Old People Is Us

Recently we went to a memorial for a musician friend of mrguy's. It was my first show since the pandemic. I wore a mask, people! Do not want the old woman in my life to get Covid because I went to the memorial of a significantly younger person.

Anyhoo, here are my thoughts or just one thought: we are old. You know how there are always people in your rock scene who look older than they are? And they kinda stand out? The whole crowd looked like that. I went to this gig and I couldn't tell if two of the old people were actually those people or whether they were people who grew up to *look* like those people (cause the people who you *think* they are should look much older now, right?).

It messed with my mind. 

Good news: my old people can still play guitar like a mofo. At least that hasn't changed.

St. Patrick's Day

Many years ago, when I was young, I lived in an apartment that adjoined an Irish pub. I loved that place. It was my other living room, and I learned so much living there and hanging out with my fellow regulars. It was both Leftie and politically correct and so *uncorrect* at the same time. Just like in "All In The Family" (which was still on at the time) my friends were identified by nicknames like English Mike (a vacuum cleaner salesman), Black Mike (a contractor), Blind Rick (a humorous letch) and Rev (he was the doorman, a tiny little cheerful but tough guy with bowed legs, a grey ponytail, leather vest and newsboy cap. Poor as a church mouse but I heard he had saved thousands of dollars in a coffee can for his funeral).  Anyhoo, through all of these folks I, a senior in college and otherwise fresh from a Republican suburb, learned a few things about how the world really works.

My landlords owned the bar, and they lived in the apartment next door. He was a bit older, she was my age, and now we're all old : ) During the early days of the pandemic I heard the bar was struggling, so I made a donation. My PayPal is in my maiden name, so they looked me up to thank me and now we're fb friends. I've really enjoyed following their doins for two years, and was so happy to hear that they were reopening on St. Patrick's Day. I took some time off work in order to get there early. I put on my mask, walked in for the first time in many many years and got to share some hugs. They insisted on sending me off with food, so I retaliated with another donation. That'll show them! And this would have been impossible back in the day.

When I think of my landlords I am filled with gratitude. They gave me a safe spot for many years, looked after me, and cared about me. I'm lucky to have known them and I look forward to renewing our friendship. 

I hope they find my favorite poster "Tell Fidel I Will Do My Duty" and hang it up again.

It Must Be Nice

The weather has been gorgeous and I had last week off mama duty, which was great. This Saturday, however, mom and her caregiver came over for lunch. Found a new (to me) recipe from the NYT for a red lentil soup that mom and her caregiver really loved, and we had thin mint girl scout cookies and watched some online auctions. Our orchid plant in the front yard is producing flowers, and I made a bouquet to decorate the table and for mom to take home. Yay! And then other stuff was not cool at all.

She was in a mood. And from what I hear about the moods lately, the grumpy moods are more frequent. But I wish that any of the things that I do would leaven that mood. Anyhoo, when the caregiver left the table to carry away the dishes (I usually do this but maybe she wanted to get away from mom for a sec?), she came back in and mom started pounding the table. She was imitating our caregiver's footfall, and said that the caregiver was heavy and couldn't sneak around.

It makes me unhappy to hear mom be unkind to people, especially the loving people who care for her. Her behavior is awful. I took a breath and told her that her behavior was shitty, and that she is mean to people. She replied "I'm exactly the way I want to be".

Don't we all wish we were so lucky? The mom who raised me would be mortified. I guess she's just going to continue to let her fat-shaming, racist and classist freak flag fly until she dies. There isn't a thing that we can do about it, but I don't want her to hurt other people. Even before my mom lost my mind, my greatest fear about old age was that my hidden flaws would come out and I would hurt the people who care for me. Did I somehow know this was going to happen to mom?

Good times.

Feuerzangenbowle

During the holidays, there was an interesting item on offer on the local buy nothing group: a zucker hut, or sugar cone. What's it for? It's the essential ingredient in German Fire Punch, aka feuerzangenbowle, which is mulled wine enhanced with flaming rum soaked sugar. 

Once I knew what feuerzangenbowle was, you bet I wanted that sugar cone. A flaming table-side treat (like cherries jubilee)?! My love for regional foodways and bevways went into overdrive and I spent many hours trying to procure the items I needed without breaking the bank. The sugar alone (zucker hut) costs seven bucks plus shipping, and for-realsies feuerzangenbowle rigs were priced at close to two hundred bucks.

Now that it's March, the price has gone down by more than half. I bought a brand new feuerzangenbowle set and I am very happy. Now we just have to end the pandemic so we can have people over to enjoy the spectacle and drink all the wine. The recipe calls for three bottles (plus 151 rum to get the sugar burning).

For your enjoyment, I leave you with a video of fire punch in action.