Have you tried to buy a five-pound bag of sugar lately?
Or a quart jar of mayonnaise?
Then there's the matter of graham crackers. Don't get me started.
Oh, you can buy the package of sugar that sort of looks like the 5-pound bag you've been for buying your whole life--and your mother before you--but no such thing exists any more. Not even the off brands make a 5-pound bag. It's four pounds now . . . at the same price, or higher, actually.
And the jar of mayo looks about the same as it used to, except the bottom isn't flat. Not by a long shot. And it's a 30-ounce jar now. And if you buy the name brand, Best Foods, you'll pay about $3.50 for a jar.
But I am started on the graham crackers. I have a recipe that calls for 12 graham crackers, which used to be what you found in one of the packs inside the box. Handy. Then one day, the inner pack held 11 graham crackers. Now it's down to 9. And it's not cheap.
How do they do it? Isn't it expensive to keep redesigning and re-manufacturing packages? Oh, yeah, that's right. It is. And guess who pays for it.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Thursday, January 19, 2012
What goes around comes around, eventually
On my way to Curves this morning I stopped at the red light at Boise and Apple. There's a bus stop on that corner, and a young woman stood in the rain (she had an umbrella) waiting. I thought to stop and offer her a ride but was in the wrong lane.
I went down the street, made a couple of turns, then came back to where she was. By then a young man had arrived. I offered them both a ride while the car behind me honked. The young man refused. She accepted. I took her to BSU and learned she comes from Kodiak, Alaska, and is in her second semester at BSU, a Sociology major.
I dropped her off and headed down Broadway to Curves. Stopped at the red light at Boise and Broadway, then proceeded on the green light. I saw the police car pull out back behind me, saw the flashing lights, said to myself, "It can't be me; I'm going the speed limit, under it, in fact."
He kept coming. "It's me," I decided and turned in at the Curves parking lot. He followed.
Did I know how fast I was going? Yes, I thought I was going 35.
"You were going 32 in a school zone with a crossing guard and those flashing yellow lights."
I must have accelerated fast. I didn't think I had reached that speed until down by the LDS church. But I didn't say that to him. To him I said, "I'm sorry."
He took all my documents. Five minutes later he did not give me a warning.
I have just written the check for $151.50 to Magistrate Court.
I went down the street, made a couple of turns, then came back to where she was. By then a young man had arrived. I offered them both a ride while the car behind me honked. The young man refused. She accepted. I took her to BSU and learned she comes from Kodiak, Alaska, and is in her second semester at BSU, a Sociology major.
I dropped her off and headed down Broadway to Curves. Stopped at the red light at Boise and Broadway, then proceeded on the green light. I saw the police car pull out back behind me, saw the flashing lights, said to myself, "It can't be me; I'm going the speed limit, under it, in fact."
He kept coming. "It's me," I decided and turned in at the Curves parking lot. He followed.
Did I know how fast I was going? Yes, I thought I was going 35.
"You were going 32 in a school zone with a crossing guard and those flashing yellow lights."
I must have accelerated fast. I didn't think I had reached that speed until down by the LDS church. But I didn't say that to him. To him I said, "I'm sorry."
He took all my documents. Five minutes later he did not give me a warning.
I have just written the check for $151.50 to Magistrate Court.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
The First Snow Fall of the Year
10:30 and already a lotta snow, I'd guess about 4 inches, and, to quote the old song, "it shows no signs of stopping."
Yes, we need it. Need the water it will produce next Spring.
And I think of those people at the nearby ski resorts--Bogus Basin, for one--and how happy they are today. If they haven't already gone out of business. I hope they haven't.
Skiers, tobogganers, sledders, a happy bunch.
It's beautiful, too.
It was supposed to begin at 9 a.m. so I went to Curves at 6:30, thinking I'd be home ahead of the snow. But it had already begun to fall when I left my house, and in the 50 minutes I spent at Curves enough came down to make driving home scary. Borderline treacherous.
Glad I did a little shopping last night, because I don't plan to leave my house again today.
It's warm in here; my sheets are clean; I'm clean; plenty of food and water, things to do. I sound like I'm planning to stay in the rest of the winter. I hope not.
I write simply to mark the day and acknowledge the snow.
Yes, we need it. Need the water it will produce next Spring.
And I think of those people at the nearby ski resorts--Bogus Basin, for one--and how happy they are today. If they haven't already gone out of business. I hope they haven't.
Skiers, tobogganers, sledders, a happy bunch.
It's beautiful, too.
It was supposed to begin at 9 a.m. so I went to Curves at 6:30, thinking I'd be home ahead of the snow. But it had already begun to fall when I left my house, and in the 50 minutes I spent at Curves enough came down to make driving home scary. Borderline treacherous.
Glad I did a little shopping last night, because I don't plan to leave my house again today.
It's warm in here; my sheets are clean; I'm clean; plenty of food and water, things to do. I sound like I'm planning to stay in the rest of the winter. I hope not.
I write simply to mark the day and acknowledge the snow.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Lay, Lie
We've been through this before, but it's one of those pesky problems that will recur, you know. You must know that.
This morning at Curves Marcia said, "Say, English teacher." She was addressing me.
Me: Yes.
Marcia: The lay/lie thing. Can you tell me something that will help me know which to use when?
Me: Don't know.
I mean, there is only so much one person (me, or I, if you're a stickler) can do. I can tell her, but that doesn't mean she'll remember and forever after get it right, you know. You do know that. Right? But, of course, I had to do what I could for her.
Me again: I'll try. Lay, in the present tense, takes an object.
Marcia: A bit blank.
Me: You lay it down. But you lie down.
Marcia: Oh.
Me: But lay is also the past tense of lie, and that may be what . . . (I was going to say, confuses people. But she cut me off.)
Marcia: Oh, don't tell me about that. I don't want to hear that.
Me: Okay. Here it is. You wouldn't say, I'm going to lay down, unless it's a book. I'm going to lay the book down. But you would say, I'm going lie down.
Marcia: Okay, yes. I see. That helps a lot. My husband is always correcting me, you know.
Me: (I didn't know, but he's a lawyer, and so maybe I should have known.) So get this right, and then he won't know . . .
Marcia: He'll have to find something else to correct me on.
Me: No doubt he will. (But I did not say it out loud.)
So there you have it. Another soul set straight on the lay/lie path. May she ever stay on it.
That's what we English teachers live for, you know.
This morning at Curves Marcia said, "Say, English teacher." She was addressing me.
Me: Yes.
Marcia: The lay/lie thing. Can you tell me something that will help me know which to use when?
Me: Don't know.
I mean, there is only so much one person (me, or I, if you're a stickler) can do. I can tell her, but that doesn't mean she'll remember and forever after get it right, you know. You do know that. Right? But, of course, I had to do what I could for her.
Me again: I'll try. Lay, in the present tense, takes an object.
Marcia: A bit blank.
Me: You lay it down. But you lie down.
Marcia: Oh.
Me: But lay is also the past tense of lie, and that may be what . . . (I was going to say, confuses people. But she cut me off.)
Marcia: Oh, don't tell me about that. I don't want to hear that.
Me: Okay. Here it is. You wouldn't say, I'm going to lay down, unless it's a book. I'm going to lay the book down. But you would say, I'm going lie down.
Marcia: Okay, yes. I see. That helps a lot. My husband is always correcting me, you know.
Me: (I didn't know, but he's a lawyer, and so maybe I should have known.) So get this right, and then he won't know . . .
Marcia: He'll have to find something else to correct me on.
Me: No doubt he will. (But I did not say it out loud.)
So there you have it. Another soul set straight on the lay/lie path. May she ever stay on it.
That's what we English teachers live for, you know.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
A Little Family History
My maiden name is Brimley. My dad's people came from Scotland and England, with names like Kirk (Scottish for church) and Southworth (English for south worth, I would guess).
I have seen Brimley spelled Brameley and Bramelea. It means by the brim of the lea--edge of the meadow. Which likely indicates where these people originally lived. My dad's Grandfather was from Lancashire.
In the mid 1800s the Brimley family left England, from Liverpool, and sailed to America. My father's father was on the ship. He was just a boy then. His name, William Jedediah Brimley. They came to live in Utah, Zion to them, because they had joined the Mormon church.
The ship was old, slow, and leaky. It took six weeks to cross the Atlantic, with the older boys and the men bailing water around the clock. But, obviously, they made it. When they got to Salt Lake City they began life there in a small adobe house.
Eventually the Brimley brothers became butchers and had a store on State Street in Salt Lake City, Brimley Brothers' Meats. Started by the first Utah generation, it was passed down to their sons. I remember my dad telling that when he was young he would carry home the meats that didn't sell each day, like the organ meats, the tongue, and beef neck bones. Soup from the bones was often their dinner. And my dad prized beef heart and liver.
Actually, I also like the organ meats. Thanks, Daddy. But you can have the neck bones. And you can have the tongue. I tried. Really, I tried, but I just couldn't like eating a tongue, and I don't need to even see one on a plate again. Ever.
But I served beef liver (and chicken livers) to my kids. I don't know if I should say occasionally or often. You'd have to ask them how they feel/felt about that. I'm pretty sure none of them eat liver in their own homes.
Very hard to find these days in the grocery stores anyway.
Tangent. Sorry.
I have seen the store on State Street--a fine location, as my dad would say. It was many years ago when I last saw it. (Does anyone know for sure how long it lasted?)It was a few blocks west of Uncle Vern (his name was Laverne, poor kid) Brimley's house, as I recall, like around 26th South and State.
The store is gone now. So are all those Brimley brothers and sisters. My dad, born fourth, was the the second to last of them to die, as far as I know.
Their names:
Margaret Ann, named for her mother Margaret Ann Kirk, my grandmother whom I never knew. The daughter was Aunt Margie to us, 1886-1983. Born first, lived longest, 97 years.
Lulu 1888-1888.
William Ray 1889-1891
Wilford Charles 1891-1981, my dad, 89 when he died. Preceded in death by his wife Lola, our "little Mama," as he often called her. Daddy sold life insurance for New York Life Insurance Company, up and down the length of California, mostly on the military bases.
James Clyde 1894-1978, Uncle Clyde, a butcher. He took his large family to Mesa, Arizona. His children were the only cousins I knew. I loved their visits. He was a Navy veteran and had stories to tell.
Elsie 1896-1967
Laverne 1898- 1976, I met him a few times.
Wallace Gerald 1901-1935
It seems this post decided it had a life of its own, almost got away from me. It began so that I could say I like my name, Brimley. It's a good name.
I have seen Brimley spelled Brameley and Bramelea. It means by the brim of the lea--edge of the meadow. Which likely indicates where these people originally lived. My dad's Grandfather was from Lancashire.
In the mid 1800s the Brimley family left England, from Liverpool, and sailed to America. My father's father was on the ship. He was just a boy then. His name, William Jedediah Brimley. They came to live in Utah, Zion to them, because they had joined the Mormon church.
The ship was old, slow, and leaky. It took six weeks to cross the Atlantic, with the older boys and the men bailing water around the clock. But, obviously, they made it. When they got to Salt Lake City they began life there in a small adobe house.
Eventually the Brimley brothers became butchers and had a store on State Street in Salt Lake City, Brimley Brothers' Meats. Started by the first Utah generation, it was passed down to their sons. I remember my dad telling that when he was young he would carry home the meats that didn't sell each day, like the organ meats, the tongue, and beef neck bones. Soup from the bones was often their dinner. And my dad prized beef heart and liver.
Actually, I also like the organ meats. Thanks, Daddy. But you can have the neck bones. And you can have the tongue. I tried. Really, I tried, but I just couldn't like eating a tongue, and I don't need to even see one on a plate again. Ever.
But I served beef liver (and chicken livers) to my kids. I don't know if I should say occasionally or often. You'd have to ask them how they feel/felt about that. I'm pretty sure none of them eat liver in their own homes.
Very hard to find these days in the grocery stores anyway.
Tangent. Sorry.
I have seen the store on State Street--a fine location, as my dad would say. It was many years ago when I last saw it. (Does anyone know for sure how long it lasted?)It was a few blocks west of Uncle Vern (his name was Laverne, poor kid) Brimley's house, as I recall, like around 26th South and State.
The store is gone now. So are all those Brimley brothers and sisters. My dad, born fourth, was the the second to last of them to die, as far as I know.
Their names:
Margaret Ann, named for her mother Margaret Ann Kirk, my grandmother whom I never knew. The daughter was Aunt Margie to us, 1886-1983. Born first, lived longest, 97 years.
Lulu 1888-1888.
William Ray 1889-1891
Wilford Charles 1891-1981, my dad, 89 when he died. Preceded in death by his wife Lola, our "little Mama," as he often called her. Daddy sold life insurance for New York Life Insurance Company, up and down the length of California, mostly on the military bases.
James Clyde 1894-1978, Uncle Clyde, a butcher. He took his large family to Mesa, Arizona. His children were the only cousins I knew. I loved their visits. He was a Navy veteran and had stories to tell.
Elsie 1896-1967
Laverne 1898- 1976, I met him a few times.
Wallace Gerald 1901-1935
It seems this post decided it had a life of its own, almost got away from me. It began so that I could say I like my name, Brimley. It's a good name.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Another scrumptious dish
While fried eggs may be your favorite, once you try deep fried eggs, it's possible you'll find them hard to resist. Deep frying the egg results in a caramelized sort of taste with a runny center. The egg also looks great, somewhat like a fried poached egg with crunchiness that seduces you straight away into wanting to take a bite.
What I want to know is this: Does that picture match the description below it? Does it really look great? Would I ever be seduced into taking a bite? And are those croutons? Fried eggs with croutons?
Gross, I say. This could get a person over her food addiction.
Friday, January 6, 2012
It's serious
Yesterday I heard a report given in that voice reporters assume to let hearers know that this is dangerous stuff. It was telling that there is such a thing as a FOOD ADDICTION.
Yikes! Oh no!
I mean, you could be addicted to food. Some people are, said the report.
Well guess what. I think I'm one of them.
It's like this: I want food every day. Almost like I have to have food every day.
Every day.
That's it. Addiction.
Yikes! Oh no!
I mean, you could be addicted to food. Some people are, said the report.
Well guess what. I think I'm one of them.
It's like this: I want food every day. Almost like I have to have food every day.
Every day.
That's it. Addiction.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Those were the days,
I guess, when things were simpler, nicer. TV wasn't all murders, rapes, other and various crimes, and the fascinating lives of celebrities. Not that there is any connection. Oh yes, and fake reality shows.
And that's what I'm talking about, what was on TV. Shows like Space Patrol and What's My Line? and Believe It or Not, and we, the viewing public, liked them. We thought they were good entertainment. My, but weren't we simple?
I remember the host of Believe It or Not, Art Baker, a handsome white-haired man who always wore what looked to be a white suit. (Black and white TV.)
I fell in love with Art Baker. He was smooth and pleasant and had a wonderful speaking voice. (Later, when I saw him in one of his early movies and he was the bad guy--smooth and subtle but really bad--I fell out of love. So disappointing. I was just a kid, remember.)
I might have stopped watching Believe It or Not.
But here's the kind of thing the show featured. Drum roll, some kind of lead-up-to-it music: a man who could tear the Los Angeles phone book in two. Amazing.
Wouldn't you like to see that?
And that's what I'm talking about, what was on TV. Shows like Space Patrol and What's My Line? and Believe It or Not, and we, the viewing public, liked them. We thought they were good entertainment. My, but weren't we simple?
I remember the host of Believe It or Not, Art Baker, a handsome white-haired man who always wore what looked to be a white suit. (Black and white TV.)
I fell in love with Art Baker. He was smooth and pleasant and had a wonderful speaking voice. (Later, when I saw him in one of his early movies and he was the bad guy--smooth and subtle but really bad--I fell out of love. So disappointing. I was just a kid, remember.)
I might have stopped watching Believe It or Not.
But here's the kind of thing the show featured. Drum roll, some kind of lead-up-to-it music: a man who could tear the Los Angeles phone book in two. Amazing.
Wouldn't you like to see that?
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Something to consider
Writing is best done in the morning, before the mind has the day's marks on it.
Who said that? I did.
But I suppose it depends on what you are writing. Maybe you want the day's marks in the writing. Maybe that's what it's all about. The day.
Who said that? I did.
But I suppose it depends on what you are writing. Maybe you want the day's marks in the writing. Maybe that's what it's all about. The day.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Sticked on a pick-up, yes, that's sticked
We're into bumper stickers these days. Here are the two I saw today as I pulled up behind a pick-up. Both on the same pick-up.
1. NUKE IRAN
Then Hollywood
2. KEEP HONKING
I'M RELOADING
Both quite Idaho appropriate, I thought, so I looked up to see the driver, expecting a guy with plenty of scruffy hair and a baseball cap. But no. It was a woman. Hmmm.
Or so I thought, until he turned the corner. A man, plenty of hair, not scruffy but rather neatly combed into a page boy, and no cap. Well, it takes all kinds to make a world. And I guess that's true of Idaho, too.
1. NUKE IRAN
Then Hollywood
2. KEEP HONKING
I'M RELOADING
Both quite Idaho appropriate, I thought, so I looked up to see the driver, expecting a guy with plenty of scruffy hair and a baseball cap. But no. It was a woman. Hmmm.
Or so I thought, until he turned the corner. A man, plenty of hair, not scruffy but rather neatly combed into a page boy, and no cap. Well, it takes all kinds to make a world. And I guess that's true of Idaho, too.
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