One of the cooking magazines that I follow now and again, had a recipe last week for boxed mac and cheese – and making it better, by adding extra cheese, cream, garlic and some other ingredients, and topping it all with toasted breadcrumbs or crumbled crackers. There are all kinds of other schemes for improving things like boxed cake mixes; substituting butter for oil, milk for water, an additional egg … for myself, I have worked out a means of improving jello pudding mixes, of the sort where you just add milk and whisk until it solidifies. My daughter bought some of these chocolate or vanilla pudding mixes from the marked-down shelf a couple of weeks ago, and I improved them by substituting whipping cream for half of the milk, and adding a splash of vanilla extract. It makes a very rich, mousse-like dessert, especially when dusted with a bit of sweetened cocoa powder, chocolate syrup, or really – any other adornment.
Just this morning, my daughter and I both got sloppily-misspelled text messages on our phone about our Netflix accounts being suspended because of a problem with billing … spam, of course. The links in such messages are intended to do nasty things to your phone, if clicked upon by the unwary. We’ve been getting quite of few of these messages – alleged to be from Bank of America, PayPal, Amazon, and no, the completely illiteracy of the message makes it screamingly obvious that they are just another spam scam.
Like the email spam messages which eventually completely swamped functional email addresses back in the day, such messages are cheap enough to generate, as long as that one in a million profitable and gullible sucker bites on it. There was a frustrated blogger back then who wished profoundly that they could track down that one in a million person who bit on a spam message and lost their shirt, slap them silly for being such a gullible idiot and making it all profitable for the scammers. It’s the one person in a million who makes it all profitable for a spam scammer … and yes, I’d like to see them slapped silly, for unleashing the spam scammer annoyance on the rest of us.
Just as my daughter and I have gotten ruthless with the romance scammers who infest social media like carpenter ants or termites. Some Instagram accounts that my daughter follows, mostly because the account holders are funny and amusing and have interesting posts – one ‘like’ and seven or eight scammers – usually with names which don’t follow the Western pattern, pictures cribbed from somewhere else and a whole lot of unrelated quotes about romance and God – are zeroing in on her own account. It’s not quite that bad for my own FB page, since I have gotten pretty shrewd about considering ‘friend requests’ – look, guy, if you claim to be a widower of a certain age, highly-educated, perhaps serving in the military, and stationed in some exotic locale, yet there is only a banner heading and a single picture of you on your account, I am deleting your friend request.
I suppose that the most insulting thing is that the Spam Scammers, and the Romance Scammers don’t even try very hard. You know, like being able to spell, figure out conventional Western name conventions, and post a hella lot more pictures on their fake profiles. But then, they might be more effective … So carry on, Spam Scammers – as you were, illiterate in English and all… but if you could let us all know who that one person in a million who falls for your not-terribly-convincing text… Oh no reason at all. Really.
(From the work in progress, the Civil War novel that has been languishing in my to-do pile for several years… but not to worry, The Golden Road, the Gold Rush adventure sat there half finished for almost seven years because I kept being dist — oh, a squirrel! In this excerpt, Miss Minnie Vining has become a staunch abolitionist, traveling the north-east and campaigning for the abolition of slavery. While on a winter visit to upstate New York, she receives a telegram urging her return to Boston…)
The carriage sent by the generous Mr. Turner arrived before sunrise; the sky in the east holding the faint flush the color of mother-of-pearl, while the stars themselves remained faint pinpricks of light in the west. It was icy cold, a brisk wind from off the lakeshore cutting through Minnie’s heaviest mantle, woolen traveling dress and several flannel petticoats. It was a positive relief to reach the shelter of the State Street Station, the depot for the New York Central Railroad; a stately and classically elegant building, a noble façade pierced by twin arches. There was a good fire already blazing in the iron stove which heated the passenger waiting room; which at this early hour was blessedly empty. The only other occupant was a well-set gentleman in Army blue. Minnie barely spared a glance in his direction, noting with a small pang at her heart that he rather resembled Pres Devereaux. Something about the set of his shoulders, and dark hair somewhat threaded with grey … and when he raised his eyes from the newspaper that he seemed to be reading with much attention, she noted that they were the same fierce pale blue.
“Miss Minnie Vining!” he exclaimed, setting aside the newspaper and rising from the comfortless wooden bench upon which he sat. “If I might presume upon old friendship! It’s been a good few years, but … we met in Richmond, at the house of your Cousin Edmonds… Levi Ennis, Major, US Army …” he added, with a suddenly diffident manner, and Minnie’s heart turned entirely over in her chest, remembering that gilded summer at Susan’s palatial home there; the comforts provided by attentive servants, the lavish, flower-filled garden, the parties, gatherings and picnics, all embedded in her memory like the fragile wings of an insect, preserved in amber.
The place where she had come face to face with the brutality of the slavery system. And Levi Ennis and his cousin, Pres Devereaux had been the means of that fateful meeting. It came to Minnie that she owed him courtesy in that respect.
“Major Ennis! You are promoted! So splendid – it has been my understanding that promotions come so terribly slow in peacetime! Did our affray in Mexico do you that good? They do say that it is an ill wind that blows no one any good; I expect that it is the same with wars. We are now laden with slave states, so I am cheered that at least some small gain has been made from that abomination of a war!”
At her side, Minnie was aware of Lolly briefly closing her eyes and taking in a small breath. But Lolly had become accustomed to Minnie’s outspoken ways, after all this time.
“As war is my profession, I expect so,” Levi Ennis smiled, with a reckless expression which so recalled the countenance of Pres Devereaux to her. “A bloody encounter does have a brutal way of clearing out the deadwood. Just so does a wildfire, out on the western plains; clear out the useless and overgrown, make way for the fit and able.”
“I am most astonished at finding you here in Rochester,” Minnie ventured, after belatedly introducing Lolly Bard, “And then I remembered that Mrs. Ennis is from this town – I pray that she and the children are all well; I have such pleasant memories of watching them at play in Mrs. Edmonds’ Garden.”
“Indeed,” Levi Ennis’s expression warmed at the mention of his family. “We were visiting my wife’s parents. My Dearest thrives on motherhood – we have two more children, both girls, since that happy visit to Richmond. My boys are now grown so tall, I am certain you would not recognize them, Miss Vining. My oldest son is determined to follow in my footsteps and apply for a position at West Point.”
“It has been some ten or eleven years,” Minnie agreed, with a deep sigh. “I wouldn’t expect to recognize them, since so much has changed, since they were small children, frolicking in my cousin’s garden! I should tell you, Major Ennis – that we have become estranged from our Richmond cousins over the matter of the peculiar institution. My cousin, Mrs. Edmonds took it so personally, when I first began giving public lectures against the practice; it grieved me very much, but she was adamant and unforgiving. And when Cousin Peter – you recollect, the veteran of Washington’s Continentals – he went to his heavenly reward a year or two later, there seemed to be no basis for a reconciliation. Now, I do recall that your cousin, Mr. Devereaux was courting Charlotte Edmonds, and that was considered an excellent match; can you tell me – did they marry after all?”
“They did,” Major Ennis nodded, “It was quite a notable social event in Richmond; I couldn’t attend, as I was off to fight in Mexico about that time, but my brother James wrote to me with a full accounting. You will recollect that it was my younger brother who married the eldest Miss Edmonds, in that summer when you visited Richmond? I understand that Pres and his young missus have several children now, and Pres has taken over management of the family acres.”
“I was teaching Charlotte to play chess,” Minnie allowed, stifling the brief pang of regret that she felt, upon mention of Mr. Devereaux. The carved Chinese ivory chess set held a place of honor in the study in the house in Boston, which was still her own, no matter how far she ventured from it. “Since your cousin so relished the game. I thought it a fine thing that a married couple should have a common intellectual interest, since I knew that both your cousin and I derived so much pleasure from the game of kings.” Her voice trailed off, as she recollected Pres Devereaux’s sudden declaration of love for her. “I am glad to hear that they have been blessed with children. I often watched your cousin playing with your little boys in the garden. So happy were they, and he also. I am glad to hear that domesticity agrees with him.”
She detected a sudden flash of sympathy on Major Ennis’ weathered countenance and wondered if he were about to speak it aloud; and too, if Pres Devereaux might have confessed to his cousin anything of that bolt-out-of-the-blue love for her spinster self.
“And that your great devotion to the cause of abolition has been rewarded as well,” he said. “My Dearest’s friends in Rochester were agog to hear that we had met you socially – the indominable and celebrated Miss Minerva Vining! But what of your sister, Mrs. Annabelle?” He hesitated, obviously anticipating bad news from the somber expression on Lolly Bard’s face.
“We received news last night that she has taken very ill, and so we are returning to Boston in haste, to be at her bedside whilst she recovers,” Minnie explained. “We hope that her condition will not worsen… Oh, why did we travel all this way – we did not expect this sad news!” She was abruptly overcome with apprehension, desolate with the fear that Annabelle would already be gone from this earthly existence before she and Lolly returned to Boston! Oh, why had she placed her devotion to the Cause over care for kin? How had she let her undying determination to see the institution of slavery made unlawful override her concern for those she held most dear?
“That is … most disheartening intelligence,” Major Ennis’ expression reflected nothing but the most profound sympathy. “Allow me to extend my sympathies, Miss Vining. Our duties and obligations … even those taken on without being oath-bound … take us far. Sometimes too far on a campaign to be with those whom we love in a time of crisis. Because of our duty to those with whom we serve, and the orders of those whom we serve.”
“I serve no one but the Almighty,” Minnie replied, warmed by Major Ennis’ profound sympathy and understanding. “But I see that you understand, and your sentiments are most comforting. Fortunate is our encounter, on this dreary morning. We are bound for Albany, and then … if Mrs. Bard has secured our connections … we may be in Boston before many days have passed. Where are you bound on this morning?”
“To Baltimore, and then to Washington,” Major Ennis answered with a sigh. “On official duties…” Outside of the waiting room, the distant rumble of iron wheels on tracks echoed through the depot. Lolly cocked her head to one side, listening carefully.
“Minnie, dear – I think that will be our train arriving. On time – such an achievement! Regularity in arrival and departure is the standard which Mr. Bard demanded. The whole enterprise depended upon timing, you know – not just to serve the passengers, you see – but that the train should be the single one advancing upon a single track, without meeting another. At dreadful speed, you see … a head-on collision between locomotives! That would be frightful, indeed. And would not do any good for the fortunes of the line…” Lolly blinked, as if she had just made the deepest insight, instead of the most banal. Minnie sighed again, and rose from her seat, giving her gloved hand to Major Ennis in farewell.
“We have tickets for the first train east in the morning,” she said. “And I trust in Mrs. Bard’s experience in judging these things – that this be our train. I am so happy for this chance meeting, Major Ennis – and I hope that we shall soon have another such happy encounter.”
“You might count on that!” Major Ennis rose likewise and bowed over her hand.
The arriving train was, indeed – the one for Albany and points east. Minnie and Lolly Bard arrived in Boston three days later, to see the black crepe hung on the Brewer house, shredded by winter winds, for Annabelle’s funeral was already done. Minnie sat in the Brewer carriage and wept into her hands. Too late, too late! Her sister of the heart was gone! She took some strength from Major Ennis’ words – about duty, campaigns, and oaths. He would know about such things, being a soldier.
Minnie encountered him again; when the war was already begun, another ten years later. By then, the cause had been baptized in blood, and the two of them were alike sworn to serve.
My next-door neighbor and I were talking about food needs a day or so ago – neighbor, who is actually the niece of a long-time neighbor come to Texas to take care of her aunt, a lovely woman who is slowly devolving into age-related dementia – and I were talking about cheap eats. Neighbor-niece thinks the world of us, as we have shared many dishes with her. I talked for a bit about the Boston Baked Beans recipe that I did a couple of days ago and recalled this favorite from my mother’s repertoire. I think that it must be a genuine Depression-era recipe, as Mom said that it had been a feature on Granny Jessie’s table in the 1930s and 1940s, when money was short and main dishes were preferred to be simple, wholesome, and tempting to the appetites of working men and hungry teenagers, especially Grandpa Jim who was the most unadventurous man in the West of the world when it came to culinary experimentation – and above all, filling. We ate it when Dad was in grad school on the GI Bill, and long afterwards, because Mom had a house of hungry teenagers.
Ingredients:
1 larghish potato, peeled and thinly sliced
1 similarly largish onion, also thinly sliced.
1 cup white rice, rinsed and drained (although brown would likely work as well.)
1 lb lean ground hamburger, crumbled (or really, any ground meat. I think chicken or turkey would work well for this; pork might be too fatty.)
1 14-oz can tomato sauce.
Salt and pepper. Really daring – maybe thyme and oregano; a light sprinkle over each finished layer.
Layer potato, rice, onions, crumbled meat in a casserole; two or three layers of each – Mom used a enameled 2 or 3 quart enameled number, porcelain-covered cast iron, with a cover.
Pour tomato sauce over all. Fill up can with water – hey, beef broth for extra punch – pour over top of the casserole. Cover and bake until potato layer is tender, and beef is cooked.
And that’s it. Simple, filling and inexpensive – although ground beef may verge on the pricy these days.
We were always able, even at the height of the lock-down covidiocy, to walk the dogs and later Wee Jamie the Wonder Grandson, in our neighborhood. Which is a small and working-to-middle-class homeowners, a great many of whom are military retirees. We were always grateful that our city and state administration didn’t go all “self-isolate at home” safety-Nazi on us and pursue with crushing law-enforcement authority anyone daring to go for a walk in a quite park or a swim in the ocean. In two more years, I will have paid off the mortgage, which should indicate how long I have lived here.
We saw, in the real estate/banking debacle of 2008, a lot of vacant homes in the neighborhood go on the market for months – some interesting foreclosures and abandoned houses as well. There was a house gutted by a fire set by teenagers which went through at least two flippers trying to make bank, and another which was painted dark gray, fitted out with bars on all the windows and an amazing spread of monitoring cameras. Yes, we all knew that the current residents of that place were processing drugs, at the very least. If they were hoping to go unnoticed in a quiet suburb, no, they didn’t. Everyone started calling it “Cellblock C on ‘street name’” and halfway expecting the place to explode one day, sending the roof in several different directions; we all within range hoped that our homeowner’s insurance would cover repairs. Another rental property was a drug and party house. Everyone within the radius of about three blocks knew this – and watched with appreciative interest when half the local SAPD substation busted them in a mass raid which had some of the cops asking for the use of a neighbor’s hose to wash the human feces off of their shoes. I had already researched the name and address of the absentee owner, who lived in Palo Alto, California. I was on the verge of writing a strongly-worded letter to him and his management company, when the police dropped in for a quiet visit and chat with the then-tenant. (The current tenants are nice and responsible people, although I reserve some doubts about the rainbow flag on the back porch.)
Presently, there is one house up the road where a tenant with extreme hoarder tendencies was evicted last month – the mountains of junk that the tenant didn’t take with him was dumped on the lawn, and eventually taken away in several trailer-loads to the dump, but not after there were crowds going through the piles – even a conflict between two men, which resulted in a stabbing and the police being called! That eviction was the talk of the neighborhood for at least a week.
The one thing that I have noticed is that many neighbors have spruced up the exterior – new siding, new paint, replacing windows and roofs. At least three houses have gone for metal, instead of asphalt shingles, even though the metal roof will cost about three times as much. The prospect of not having to replace a shingle roof every ten or twelve years, does have appeal, since Texas weather is very hard on shingle roofing. The sequence of developers who filled out the neighborhood had a repertoire of about twenty basic designs – from single story narrow cottages of about 1,000 square feet, all the way up to two-story units of 2.000+, a kind of generic brick
Later – the house itself, with the new paint job all but complete
and stick-built early 20th century suburban/neo-Palladian/simple Victorian style. There were about thirty different colors of brick, a few the traditional rose or dark red, most of them in shades of beige, brown or grey. This resulted in those houses which weren’t entirely sided with brick, being painted in complimentary colors; colors which explored the whole vibrant palette of pale beige, medium beige, light brown, grey-brown, beige brown and off-white. Lately, some owners have rebelled – and painted over the brick, and explored such colors as leaf-green, Caribbean blue, sage-green, or stark white over all the brick and siding, with black trim and shutters – which, along with a very dark gray roof, gives a kind of Elizabethan look to the place. And just this week, another neighbor, having gone for all new hardiplank siding, took a color scheme from a camo-style Santa hat, that was sent to the husband when he was deployed – they’ve painted over the bricks with sandy-yellow, the siding in dark O.D. green, and the trim – the facia boards and window surrounds – in black. It looks better than it sounds, actually.
Anyway, this is the week that the city comes around with the enormous trash trucks, to collect up bulk trash, like furniture and used fence panels. Sometimes there is good pickings, in what is put out – the metal recyclers usually get to all the clapped out appliances and rusty BBQ sets. In the past, I scored a lot of good-sized garden pots, and a big chiminea, and we have brought home two end tables (of different design and on different occasions) an arm chair and a tuffet – both of which got reupholstered and have done very well for us, ever since. No really good finds this year, though – I think people are holding on to the usable stuff, and posting it for sale on Next Door or Ebay, rather than just putting it out for the trash.
And that was my week – yours?
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