Petunia rambles on and on….

In this week’s Dover Post, there was a flyer for A.C. Moore, a localized crafts chain store. Due to financial constraints, I’ve made a fierce attempt at not going anywhere near the place, as I have the willpower of a drunken flea when it comes to that sort of thing.  But this damn flyer had a coupon, good for today only, offering one regularly priced item at 60% off.

I actually got Paul to go with me, with thoughts of holiday gifts for 2 small fellows. If there was anything in there that we thought might be age- and interest-appropriate, this would be the time to buy it, right?

I needed another magnet to go on the refrigerator, ya know. And that Wilton roasting pan, and the holiday-scented candles, 3/$10!!  And the plastic sheep and lamb figurines. And those 2 little books. And I hope he didn’t see the yarn in the bottom of the cart.

I love crock pots. I use them all the time – when I’m working and when I’m not. We all know how wonderful they are for working women, those of us who are in an office or wherever and don’t get home til 5 or 6 pm. By the time you change clothes, fix dinner, eat dinner, clean up the damn mess, geez, it’s almost time to go to bed.  OR dinner gets the short end of the stick.  I admit to serving French Toast for dinner, omelets, PB&Js, nuked leftovers. Hey, some days, I’ve come home and eaten a chocolate bar for dinner.

Sometimes, I use the crockpot when I’m right here to do the cooking. Some meals really benefit by the long, slow, moist cooking.  A pot roast, soups, spaghetti sauce, pork in barbecue sauce. I utilize it when there’s other things I want to do besides check a pot on the stove every 10 minutes. Set it up, go spin up 3 bobbins of singles, fill plates with dinner.  I like it.

A week or two ago, I made beef stew in my beloved mid-sized pot, and at the end of a day’s worth of cooking, those carrots and onions weren’t done enough to suit me.  They were cooked, yeah, but still had some “substance” to them. After 10 hours in a crock pot, they should have been soft as oatmeal much more cooked than they were. And then I realized that the liquids weren’t bubbling. And I started to fear that the trusty old pot was well into its “Senior Years.”

And food safety being an issue here…..

The old one did not have these controls. All it had was a plug and a switch that went from Off to Low to High. My big one has this panel on it, so it’s nice to have them both operating the same way.  The old “retired” one is still here. While I wouldn’t trust it to cook food properly, or keep food in for the hours that slow cooking takes, it may come in handy to keep food hot for serving on the buffet table at the holidays.

RIP, old crock pot and thanks for all the good meals.

As usual, this time of year has snuck up on me  and I’m not ready for the idea that soon it will be bitterly cold most days, there will be ice on the windshield most mornings, and I’ll be cussing the weather most of the time. I gloried in Spring, got through the heat and A/C bills of summer, and just absolutely loved Autumn. The colors, the nip in the air, chrysanthemums, the days we spent outdoors and the sights we saw. The trees looking their finest.

And now??  Hell, nothing to look forward to but cold weather, and people sick and sneezing and blowing their noses. In the small office where I work, we’ve already got 3 out sick, hacking and coughing and wheezing. That many sick ones in a smallish room, all using the same equipment, same keyboards assures that the rest of us will get it soon.

I should be looking forward to the holidays, but that’s not happening this year. I have to work on Thanksgiving and Christmas, as expected. I am the “new kid on the block” and so am required to do it. It’s fair; I’m not complaining. Still, it’s difficult to peel potatoes when one is not at home, where the damn potatoes are.  One child will be away on a trip, one will probably celebrate in her own home. One wants turkey here! Trying to figure out a way to make it happen.

Christmas will no longer be the same holiday that it was when the children were little and gathered about a decorated home and holiday tree, anxiously waiting to see what Santa – the fat bastard who charged everything to me year after year – would bring. They are grown up, all off on their own, living their own lives. I’m informed that one will be taking a winter vacation, one will be spending the holidays with the new in-laws in another state. This is not a statement against their choices; this is an acknowledge that they’ve all done what I raised them up to do – become adults and live their own lives in happiness, dignity and responsibility. This is what I wanted for them.

Maybe it’s not what I wanted for me, though.