisine. I’ve cooked low fat, low carb, organic, vegan and RAW (which is more like mushing stuff together).

I’ve juiced, pounded, crushed, strained and mixed and used seasonings from epazote to sumac. And I know food, like fashion, goes through trends so I’m constantly peering over the horizon to see the next big thing. And you know what it is…..SALT. While most of you are familiar with a few versions of salt, kosher, sea, iodized, rock, salt is experiencing a bit of a renaissance lately as more varieties are coming on the market.While salt tastes, well, salty; varieties entering the market also have other flavors from mild to smoky and depending on the coarseness, may be used  as a finishing salt to impart a burst of flavor on the food or as slow melting chunk that provides a burst of flavor. The artisan versions can be colored, like  Alaea whose red color is influenced by the Hawaiian clay, or the Cyprus Black whose color and texture is influenced by activated charcoal. Most of the varieties contain trace elements and in the case of Sel gris a completely natural and unrefined salt which is higher in minerals and nutrients than the run of the mill brand in the blue box. If you’re not sure where to try these lovely crystals, two of my favorite salt houses are The Salt Works and the Salt Traders. While Salt Works has a few more varieties and a great downloadable pdf pamphlet that describes each variety in detail, Salt Traders offer smaller sampler kits so you can try several varieties and experiment with textures before purchasing in the more cost effective bulk container. Salt Works www.seasalt.comSalt Traders www.salttraders.com 

Wondering what your future husband (or next husband) will look like? Well tonight’s the night to find out. The feast day of St. Agnes is January 21st, but according to legend, on the eve of St. Agnes,  a girl can  see her future husband in a dream if she performs a ritual.

So, if you’re aching to see who Mr. Right will be you need to do the following: go to bed without any supper; completely naked and lie on your bed with your hands under the pillow and looking up to the heavens and not looking behind you.

Supposedly if you follow the prescribed steps, you will view your husband to be in a dream.

Of course if you do all that and still don’t dream of your future mate, grab a copy of Keats 42 long stanza poem of the same name (see link below) and enjoy.

http://www.bartleby.com/126/39.html

Advertising’s a crazy world. In my office it’s most definitely the old boys club who sell product advertising, versus the classified/recruitment advertising team (mostly women).
Add to that, since my mate Ronna are the only classified reps in the Philadelphia office, you get us; a tag team generally ignored or derided by those working immediately around us.As the only company for each other, we talk, and trade email jibes about our fellow coworkers between the long hours answering queries and correspondence from clients. Since we’re both punctual people, when 7:30 came and Ronna hadn’t appeared in the office, I was a little curious. “Ah, Septa (commuter rail) must be late, and I’m sure she’ll have a story about that.” Ronna always had a story about how she accosted the conductor and demanded she receive remuneration for the delayed train. But when 8 am arrived and still no Ronna, I began to worry. Finally, at 9, I received a phone call. The person was asking to speak to the operator and when I asked if I could assist them, the man told me it was about Ronna Ekhouse. “Oh she’s not in the office yet.” I replied. “She’s usually here by now so I’m not sure what happened.””I know what happened.” the voice replied. “She’s had a stroke! This is her husband.”The first thing I thought about was how last week she kept complaining of a headache that didn’t seem to stem from anything. She even called our insurance plan to see how much they would reimburse her for a new eyeglass prescription.
And the saddest thing of all, is one the largest journals I represent is, you guessed it Stroke.  Even I missed the signs of stroke in women.So, I urge you, to familiarize yourself with the Warning Signs of Stroke
Sudden numbness or weakness of face, arm or leg — especially on one side of the body
Sudden confusion, trouble speaking or understanding
Sudden trouble seeing in one or both eyes
Sudden trouble walking dizziness or loss of balance or coordination
Sudden severe headache with no known cause
Sudden nausea, fever and vomiting, with an onset in minutes or hours instead of several days
Brief loss of consciousness.Remember medical attention is vital and can save brain function.
For more information visit www.womensheart.org

I’m a firm believer that the reason more people aren’t more eco friendly is because it’s not convenient. We live in a world where instant gratification is king, people indulge their “wants” under the L’oreal defense (because I’m worth it), no one wants to work hard or God forbid wait. While I don’t drive a car or use energy with reckless abandon, I have realized the amount of waste I’m adding to landfills simply by using convenience foods.  Yes, the defendant is guilty as charged.  I keep cup a soup sachets and packs of instant oatmeal in my office. It’s quick and easy, but with every packet I toss, I too contribute to the problem I’m raging against. So now, in an effort to take my green to the next level, I’m doing a few new things in the kitchen to help reduce my waste. Buying tea in Bulk;I love Twinnings tea, but each tiny box enshrouds each and every teabag in a little wrapper. While I do fold and collapse the box and add it to recycle, I do tend to toss the wee wrappers in the trash. The solution, a tin of loose tea and a tea ball. Besides, when it comes to divination, you can read someone’s tea leaves, but have you ever tried to read a tea bag? Making soup at home.Britain has adopted many things from America (most of which I apologize for, I’m looking at you Starbucks). Americaloves the BBC, the British accent and Dame Judi Dench. One thing that hasn’t traveled across the pond is Carrot Coriander soup. I’m passionate about it and stock up on boxes of  the instant orange elixir anytime I’m near a Waitrose or Sainsbury supermarket. On my recent trip however, I purchased fewer boxes because I was concerned about the waste. My solution now is to spend this weekend making the aforementioned soup and freezing it in small containers to bring to work. It’s more cost effective, and takes only takes only four ingredients and 30 minutes to make. 

Buying local

Although I prefer organic, there are times where organic can rack up more food miles (distance food travels to get to the final consumer) than purchasing non-organic and local. While the ideal is to do both, I ‘ve often had to settle for one or the other. Fortunately, I live in the heart of the Italian Market so I can eat both seasonally and mostly local and now that Molly Rusakoff has turned her shop at 1010 South 9th Street from a bookstore to an organic market, I can get the best of both worlds. With a good selection of organic foods including all the basics; sugar, milk and eggs, I can keep the business in my neighborhood while keeping true to our increasingly green agenda.

Some days are easier than others. Some days you just bounce out of bed and are ready for life and all of its possibilities. Some days simply extracting yourself from the warmth of your duvet sends sparks some distant memory of being forced out of a cozy womb and spat out into a cold and sterile environ. As the weather borders on frigid, Chelsea suffers a loss at the hands of Man U and 65 people in my company have been laid off, I think it’s time to find, in the words of Ian Drury “Reasons to be Cheerful” January Sales
Sure they’re big in London, but with the economy as it is, there’s loads of stuff that just didn’t sell before the holidays. And as the weather is just beginning to get really cold here, it’s the perfect time to snatch a deal on hats, gloves and boots before Bermuda shorts and sandals overtake every store in town. Porridge/OatmealIn the summer I carry fresh fruit to work for brekkie, but in the winter, it’s steel cut oats I crave. My two favorites are McCann’s Instant Sugar Free oatmeal and Kashi Heart to Heart instant oatmeal. It’s warming, it sticks to your ribs and it’s soluble fiber helps to reduce cholesterol. It’s the cheapest and easiest I do for my health. Barefoot Wineries Cabernet SauvignonBlame our mates in Cali for this one, but after a hard day at work a nice glass of vino goes with, well, pretty much everything and the large bottle comes at a recession friendly price. PajamasIn that iconic teen flick,  Clueless, Cher remarked about liking sweats because “all of her party clothes were so binding.” Well so are my work clothes and that’s before you layer up with the balaclava, scarves, ski gloves and down jacket I wear for fear of freezing as I cycle to and fro. Once I get home, I can’t wait to get into a nice snuggly pair of jimmy jams.  SnowNot like I’ve seen any (outside of one centimeter in London) but I believe it’s coming and that makes not only the winter temperatures bearable, but absolutely necessary.

The gift wrap has gone into the recycling bin, the tree’s been mulched and I’ve managed through careful roasting and straining, turn carcasses of chickens and bones of beef into warming wintry soups.

The one thing I didn’t expect to be recycling in the new year were family arguments.

I’m not a great one for having to reiterate my point. I generally think I explain how I feel pretty well and once I’ve said it and the other party assures me they understand, I move on. 

For some (read family) it turns into one of those, I acknowledge your feelings, and in a couple of months I’ll forget about trying to understand and persist in the same effed up behavior that put a strain on our relationship in the first place. I don’t believe it’s malicious, but it’s incredibly insensitive and really trying and unfortunately, it appears to be an acceptable thread in that manky ball of yarn we call family.

I remember after my Grandmother was released from hospital and her former minister announced he would be in the area, you might have thought the Messiah was coming. She was staying up late, cooking and trying to clean (none of which she could or needed to do, having just climbed out of a hospital bed.) So my Dad and Mum ended up not only taking care of her, but the minister and his wife as well.  Then she kept going on about how wonderful it was the Rev came to visit, all the while forgetting that it was my parents, pinch hitting for Jeeves and the kitchen scullery maid, who made it all possible. There was no thank you, and no acknowledgement of their efforts which struck me as completly rude, especially since my Grandmother was known for her etiquette and graciousness.

I think the people who are closest to us, basically run roughshod over us because they can. They assume how they act or treat us should be understood as if blood ties assuage all responsibility. We can be less respectful, we can push all the right buttons (because we know where control panel is located) and we can make outrageous demands, simply because “ we’re family.”

Maybe it’s because no matter what else we can escape.You can nevery really deny your kin. You can move on, grow up, become captain of industry and yet when Aunt Bess comes in to town she’ll still spit on a napkin and wipe your face while regaling all of your coworkers about the time she spanked you and you peed your pants. You can’t disown her. You can’t knock her out of the chair and wrestle her to the floor, she’s like 210 for Chrisssake. But inside your embarassed and part of your psyche recoils like a cobra ready to strike, so instead you distance yourself while your cousin tells you, “Don’t be like that, she’s FAMILY.”

I think it’s also tied to our mortality.As we feel the fingers of the Grim Reaper grasping at our shoulder, we expect more from family. It’s like some bizarre bank account in which you’ve been making deposits of love suport and compassion in for years and now demand a steady withdraw.

They play the family trump card like some wicked hand of poker.

“But Gran, I’ve got a full schedule.”
”I see your full schedule and I’ll raise you a  …….BLAM!! Nothing is more important than the family.

Well guess again.  There are a few more important things like consideration, common courtesy, respect, mutual admiration and support. And while I love most of  the folks with whom I share DNA, I’m fortunate that when they forget those familial ideals, I can find succor in friends; who truly are the family you choose for yourself.