A QUICK, COOL, SUMMER PIZZA

It’s been too hot here these past few weeks. If I can easily do so in the summer, I bake in my toaster oven for less heat in the kitchen. If I can easily do so at any time, I take shortcuts. Last night’s shortcut was to forget my regular pizza dough and make pizzas on baguette slices. Assembled, under the toaster oven broiler until they browned nicely, and served, they were just right for two.

Almost everyone enjoys pizza. We former New Yorkers lament the near inability to reproduce it here below the Mason-Dixon Line. We lament that the difference is in the sauce, or it’s the crust, or it’s the cheese and toppings. No matter the shortcomings of the local pizza, we still manage to keep all the local Italian restaurants and pizza purveyors in business.

I do favor a thin, crisp crust – one where you can fold the slice lengthwise and just the very tip may droop. My own biggest pet peeve is the sauce. Somehow, most of the locals miss on that unique combination of tomatoes, garlic, and spices.

I usually make my own pizza: sauce and crust. Recently, I’ve worked up the perfect sauce for two. It’s a derivative of one I saw on TV’s “America’s Test Kitchen,” and it suits my New York, New York-born taste buds.

Quick Sauce  for Two

1 14 oz. can diced tomatoes, very well drained

½ Tbsp. olive oil

½ Tbsp. vinegar

1 tsp. minced garlic (or more totaste)

½ tsp. dried oregano

¼ tsp. salt

Process the drained tomatoes with a hand blender or in a processor until they are still a bit chunky. Use the sauce on top of pizza for two.

WE NEED A SACKFUL OF SOLOMONS

I had an “oldie but goodie” blog to trot out for today’s post, but I’ve relabeled it for anytime in the future because this morning two news items caught my attention.

“What right have feminists to march in and say we don’t want this anymore?”  This was the BBC’s Anne Robinson on the topic of “grid girls.”

These are the gorgeous, usually well-endowed young gals who get to spend a few hours at a motorcycle or sport car race, mingle with the teams and drivers, get suitably outfitted for free, and all for a nice fee of around £180 in England, $230 or so on this side of the pond, and an unknown amount of Euros, Yen, or Dirhams (Well, the Dirhams are moot because there’ll be no more rid girls at the Abu Dhabi and Bahrain Formula 1 races, and they’re on their way out elsewhere on the circuits.)

The gals love what they’re doing, and don't at all feel they're being exploited. Being weekend or occasional grid girls is not their main occupation. All are otherwise “suitable employed.” It is said that they “are clearly at odds with societal norms.” I say “let them be the judge of that.”

Political correctness is one thing, common sense is another. We need a sackful of Solomons.

Speaking of common sense, where were Melania Trump’s minders yesterday when she trotted out that jacket bearing the phrase “I really don’t care, do u?” First of all, her destination was a place that is sensitive to everyone these days. She really should care, and maybe she does – or is she just going through the motions. When questioned, various “sources” had various reasons why she wore the jacket. Some say she wore it to show that her wardrobe does have a few inexpensive items in it. Some say she was commenting on a completely different topic.

Most of us don’t care for the why of it – maybe she just pulled a random jacket out of her vast closet - but we do care that her actions reflect poorly on her and, perhaps, on the rest of us. There’s no “#me too” about this incident.

That’s it for this Friday – the Curmudgeon has spoken.

WHAT AM I?

I always like this picture of me. I was my "official" portrait taken
when I was made an officer at the bank where I worked.
Looking at some of the pictures I have of me, I decided to trot this one out for this post.

Recently, I subscribed to emails from Prime Woman, a website that is “redefining the ageless generation.” I’ve read some interesting articles there. One recent week they ran the article “Finding Purpose After Retirement: Who Do You Think You Are?” Topics like this are new and somewhat strange to me.

First: finding purpose after retirement. I was very fortunate to be able to retire over thirty-five years ago. (I’m 75, do the math.) Never once in all those years did I ask myself about my purpose. Then they asked “Who do you think you are?” I’ve never thought about that one either. Maybe it was time I did.

The article suggested that you take a piece of paper and in five minutes write down the words or phrases that complete the sentence “I am_______.” Geeze Loueeeze, what am I? Who am I?

What I wrote:  I am…

…lazy, therefore sometimes anal about keeping things tidy

…an introvert, though many wouldn’t think it

…a giver of things, not time

…happy

…inventive

…very self-centered

…fairly smart

Later I looked again at Prime Woman’s various lists, and thought about mine. I recognized that I never included the word “stressed” though at this point I am. I suppose that what others would call stress, I take in stride. And, unlike some other women, I never included what I did. I am, among other things, a blogger, a community magazine writer and editor, a retired banker, and a housekeeper. (Housekeeper: the name of a Girl Scout badge I earned in fifth grade.) I am Laura Lee Johnston – I am me.

THINGS I HATE

The Pleasures of Hating

by Laure-Anne Bosselaar

I hate Mozart. Hate him with that healthy

pleasure one feels when exasperation has

crescendoed, when lungs, heart, throat,

and voice explode at once: I hate that! —

there’s bliss in this, rapture. My shrink

tried to disabuse me, convinced I use Amadeus

as a prop: Think further; your father perhaps?

I won’t go back, think of the shrink

with a powdered wig, pinched lips, mole:

a transference, he’d say, a relapse: so be it.

I hate broccoli, chain saws, patchouli, bra-

clasps that draw dents in your back, roadblocks,

men in black kneesocks, sandals and shorts —

I love hating that. Loathe stickers on tomatoes,

jerky, deconstruction, nazis, doilies. I delight

in detesting. And love loving so much after that.

_ooOoo_

Well I’m with the poet on a lot of the things she loves to hate. In opening that morning’s now defunct The Writer’s Almanac, the word “Mozart” caught my eye. I can’t say I hate Mozart, but most of what I call his “twiddley music” annoys me and could give me the jitters. It isn’t melodic, lyrical or smooth. I can’t hum it to myself as I can “Finlandia.” 

But I digress…

…things I hate:

·         Yes – those tickers on tomatoes, and peaches, and apples, and pears too

·         Yes also to deconstruction. Who cares what the author or composer meant? Shut up and enjoy the work.

·         Doilies? Does anyone use doilies these days?

·         People who don’t read to the end of anything - email, article, book, announcement – and then go off halfcocked, ranting and raving about something they’d have known if they’d have read the whole thing – ah, well!

·         And also – old people who think they can do or say anything they want, just because they’re old

·         Vegetables like kale and broccolini that have become diet darlings – and isn’t there a new diet darling each week?

·         Wearing anything that looks like it was made out of an American flag

·         Celebrity singers at sports events who murder our national anthem - our anthem should be sung belted out by the whole crowd.

·         Cable TV stations that repeat the same old programs ad nauseum – I’m not sure how they justify their existence to the FCC, but I’m sure they stay in business to rake in the advertising dollars.

My list might go on forever – ad nauseum – but that’s enough for now. If you are so inclined, you can click on “Curmudgeon” on my list of Topic of Interest, over there on the right.

The poet and I think the same way: I love loving so much after that.

A BUCKET LIST FOR MY NEXT LIFE

O.K. – I’m 75 and not in the best shape. There are so many more things to do on this earth than there were when I was fit and forty or fifty years younger. One recent day, it struck me that I am particularly jealous of kayakers. I never envied the Inuit their kayaks, but I would very much love to have a new kayak large enough to stow my gear for a meander down an interesting river. Moreover, I would very much love to be able to get into and out of a kayak – my legs and knees are no longer very cooperative. I have canoed in my lifetime, when I was younger and much more spry, and I enjoyed it tremendously, but the enclosure of a kayak somehow has more appeal for me.

So – on that day when I that jealousy struck me, I decided that I would start a bucket list for my next life. Kayaking would be at the top of the list. Truth be known, remembering this life would be at the top of the list, but we can’t have everything.

My list – a work in progress:

Get a kayak and meander on a river

Take a ride, 10 feet up, on an elephant

Go whale watching

Learn to SCUBA dive

See Petra, the Taj Mahal, Abu Simbel, and Uluru-Ayres Rock, Machu Picchu

            …I’m still thinking.