As the year 2014 draws down to a precious few hours, I’m struck by how many of my high-minded goals for the year have not been reached – or in some cases, even attempted.
I’m done with these two women who I believe are evil.
They put forward lofty ideas of entertaining in a style which could only be attained with the help of a legion of chefs and helpers, while the lowly homemaker – already exhausted from cooking, cleaning and gift hunting – thinks she must put on something equally spectacular.
An old friend just sent a photo of the “Highland Park Kids” – the members of our gang who grew up in a subdivision called Highland Park. We think they were out caroling in the neighborhood somewhere around 1958. I can pick out a few – including Tinker Lautar, Brenda Buck and Mary Carr and Betsy McGlown..
Each day, I spend untold hours avoiding what scares me. The list is so long that extended end to end it would probably go all the way around my house.
Childhood memories often lure me into a disappearing world of culinary and sensory delights. Those were the days of anticipation which made you drool when you heard the rotary mixer hit the side of the glass bowl, the popping of grease from frying chicken, or the smell of a fresh-baked pie.
These days I just buy a candle called apple pie spice and plop a bucket of KFC on the table beside bottles of designer water. Those culinary and olfactory pleasantries of yesteryear are likely to cause a panic attack among the self declared food police