I tried a new twist in my microwave cooking. I found a Banquet family lasagna dinner tucked away in the freezer. I have no idea why I bought it; it was way too big for me to eat at one time. I decided I either had to use it or throw it away. Being a depression era child, I couldn’t throw it away so I carefully read the directions (something I’ve been doing with microwave meals lately) and started to work. I actually cooked it successfully, with no fires or ruined dishes. I dished up a bowlful and ate it for supper.
It didn’t look or taste like any lasagna I had eaten before, but it was edible, so I put the rest in a freezer carton and stuck it in the refrigerator. The next day I wanted to have it for lunch, but I didn’t know if I could take the phony spices they had put in to kill the Banquet taste. I looked in my new pull-out pantry and found a can of Chef Boyardee Beefaroni with tomato sauce. I opened the can, put it in a pot on the stove, added the lasagna (sic), shook in some Italian spices, and had a reasonable dish and lots of it for future meals. It was kind of a mix and match recipe.
I dragged out one of the ironing boards because I had bought a shirt that said, “May need touch-up ironing,” on the label. Well, they were right about that; it looked like a bear had hibernated in it when it came out of the wash. I hadn’t used the iron for about two years, so I was a little careful knowing that you can get that burst of dirty water with the first shot of steam, but everything went OK. I didn’t burn myself, or the shirt, and it looks a lot better. I believe I’m going to stick to strictly permanent press clothes from now on. I really don’t trust myself with a hot iron.
A recent ‘Hagar the Horrible’ cartoon was very appropriate for us older folks. Hagar wondered why everyone was in such a hurry. I made a trip to the city at the southern end of Lake Michigan lately and I sure could sympathize with Hagar. In Minneapolis people ran past me on the “people mover,” looking at me like I was some kind of traffic hazard. When I arrived in the Windy City, I was on my way down an escalator enjoying the view with folks running down the steps giving me the “dumb tourist” look as they passed me.
I want to slow life down, not speed it up. I guess I’m not that anxious to get to the end, if you know what I mean. I’m just going to ignore those speedy people and continue on the scenic route of life.
I’ve acquired a few new “friends” on my Facebook page. I’m not exactly sure how to respond; not to worry: one of my grandchildren will help me.
Every day is “Be nice to widowers day.” Alnada2704@gmail.com