(Those of you who read my posts may be aware of the first part of today’s story, but bear with me, as the story continues)
We have the same days off this week – I had to take a vacation day to do it. Just like everyone else this time of year, I’ve got an enormous list of stuff to be done, time is growing short, and there’s no way I’m going to get it all done. No Way! So some of the time that I’d spend actually getting stuff done is spent thinking about what chores I can just say “to hell with it” and not bother doing! Then there’s the question – Will the time I save not doing some of the items on the list be offset by the amount of time it takes me to figure out which ones to dump. Another dilemma.
So we start today, or rather I start today with plans of getting a lot of baking done. I’ve got a few recipes where the doughs have to be made in advance, chilled and rolled or formed when they are cold, and over the years I’ve done this, I’ve figured out that I have to mix them first and get them in the refrigerator, before going on to the ones that are baked right away. Note that I’m not mentioning exactly how many years it took to figure this out. So first up are the ginger snaps that everyone including me loves. Cream the butter, go for the brown sugar, which I knew I had, a large bag. What I forgot was how long it had been in the cupboard. Sure enough, it was hard as a stone. Like GRANITE! Maybe harder than that. Like the biggest ugliest diamond you’ve ever seen, I’ve got a 3 lb bag of one solid dirty light brown damn diamond. The day’s off to a great start.
So I open my mouth, and say, “Oh, shit, can’t use this” knowing that means I’m gonna lose time in my busy day running up to the grocery store on the highway to buy a couple bags of brown sugar. But it didn’t work that way. The easy quick way. No, it didn’t.
Why? Because I’m married. And that means I have a husband. And today, he was home, too. So the story turns downhill.
He says, “Honey, what’s wrong?” and I tell him the brown sugar is solid as a rock, and unusable and I’ll need to waste time running to the Acme, hoping that he will offer to go, and I can stay home, measuring out flour and spices needed for the mixture. But he’s a man, and decided to help! I’ve got this little mini-chopper and it’s really handy for finely dicing small items, a medium onion for a meat loaf, stuff like that. Works great. He’s gets it out and starts pounding on the bag of sugar, finally breaking off a chunk about the size of a baseball, tosses it in. I’m thinking this isn’t going to work, and the sound of the motor on the little device seems to indicate that for the first time in recorded history I may be right. After 2-3 minutes, there’s still a big chunk in there, and some dust like confectioner’s sugar which is totally not usable for the recipe, and the motor starts to smoke and then quits. I thought it would cause a problem if I said a few of the things I was thinking, kept my mouth shut which is another first and watched to see what he would do next. He got out my old blender which, admittedly, has a few years and many daiquiris under its belt. The blade is going around at about 9 million RPMs, the lump of granite is going crazy in there, dust is coming out the top, or is that smoke? Yep, it is, and another appliance bites the dust.
I asked him to go to the Acme, as the “dust” that he was getting just wasn’t going to work, and it would be faster to just buy more brown sugar.
Does he quit while he isn’t ahead? Is he a man? Will he be beaten by a lump of sugar???  Not MY man. Nope.
He gets out my food processor, which he’s used very infrequently which may also explain why it still works after all these years. Puts the Rock of Gibraltar in there, and can’t figure out how to secure the top on it. It has some sort of safety lock that prevents the blades from spinning unless the top is secured properly. He gives it a push, nothing moves so he shoves it harder. I hear a loud “Ping” and then a tap sound across the room.
“Now you’ve done it. Something’s broken off the lid!” Sure enough, when I look at it, part of the security catch mechanism is broken off, and it’s never gonna work again.
While he beat a hasty retreat towards the Acme to save the cookies, his life and his marriage with the short list I’d already written down, I cleaned up all the “sugar dust” he had created which was, by now, wafting through the air.
Eventually, 2 batches of ginger snap dough were created and set to chill in the refrigerator and I get started with my mother’s butter cookie recipe. It’s a very heavy dough, originally created to be rolled out and have shapes cut out with cookie cutters. But we’ve always put it through a cookie press, and my Wilton cookie press makes the job so much easier than any of the ones I’ve had before. (The electric cookie presses don’t work – that’s how dense this dough is!) Cream a pound of butter, add 6 egg yolks, 2 cups of confectioner’s sugar. Measure out 6 cups of flour, and then get the lemon out of the veggie bin. The recipe calls for the rind and juice from one lemon. Mom always said that the lemon acts to butter as salt does to vegetables – it brings out the flavor. So get the grater out and a sheet of paper towel, grate the rind off and toss it into the mixer. FINALLY, things are starting to work, and I’m accomplishing something!! Husband comes out, leaving the TV alone for a few minutes, and pours himself a cup of coffee, heads to the fridge for some cream. I call to him, “While you’re there, find the juicer.” Innocent enough, right? Next to my stove is a small amount of counter top, and underneath are 4 drawers. Stuff generally is in there sorted by use. The top drawer is silverware, used all the time. The second drawer is utensils that are used often, can opener, ice cream scoop and such. From there on down are those things that you need, but that just don’t get used often. And the shit’s really crammed in there. Husband pulls out both drawers, one at a time, and the juicer does not jump out. Annoyed, he bends over and starts really rooting. But this time, everything’s in a jumble, stuff is sticking up, and the drawer doesn’t close as it should. Give it a thump and it goes in, but the juicer still isn’t located. Pulls out a drawer that he’s just searched twice and it jams, won’t come out. Sure enough, an errant “canning jar funnel” is in there crooked, and preventing the drawer from sliding out. He bends further down, so he can stick his hand into the back of the drawer to free whatever it is that’s sole purpose is to aggravate the situation.
And then I hear it. A God-awful sound somewhere between a grunt, a scream and a fart. And he stops dead in his tracks. I took one look at him, and the position he was maintaining, and I knew his back was out. And by the look on his face, I knew right away it was bad. He’s done this a few times before, and it usually is.
So, intelligently, by the fact that he was STILL in the same position several minutes later, I said that he’d better call Dr. Joe and get the prescriptions that he’d need. And of course, he says that No, he doesn’t call the doctor over every damn little thing that happens and I always make a big deal out of everything. Hmmm. Looked at the clock and it’s heading for 3p. Doctor’s office will close at 5p. He will be dying by 6p, I already know it. I gently suggest that he think about calling the doc before the office closes. Get a dirty look.
I wait quietly, knowing what’s gonna happen. Sure enough, his back starts seizing up, the pain is barely tolerable and it’s getting later. When I make the next attempt at trying to talk him into calling the doctor for some meds, HE READILY AGREES!! Now that’s a truly bad sign.
I called our doctor, who I’ve known for almost 30 years, still remember when he was Capt. P and wearing a blue uniform at the base hospital every day. I asked for the meds that were prescribed the last time he did this, about 5 years ago while at work. But doc wants to see him as he hasn’t been in the office in a few years other than for an annual flu shot. Can we be there by 410p? Egad, I’ve got butter cookies on paper towels all over the table, and a large, tall and always hungry poodle who hasn’t taken her eyes off the table in quite a while. I dashed around, looking for a suitable container, baked 2 more trays of cookies, packed them all up to poodle-proof them, changed out of a dirty flour-covered t-shirt and yoga pants and into something that wouldn’t attract those folks that take pictures of others shopping at the Wal-Mart, and dragged him over to the office. Truly, getting in and out of my car wasn’t easy, and I was glad I still didn’t have one of those low Grand Ams like I used to drive. At least the seats in my vehicle are higher and easier to get into and out of.
Doctor sees him, does the same series of tests that he’s done before, checking for the worst-case scenario of a slipped or herniated disk, then asked how this happened. That’s when I started to laugh, hysterically, noting that this isn’t a great story for him to repeat. No saving fair damsels in distress, rescueing a child from a dangerous place, or a terrible car crash.  Uh, he was trying to find a juicer.
After we all had a good laugh at his expense, except that he didn’t laugh that much as laughing hurts now, the doctor wrote out the scrips for painkillers, muscle relaxers and anti-inflammatories, a “duty excuse” or whatever civilians call it for 4 days minimum out of work and I hauled him out of there. Stopped at the pharmacy on the way home, and he sat in the car; just too much pain involved in another episode of clamoring in and out of the car. He’s scheduled to return to work now on Monday, but advised to call the doc if it isn’t considerably better by then.
I made sure he got a work excuse from the doctor, wanting something in writing so that this doesn’t look like some stunt being pulled just to get time off so near a holiday. He would never do that, because he’s hyper-responsible, and also because he knows if he had time off from work and he was OK, I’d be loading him down with chores!
He’s not going to be much help around here, and was told to stay off his feet as much as possible. Well, exactly, he was told to only get up to take a leak. I got the rest of the butter cookies baked, the ginger snap dough in still chilling. No packages are wrapped, no stockings hung by the chimney with care, because we don’t have a chimney and husband is dozing on the couch and not-so-great company.
What will happen tomorrow?
