Taomeow

Tragedy upon tragedy. Salmon is apparently dangerous! I already knew they named it after salmonella, but I had no idea there's other perils hiding in that fish! Speaking of dangerous foods: Once upon a time I had a summertime romance. He was working during the day while I was on vacation, and I spent my daytime hours foraging for wild mushrooms which were abundant in that location. On my last vacation day I cooked a large skillet of the choicest, chiefly boletus mushrooms, and brought it to the farewell party he and his friends were throwing for me. He was taking pictures of me the whole time while the romance was going on, dozens of them, and was supposed to mail them to me once processed (that was the era before smartphones, photos were physical.) I never got any mail and never heard from him again. Which left me with a lifelong unanswered question: did he just decide that what happens during the summer stays in the summer, or did I kill him and/or some of/all of his friends by inadvertently letting a death cap slip into my mushroom harvest?

It's almost Chekhov. There's a classic short story of his about a guy who was waiting impatiently to be served blini (pancakes similar to crêpes) by his cook, full of anticipation, three kinds of vodka on the table waiting to help the blini along -- and then, when they arrived dripping with fresh butter, he grabbed the first one burning his fingers in his impatience, garnished it with smoked salmon and sour cream and caviar (at three rubles forty copecks a pound -- i.e. the expensive variety in his time, the kind that is $600 a pound today), wrapped everything into his blin (the singular of blini), smacked his lips and was about to take a bite and had a stroke.

Made goulash with mashed potatoes for dinner. The boring part? It was yesterday and it's gone... so I'll have to cook something again tonight. But what? All I have left in the fridge is vegetables. Boring...

The first song I ever heard in English -- I think I was 8. I fell in love with it then and it's still a favorite. Who'd have guessed that getting "unburdened by what has been" can be expressed with such deep feeling and beauty and meaning... instead of whatever "it" "has been!"

I drink very little, but appreciate it when it's something good. Will have to check out the Washington state wines, it's terra incognita to me. As for relatives thwarting our modest drinking habits, I'm no stranger to that phenomenon. Las month I spent a few days with my brother- and sister-in-law and it's interesting that, while most people (to my knowledge) who don't have an abnormal relationship with alcohol tend to drink less as they get older, here I observed the opposite phenomenon -- they both drink way more than they used to in their younger years, and it's hard liquor too, and they start early in the day... and don't think twice about pouring a glass for their (adult) daughter to the brim -- first thing they do when she comes to visit. And since they all have different tastes in alcohol (gin, cognac, whisky respectively), the house is choke full of every variety. And of course you have to partake -- every bottle is advertised by its aficionado as something special that you simply have to try. I think I consumed way more alcohol in three days than I usually do in three months. Hang in there while your brother is visiting.

Julian used to be famous for its apple pie (still is but read on). But a while ago (2019?) when I was there the last time, I was half disappointed ordering a slice in a cafe, and then when I went to the bakery specializing in those pies to get a couple that someone asked me to bring, I spoke with the owner and she told me that they are not allowed anymore to buy (or get donations of) local apples from residents with orchards the way they used to. They now get buckets of pre-sliced apples from some corporation -- she showed me those plastic buckets with wilting pre-cut apples of some uninteresting variety or other. Oh. So that's why I was half disappointed -- I did seem to remember better Julian apple pies from a while before...

I also have some dit da jow on hand, but only the kind that works best with immediate rather than recurrent or chronic or old problems. I've read some fascinating info on different traditional varieties of dit da jow and even thought of making my own "real deal," but it requires more patience than I have (e.g. they are aged by burying the bottles in the ground for 3 to15 years, among other things). Apparently analysis has determined that in those aged ones, the molecules keep getting smaller and smaller as they age, so you wind up with a kind of natural nanorobots doing the repairs. There was a huge difference in molecular structure of those super performing ones compared to the shortcut ones. Maybe someone still makes the old school dit da, but who knows where to look for them... In any event, that honey-mustard thing cured my left knee after a nasty altercation with a giant agave that landed me on that knee smack on a boulder, at high speed at that. (I have no allergies, so it was the only time in my life that I was attacked and injured by a plant... which is why it's my least favorite plant of them all. Celery which I don't care for is second, but a very distant second, not a close one, since all I have to do to avoid it is refrain from biting.)

I cured several people's knee pain over the years with this old country home remedy pack (BTW originally recommended to me by an old country MD, not an old wife ): 1T good quality honey mixed with 1T mustard powder (Colmans is the only one I found working outside the old country) mixed with 1T flour (mine is rice, but it doesn't matter which, it's used just as a thickener in this recipe, and the amount can be adjusted depending on the thickness of the honey.) Mix into sticky paste, smear over the knee and also apply to a piece of linen or cotton cloth (or wool flannel, which is best but not necessarily on hand, so an old cotton sock, cut lengthwise and to size, is a sensible substitute), wrap over the knee, secure with saran wrap or parchment paper (which I prefer), wrap an old wool scarf around and secure with some safety pins (or a bandage if you don't feel it's safe to use pins) -- leave it on overnight, every night until the problem resolves. (Usually between a couple of days and a week.) Maybe wear old pajama pants over the whole contraption (optional) for extra stability. By morning the mustard and honey will completely get absorbed.

Not at sea level. But you can drive for just an hour upward in San Diego County and at 3,000 feet elevation you get your snow -- every year.

Do you switch your wardrobe to season-appropriate clothes four times a year? I have to do it four times a day, every day.

The US is 4% of the world population, accounts for over 70% of worldwide pharmaceutical profits, and ranks 60th in life expectancy.

I got two bottles of Saint-Emilion Grand Cru, one for personal consumption and another for a Christmas gift to a neighbor. The one for personal consumption hit the spot. Now I keep looking at the other bottle. I don't even know if the neighbor drinks wine. Or if she does, if it matters to her that it's an excellent wine, maybe she can't tell the difference, most people around me can't. But I owe her a favor. But maybe I can get her something else. But that's a hassle to think of something else when I already have a bottle of wine and some cookies for her. Cookies aren't a temptation because cookies aren't a temptation. But Saint-Emilion is. Time will tell.

One thing leads to another, and somehow I wound up on Youtube listening to Rasputin by Boney M. A blast from the past. One of the songs I used to ice skate to... Then I got curious to read up on Boney M. on wiki and among other things discovered a strange fact. Bobby Farrell, the male face of the band at the time, died on the same day (only 106 years later) and in the same city -- St.Petersburg, Russia -- as Grigori Rasputin.

Cats are strange. Artists are also strange. The best of both are incredible at tiny details that actually mean a lot if you observe very closely. A twitch of a whisker, a stroke of a brush... Microscopic examination of the light reflecting in the left eye of Vermeer's famous Girl with a Pearl Earring reveals what it is exactly that's reflected there, illuminated by the light It's this exact sleeping position, only here the cat's head is on the left and the pearl girl's cat's on the right.