Classic readers of this blog might assume that this post is about new culinary classics created by my husband Michael, including dinner from last night.
.
However, today’s post is inspired by my classic friend Peter, who sent me this yesterday …
… with the wonderful addition “Finnegan’s Cake.”
Here are my new culinary classics:
The House of Seven Bagels
The Turn of the Stew
Moby Duck
Leek House
The Rind of the Ancient Marinara
The Old Man and the Sea Bass
Mushroom with a View
Gone with the Wine
Tom Soy-sauce
A Knish Before Dying
The Bun Also Rises
The Right Stuffing
Travels with Barley
The Mosquito Toast
The Black Scallion
Ketchup in the Rye
I look forward to seeing more new culinary classics in the comments section, below.
To help you think, here is music from Mushroom I mean A Room with a View.
Thanks to Peter, Lorie Ransom, and all the other classic and classy people who help me write these posts, including YOU.
Then, I became much more pissed when I realized that our cat (whose name begins with O, not P), had urinated, peed, and pissed all over the bottom of our bedroom closet.
Of course, I had to de-urinate, de-pee, and de-piss the closet, pronto, even though I had an early appointment about my heart.
Does this pissy post on my Facebook page sound pissed off?
Apparently, one of our cats tried to distract me from worrying about my heart by peeing everywhere in our closet. It worked.
Urine for some surprises, perhaps, when I tell you that:
Melanie and I have worked together, through many pacemakers, for thirty years.
I always feel less pissed after I talk with wonderful pee-ple like Melanie.
Melanie showed me empeethy and understanding, as usual, which helped my heart feel much better.
Throughout the day, I felt pissy about these things:
I could still imagine smelling that cat pee.
Several pairs of my shoes are probably ruined because of urine, which is very pee-ving.
I phoned pee-ple at the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota, and Dr. Warnes (who is the expert in pee-ple with my heart condition) is taking vacation the same week as my vacation in May, which is pee-ving, because now I’ll have to miss work to visit her.
Dr. Warnes wants me to meet with a surgeon when I visit her in Minnesota, and surgeons are pee-ple who can piss me off.
Ready for some pissed photos from yesterday, pee-ple?
That last pissy picture shows our own personal Urinetown — the back porch containing everything Oscar has recently peed on.
Because personally, puns do NOT peeve me, here’s the subject heading of an email I sent to my doctors about my mixed feelings re: traveling all the way to the Mayo Clinic about my pissy heart:
Yesterday, I visited my sister, Ellen, who is allergic to cheese.
Some people think limericks are cheesy. I hope Ellen isn’t allergic to this:
My sister, allergic to cheese,
Knows that living near water brings ease.
At this stage in her life,
She and Linda, her wife,
Have a condo that’s certain to please,
Next to water that never will freeze.
My limerick for Ellen has an extra line, but I wanted to give it an extra slice of cheese, for love and luck.
Speaking of slices of cheese, Ellen had this on her salad at lunch yesterday:
While that looks like a slice of cheese, it’s not. Would it be cheesy to ask you to guess what that is?
Personally, guessing games make me smile like I’m saying “cheese.”
Last night, our local supermarket was giving out free samples of cheese.
While you might think it cheesy to wear a Halloween costume the day after Halloween, I smiled when I saw this princess ….
… who kept going back for more cheese.
As usual, I saw other cheesy items at the supermarket.
Ellen and I are both far from 29, so I didn’t buy that cheesy “cake mate” to celebrate. By the way, I don’t think it’s cheesy for anyone to attain their heart’s desire (like a place near the ocean) late in life.
After my boyfriend Michael and I completed our cheesy food shopping last night, he made us veggie burgers with cheese (not pictured).
Here are several more slices of cheese for today’s cheese-filled post:
Say “cheese,” please, because studies have shown that smiling increases ease.
Thanks to all who helped me write this cheesy post and an extra slice of thanks to you — of course! — for eating it up.
I got a paper-cut on my finger three days ago at work, and it’s been hurting me ever since.
I don’t know if Oscar — or you — can see that cut, but it’s reminding me of this definition of the difference between tragedy and comedy, from Mel Brooks as The 2000 Year Old Man:
Tragedy is when I get a paper-cut on my finger. It hurts, I’ll run around, I’ll cry, and I’ll go to the hospital.
Comedy is when you fall into an open sewer and die.
Even though I can’t find that particular tragedy/comedy clip right now, that’s no tragedy, since there’s lots more comedy where that came from :
You can find Mel Brooks and Carl Reiner performing the amazing comedy of The 2000 Year Old Man on YouTube and — I hope — many other places. It would be a tragedy if those jewels of improvisational comedy ever disappear.
Sometimes, I find it hard to decide what’s tragic and what’s comic, in my life. Sometimes, I laugh to keep from crying or find it all so funny, I cry.
Am I alone in this tragicomedy?
Whatever your thoughts about that or anything else in this post, it wouldn’t be a tragedy if you leave them in a comment, you know.
Here are some photos I took last night, when I was thinking about tragedy and comedy at our local supermarket.
I am hoping that nobody’s so tragically alone that they need a talking mouse like that, just to hear the words, “I like you.”
Here’s a tragedy for me (which may be comical to you):
My most favorite Skinny Cow dessert has tragically disappeared from the freezer section of my supermarket. I fear the yummy and low calorie chocolate mousse ganache cones I love will never, ever return.
If my thoughts turn tragic about that loss or about anything else (like the upcoming surgery for my unusual heart), I’ll just remember this:
Yes, I have survived disco, so I’ll probably survive a whole lot more.
There’s a specific personal tragedy I’d like to transform here, before I end this post. Last week, a doctor I met for the first time said things I found negative, frightening, and tragically hope-diminishing. As I’ve oft written in this blog, negative words and thoughts can tragically push out the positive.
In the here and now, I resolve to turn that tragedy into comedy.
How?
Well, as I’ve found in individual and group psychotherapy, it’s possible to reduce the power of toxic people by changing your thoughts about them. For example, I could picture that cardiologist as a clown or as a standup comedian, delivering a routine (rather than delivering dire predictions about my health).
Also, I could turn that personal tragedy into comedy here, with some jokes about doctors:
“Doctor, you have to help me out!” “Certainly, which way did you come in?”
“Doctor, you’ve taken out my tonsils, my adenoids, my gall bladder, and my appendix, but I still don’t feel well.” “That’s enough out of you!”
“Doctor, my leg hurts! What can I do?” “Limp.”
“Doctor, I’ve hurt my arm in several places.” “Don’t go there any more.”
What’s the difference between God and a doctor?
God doesn’t think He’s a doctor.
As that last joke reminds me, that doomsday doctor I saw last week is not God. No human being, doctor or otherwise, is psychic about the future. We all have to wait and see what really happens, with all of us.
Maybe I’ll run into this doctor years from now, still looking as good as I do now, and give him some sort of comic gesture.
(Note: that episode is no longer available on YouTube, perhaps because of the tragedy of Mary Tyler Moore’s death. The gesture, in “The Critic” episode, was a pie in the face.)
Well! I have to go to the hospital now, not because of my paper-cut or any other tragedy, but because I need to get to work.
Here’s what it looks like outside, right now:
Is that a tragedy or a comedy? It might depend on how close it is, to you.
Tragically sincere thanks to Mel Brooks, to Carl Reiner, to the wonderful writers and actors from The Mary Tyler Moore Show, to people who live a thousand years or less, to good doctors, to bunnies of all colors, to skinny cows, and to you — of course! — for sharing my comedies and tragedies, here and now.
Extra Credit: The writer of this blog saw a live performance of one of those songs. Which one was it?
Thanks to all humans and cats helping me write, test, and publish this post. And thanks to you — of course! — for taking the tests you choose, here and now.
Earlier this week, I wrote about a down day (here, although I called it something different).
I was very happy to get through and over that down day, very quickly.
This morning, I woke up thinking, “THANK GOODNESS I have some down time this weekend.”
That’s a very different use of the word “down,” isn’t it?
For anybody who needs a definition at this point, “down time” means:
time during which a machine, especially a computer, is out of action or unavailable for use. NORTH AMERICAN
a time of reduced activity or inactivity.
“everyone needs downtime to unwind”
Here’s what I’m noticing now about that definition:
machines get first billing and
the way I’m using “down time” in this post is regional, which means this usage might be new to some of my readers.
You know, I might be particularly sensitive to machines getting attention because of this: I’ve depended on cardiac pacemakers since I was ten years old. And let me tell you, I’ve spent some of the last 51 years worrying about pacemakers having “down time “(because pacemakers did break, wear out, and prematurely lose power early on in their — and my — life).
Thank goodness, modern pacemakers don’t have as much down time as the old ones did.
I want to tell you about my day yesterday, when I did NOT have a lot of down time, as I went to one Boston hospital to get medical care and then to another Boston hospital to do my work (I’m a psychotherapist for a hospital-based primary care practice) and then to a comedy show, with my 16-year-old son, Aaron.
Since I do have lots of down time today, I’m glad I can relax as I write this post about yesterday.
No, wait. That’s not Wordsworth the poet. That’s Wordsworth the plumber.
If you don’t think what I just did in this post is funny, feel free to use — instead of plumber — an occupation of somebody else who has charged you money. Or perhaps, you could make this funnier by changing the dollar amount, like so:
As Wordsworth said,
That will be 5 dollars, please.
No, wait. That’s not Wordsworth the poet; that’s Wordsworth the Starbucks barista.*
Where was I, before that particular tangent (which was down or up, according to your perspective)?
Oh, yes. Wordsworth the poet. As I remember — from my years as an English major in college — Wordsworth said poetry was
… and while I can’t guarantee that this post will be poetic in any way, I am happy to have the tranquility of today’s down time, to recollect the emotions, thoughts, and images I experienced yesterday.
I don’t know about you, but I smell a photo essay coming on.
How I Spent My Day Yesterday
by Ann
Since I start every day writing a blog post, yesterday’s post — “Safety First” — was on my mind, as I arrived at the hospital for my medical appointment.
After my appointment yesterday, I stopped by — in the same hospital — the place I go for my periodic pacemaker checks, and I saw two familiar people:
Valerie, who told me she is looking forward to the winter weather here (!!!!) and Melanie
who has appeared in posts before (here, here, and here).
Even though I didn’t have a scheduled appointment with her yesterday — and I’m sure Melanie does NOT have a lot of down time — Melanie took some time to talk to me about how I’ve been feeling lately. When I told her about some of my worries regarding recent shortness of breath and my wondering if I was okay, Melanie said, reassuringly:
You ARE okay, Ann, and you WILL BE okay.
I believed her and I cried — a little — from relief.
Melanie then asked me when my next appointment was — for a pacemaker check and to see Dr. Estes (one of my cardiologists who has appeared or been mentioned here,here, here, here, here, here, here, and here). I said, “I’m not sure, but I THINK it’s soon.” (That might sound like I’m too busy and I need more down time, but I do have lots of medical appointments these days and I know I’m seeing my other cardiologist, Dr. Deeb Salem, in December.) Later, when I had some down time, I discovered that my appointment with Pacemaker Clinic and Dr. Estes is next week. I’m glad to know I’ll be seeing Valerie and — perhaps — Melanie, even sooner than I thought.
Here are more things I saw yesterday, soon after my up time with Melanie:
I was very perplexed by that last image, in a Fenway Park lot. Because I had a little bit of down time before my first appointment at work, I investigated further, by walking around to get a better view:
I was still confused by what I was seeing, and so were other people there, too.
That’s Omar, calling over to Joe
and asking Joe our shared question: “What is going on here?”
Joe told us they were setting up a “Spartan Race” — an obstacle course taking place inside and outside Fenway Park — for thousands of people.
“Spartan Race,” Omar, and Joe were all initially unfamiliar to me, but I greatly appreciated the introductions. I also appreciated meeting Al
shown, there, with Joe. Al told me he was part of program called “Project Place” which was helping him get “back on my feet.” I told Al I was glad to hear that. And, I showed Omar how he could find this blog.
Here are some more photos I took, yesterday:
I took that photo, last night, at Johnny D’s in Somerville, Massachusetts, USA. That’s Tony V — a comedian I’ve seen many times since the 1980’s — telling a pacemaker joke. I’m not kidding.
My son, Aaron, wondered last night whether it was okay for me to snap that picture of Tony V. I told him it probably was, since we were outside the performance area, at that point. Soon, though, we got some great down time — that is, we were sitting down in great seats, watching Emo Philips (who has appeared in previous posts here, here, here, and here) do an amazingly funny show. And here are my last two images, from yesterday:
Boy, wouldn’t it be great to have enough down time for THAT MUCH popcorn?
Thanks to Aaron, Valerie, Melanie, Omar, Joe, Al, Tony, Emo, the nice staff at Johnny D’s, and everybody else who has ever had any down time or up time, ever.
Well, I think I thanked everybody there (including you, I hope!), but I forgot one thing: a video for this post.
How about this?
(Emo Philips, in a 1987performance at Harvard University, found here on YouTube)
* I’m assuming, here, that you are living in a region where you can go to a Starbucks, like me, to get a few minutes of down time.
When my 16-year-old son Aaron — who has naturally orange hair and whose favorite color is orange — was about seven years old, his elementary school put on a talent show. Aaron did stand-up comedy, for the first time in his career (for a more recent appearance, see here).
I can’t recall Aaron’s entire routine (I have it on tape SOMEWHERE), but I do remember it included several knock-knock jokes, which he did not write.* The following knock-knock joke was part of his routine (and perhaps you’ve heard this one):
Aaron: Knock knock.
Audience: Who’s there?
Aaron: Banana.
Audience: Banana who?
Aaron: Knock knock.
Audience: Who’s there?
Aaron: Banana.
Audience: Banana who?
Aaron: Knock knock.
Audience: Who’s there?
Aaron: Banana.
Audience: Banana who?
Aaron: Knock knock.
Audience: Who’s there?
Aaron: Orange.
Audience: Orange who?
Aaron: Orange you glad I didn’t say banana?
Orange you glad I’m writing a post about “orange”?
Orange you wondering why I’m writing this today? Whether you’re wondering, orange you assuming I’m going to tell you?
I’m writing this post today because:
Orange is a major color of fall/autumn, around these parts.
Somebody in a therapy session, yesterday, who is working on separating herself from toxic family members, quoted something a friend told her:
Expecting anything different and healthy from your family is like going to the hardware store and expecting to buy oranges.
Orange you aware that I probably have lots of photos on my iPhone with the color orange in them?
That last photo shows some needlepoint by my late mother.
Orange I grateful for the family I have?
Finally, orange you wondering about anything in this post? If you are, please knock-knock for an answer.
Thanks to orange people and orange things, everywhere, and to you — of course! — for all the colors you bring, today.
* By the way, Aaron did write his own knock-knock joke, soon after that. It went like this:
Thanks to Wikipedia**; to those who are scared or unscared by all the things mentioned in this post; to the creative people who score movies (scary and otherwise); to lists** of scary things on the internet** (including this list); and to you, especially, because you don’t scare me!
* Spending a week immersed in comedy at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe (see here, here, here, here, and here) has definitely had an effect on me. My thought, as I wrote “lend me your ears,” was this: “I’m glad Vincent Van Gogh is not alive to read this.” Minds can be scary things, can’t they?
** Another scary thing (that didn’t make the lists).
As I’m writing this — back home in Boston after a whirlwind 5-night visit to Edinburgh, Scotland with my 16-year-old son, Aaron — the room is very cool, with the windows open, at 6 AM.
Signs of the impending autumn in super-seasoned New England, USA?
We shall see.
Usually, before I publish a post, I check to see if I’ve used my title before. Yesterday, I didn’t bother to do that because
I was writing with just a few hours’ sleep,
the data transfer limits at our fabulous Edinburgh Hotel — The Hotel Indigo — made composing blog posts slower and more complicated than my usual routine, and
Because I didn’t check, yesterday, to see if I had used the title “Surprises” before …
…of course there WAS a post with that title: Day 463: Surprises. Coincidentally, that post was written at the end of my most recent trip/adventure (to NYC, with my friend Jeanette, right before I came down with a month-long bout with pneumonia).
We shall see. In the meantime, I’m reframing that whole I-Have-to-Title-Each-Post-Differently Rule, right now, as follows:
It doesn’t matter if I use the same title for a post, since my including the post number in each title automatically makes each one unique.
Phew! One less thing to worry about, in my life.
Okay! Time for some signs from the last week, during our round trip from Boston to Philadelphia to Edinburgh to Philadelphia to Boston. And, for this parade of pictures, I’m keeping some personal blogging rules/preferences in place, showing images you’ve not seen before, in order of appearance:
I would like to explain some of those photos, at this point. That last shot shows the lovely Cynthia Levin a/k/a the scathing Linda Lovin, performing at Fingers Piano Bar with Ron Lynch (as described in yesterday’s post, here). The four pictures preceding that show my son, Aaron, performing on yet another Fringe stage, as he was invited to exchange places with the star of that extraordinarily inventive show — the incredible Dr Professor Neal Portenza.
Well, I have many things to do, now that I’m back home in the USA. I will leave you with my last photo of the trip, taken yesterday in the Philadelphia airport:
Thanks to all those who create and read signs, to every single person who contributed to making this post possible, and to you — of course! — for making the trip here, today.
Today, my son Aaron and I are leaving Edinburgh, Scotland, flying on a couple of airplanes, and returning to our home near Boston, Massachusetts in the United States.
It’s been a wonderful trip. Which was not surprising, considering the wonderful times I had in Edinburgh, the two times I’ve visited before.
I don’t have a lot of time to blog this morning, so I thought I would leave you with just a photo or two from yesterday’s adventures at the Fringe Festival in this fair city.
That number of photos may not be surprising, since the commitment I made to my readers was to post one photo a day while on my vacation.
I took a lot of photos yesterday, which was one of the best — and surprising — days my son or I have ever experienced, in our 16 and 61 years on this earth, respectively.
What was so great and surprising about yesterday?
For one thing, in an incredible coincidence, we ran into our favorite local comedian from our visit last year to the Edinburgh Fringe — Tom Joyce — who just happened to be one of only four other people attending a fabulously funny performance of Cynthia Levin a/k/a Linda Lovin.
One of our quests, this year in Edinburgh, was to find Tom again. After searching for him on the internet and in person, we had decided this was an impossible dream. So, yesterday, when I heard Aaron gasp “Oh my gawd!” during Ms. Lovin’s performance yesterday, I realized whom he had spotted, in the first row.
Also appearing at Ms. Lovin’s performance yesterday was my comedy teacher from the 1980s and current Los Angeles comedy star — Ron Lynch. THAT was not so surprising, since we met the lovely and hilarious Linda when she performed a couple of night’s ago at Ron’s nightly midnight show, here in Edinburgh.
It was also NOT surprising to see Ron there yesterday, since Aaron and I had planned to have dinner with him on our last night Edinburgh.
So, to review, it was no surprise to see Ron. But it was a huge surprise to see Tom Joyce on our last full day, after Aaron and I had given up hope of finding Tom again (at least this year).
Then, Aaron and I experienced, in rapid succession, more surprises:
Tom remembered us from last year, including (1) my blog post about him and (2) the fact that Aaron had red hair then.
Ron offered Tom a spot on The Tomorrow Show this week because, Ron said, “I trust their recommendation.”
Ron offered my son Aaron, who has been doing open mic comedy in Boston for the past six months, a spot on last night’s Tomorrow show.
Surprise!
Thanks to Aaron, Ron, Linda, Cynthia, Tom, and everybody else currently enjoying the extremely excellent city of Edinburgh. And — of course! — thanks to you, for any surprises you might bring or experience, today.
The Year(s) of Living Non-Judgmentally 