Freddie Gray Inspired

      Freddie Gray another young black man died in police custody.  It was in these United States of America in Baltimore, Maryland.  I mourn his death.

     One individual on a popular social media site offered the thought that even though the man may have been a low life, he didn’t need to be killed.

     Reading the label ‘low life’ – painful . . . (tears now).  Oh my.   How could one call another person such?

 Beware of the fittest who survive and don’t hesitate to tell you who you are.  Think.

      I’m reminded of the corporate executive driving, meandering through Manhattan heading to the Harlem River Drive to cross into New Jersey via the George Washington Bridge.  She didn’t rush, was too tired, and too stressed to rush. 

     It was late, now dark.  But, she wasn’t scared, felt safe even as the tall, unkempt derelict-like man approached with his squeegee, one of the entrepreneurial window washers of the time.  She sat there behind the wheel, her flashy white, late model Buick, stopped by the red traffic light.  

     He started to swipe her windshield with the filthy tool.  Rather than raise the car window, which sometimes sent them to another car, she had started talking, complaining about her day. 

       She was experimenting, seeking to involve him in the world of at least one of the drivers he accosted so easily.  He might not realize how unfair he was to hard working folk trying to bring a tough day to a close.

        So she shared.  “It’s not easy being Black, is it?  I've had a long day, unfair bosses, must smile no matter what.  It’s awful. I shouldn’t go back.  I could make money doing what you do.”

       The squeegee man abruptly backed away from the car, looked at her and ordered her to stop that talk.  “Go home, come back tomorrow. You have to do it for us who can’t.”   

       The light changed. She handed him a dollar bill.  He waved it off.  “You keep your money and come back tomorrow.  Don’t Give Up!”  His emphatic words followed her as she made it through the intersection.

       This day, years later, her squeegee man came to mind as the words, “low-life” ascribed to Freddie Gray, now dead, jumped off the screen.  That was how the street people who tried to wash car windows at busy corners were described.  She had met  one who was thoughtful and capable of being helpful.

        There are human beings in every community who need something they do not have.   Yet they have something to offer.

         I have forever remembered and value my experience with the squeegee man.

  

She Wouldn't Be Stopped

She had never cooked lamb.  It was Easter and she did it!

Hold your applause.

As late as Saturday morning before, out picking up Easter plants she made the meat market her next stop.  The butcher grabbed her attention as she stood somewhat near wondering if she shouldn’t get a whole fish, “can I help you?” he asked, and that was it. 

“I want to cook lamb,” she blurted.  He stared, obviously needing more information than that and she knew it so quickly added, “Leg of lamb, do you have one?”

A best friend from years ago, Louise, would cook leg of lamb every Easter. 

“I’ve never cooked lamb,” she told the butcher, talking too much maybe but thinking her words might help him make a better selection for her.

He reached into the glass-enclosed compartment of stacked leg of lamb options, lifted up his choice (she could see it was partially frozen) but seemed a smaller one.

“How much?”   

He positioned the icy leg on the scale and turned to her, “$48.00.”

“Hmmmm,” she heard her thinking escape as a response.   Not heard were the words shaped in her mind,  “It’s too expensive for a novice. What can I do?” I really want to fix lamb.”  But the butcher must have known her dilemma, for he suggested she check the packaged meats farther down the aisle for other cuts of lamb.

She brought home four lamb shoulder blade chops, found a baked lamb recipe in her tablet, with video instructions, and got busy.

The chops had to marinate for 1-2 hours, or overnight in the refrigerator.   She wanted her Easter meal on Easter so 2 hours it would be. 

It was a red wine marinate.  The only red wine in the house was a bottle stored in the dining room – been there for years.  Could it be too old?  Online research said the 1983 burgundy was not drinkable, didn’t say she shouldn’t cook with it. 

She needed rosemary leaves, 2 tablespoons of chopped or dried. She had dried . . . half that required . . . so oregano filled the gap.

Didn’t have a head of garlic.  She substituted, from a bag in the refrigerator, used 6 or 7 peeled garlic pieces.

She had the called for sweet potatoes and a fine large onion.  No creativity needed.

It looked good going into the oven at just after 9 pm.  Directions said to bake 40 minutes; securely covered with aluminum foil only the first 20 minutes.   At that time frame the potatoes were practically raw.  She went through several time-consuming foil on/foil off sequences before determining her dish was done.

She cooked her lamb 30 minutes longer than instructed.

The lamb was not tasty and very tough. 

The onions were tough. 

The sweet potatoes were delicious.

She ate her Easter dinner and completed the kitchen clean up just minutes before midnight.  And she had fixed lamb.  She was happy.

                   +     +     +     +     +     +     +

     She was not pleased to have used a 32-year-old bottle of wine.  (She’s thrilled she didn’t get sick.)

     She was not pleased to have freely ‘substituted’ ingredients. 

     She would not, again, select lamb shoulder blade chops.  
     She would not overcook lamb and everything else, in pursuit of a properly cooked potato.

     Creativity should not have compromised good sense.

Cookie Talk

Rah-Rah Raisins, a new Girl Scout cookie hit the spot. I found them hearty as promoted, tasty too.

A few minutes earlier, reading the box, opening the package no rah-rah emotion filled my mind, negativity did. 

Looking at the one-column pack in the size appropriate container, I fixated on crafting a blog post of complaint – “only 14 cookies to a box that cost $4.00”. 

How did Girl Scouts account for the profits those numbers must produce?  Did the cost of doing business include generous salaries and equally generous expense accounts for ranking employees?  Plus, in my eyes, only volunteers, eager youngsters and families were their primary sales force (which surely any for-profit organization would covet).

A grand personal reference point is having been one of those families.  My daughter was a Brownie.  I was a Brownie Leader.  We sold oodles of cookies for the excellent reasons Girl Scouts annually market their special product. *  In my heart I wanted to be supportive. 

Opening the well-sealed package, this cookie glutton took two and kept the box nearby to get one, or two extra.   Late morning had become early afternoon and they were my breakfast along with a low-fat cheese roll, raisins and mug of coffee.   Surprising me, it was a satisfying breakfast.   (I did force myself to slowly munch one more, a treat only. I wasn’t hungry.)

Now I say you can’t go wrong with even one Girl Scout cookie from the small box of ‘rah-rah raisins’.  Satisfying.  My dollars were well spent.

I found the following information online and was gratified reading facts I had known for years.

*”All of the proceeds from the cookie sale—every penny—stays within the community to benefit local girls. Girl Scout troops use the money for field trips and community service projects.

Money from Girl Scout Cookies helps the council:

▪   Recruit and train volunteer adults to work with girls.

▪   Provide the financial assistance needed to make Girl Scouting available for all girls.

▪   Improve and maintain camp and other activity sites.

▪   Keep event/camp fees for all members to a minimum.

Sponsor special events and projects.”

I like that.  Will you support your local Girl Scout Cookie Sales campaign?