First, and best, a big thank-you to the commenters who responded to my rant about the Funky Llama wine rebate fiasco. After using their information to contact the PA Liquor Control Board (PLCB) and the new importer for Funky Llama, I received a replacement $5 rebate check yesterday from Allied Beverage Group, L.L.C., along with a nice letter explaining that, although it was not obliged to honor the debts of the former importer, it was willing to do so anyway “as a good faith example,” including refunding people for the bank fees they incurred. Now that’s definitely worth noting and shouting about, so thank you Allied Beverage for your excellent service, and I will be sure to patronize your products in the future. Well done!

Second, my new passport arrived yesterday — less than two weeks after I applied! This was a pleasant surprise. (The website advises 4 to 6 weeks to process routine applications and 2 to 3 weeks for expedited service. I feel sorry for those who paid an extra $60 for expedited service.) The only mystifying (and annoying) thing, is this note…

Not a problem on its own, but only when you flip it over and see the same message (I presume) in Spanish…

Why would the U.S. passport office need to provide a Spanish translation? Are there that many people traveling on U.S. passports who don’t know enough English to understand the English version?

If I were to receive a Spanish passport or a Colombian passport or a Venezuelan passport or a Mexican passport, would there be an English translation included on the paperwork? What about on a French passport or German passport?

Why does the U.S. seem to resist being an English-speaking country? Even for something as uniquely American as holding a U.S. passport? I’m sure it is not PC to bring this up, but for goodness sake, really U.S. State Department? Really?

Regardless, the task is done. I can cross off “renew my passport” from the mental list it’s been on for years and, even better, chalk one up to the power of the Internet (and good people) to right wrongs when you least expect it.

The secret of getting ahead is getting started.
~ Mark Twain 

This morning I surfed a bit to see what I had missed (turns out it was Nicki Minaj — who gave a bizarre and Catholic-offensive performance from what I read — and Paul McCartney singing Beatles tunes, which I’m SO sorry I missed). Anyway, what puzzled me most were the comments I read about the performances I had seen that left me wondering if we were watching the same show.

People hate Adele? Really? I guess not everyone likes a blues-y voice or non-rock music (or non-classical, non-jazz, or non-whatever-genre-she’s-not-that-they-like). And they thought her voice was obviously not recovered from her vocal chord surgery? Really? I don’t get what there was to criticize about her performance. Do they think live performances are supposed to sound exactly like the CD (even though hers, amazingly, pretty much did)? They thought Jennifer Hudson was “OK” in her Whitney tribute (“I will always love you”), but obviously holding back? Holding back? Good Lord, you mean she can sing even better than she did? No, she’s not Whitney Houston…but she did that song proud. (Although, I agreed with commenters who said it would have been better to have Dolly Parton sing it.)

You had people questioning the Beach Boys tribute…why Coldplay was there when they are “obviously” so unexciting and overrated…who’s Glen Campbell?…why can’t that lead singer of Foo Fighters even sing?…gosh, doesn’t that Bruno Mars get annoying?…and why the heck is there even a Grammy’s show to begin with? Why do those people need another narcissistic awards show so they can celebrate themselves?

For everything I liked, and everything I didn’t like, there were comments from those who felt completely the opposite.

And, that’s why I read comments.

Because it’s so easy to believe that your perception is the “only” perception and the “right” perception. That people must hear and see and think the same as you, because, well, it’s just so obvious. How could you not agree?

From politics to TV shows to movies to books (Amazon reviews) to climate change to fracking to music — we all have our own perceptions and preferences. I watch Fox because their spin on things generally agrees with mine; others watch CNN or MSNBC because they like that spin; others watch Colbert (and think it’s a news show) because they like his spin. It’s all got spin, even though, to fans, it’s simply and so obviously “the truth.”

More and more, I think the truth about anything more than indisputable facts (along the lines of “the earth revolves around the sun”) seems to be completely based on how you spin it.

But, I will say, to those of you who don’t like Adele or thought Jennifer Hudson gave a so-so performance: You’re just wrong.

There is no truth. There is only perception.
~ Gustave Flaubert

For the past year and a half, we’ve even had the applications filled out, sitting in a folder, along with the pictures we had gotten at Kinko’s, our old passports, and my birth certificate. My passport had long expired, so I needed to start from scratch. Mike is just under the window for getting a renewal rather than starting over, which can be done by mail rather than in person.

I found out last week that instead of going to the post office to do the paperwork, I could go to the courthouse, which was easier because, unlike the local post office, no appointment was required. So yesterday I gathered my folder and the checkbook and set off. After a bit of confusion and a wrong trip to the Deeds office (nowhere on the directory was there a listing for passports, and the guy in the Deeds office was nice enough to look it up for me and determine I needed to go down the hall to the Prothonotary), I was in the right place talking to someone who could process my application.

Started off great.

“Do you need the application?”

No, here it is, all filled out.

“Do you need a picture?”

No I have one (two in fact).

“My, you’re all prepared!”

I beamed proudly.

“Do you have your birth certificate?”

Sure! I handed it over.

“Don’t you have the long form birth certificate with your parents’ names on it?”

(Stunned) No? Do I need that? I don’t think I even have one of those!

“Yes, I can’t use this (perfectly legit, original, state-issued birth certificate).”

(In desperation) Even if I have my old passport?????

“Oh, if you have your old passport, that’s OK.”

Thank you, Jesus.

“OK, let me make a copy of your driver’s license.”

Here. No problem.

“Oh. Wait. You need to fill out this newer application instead. See, your form is dated ’05 on the bottom? There’s a 2010 one you have to use.”

So much for having a neat, typed-on-the-computer-in-the-handy-fill-in-form version.

I trudged off to fill out the new form. Which, by the way, had EXACTLY the same information on it as the form I had already filled out.

“All set? That’ll be $110 made out to U.S. Department of State.”

“Now, I’ll give you the oath. Raise your right hand.”

I swore that yes, the information on the form is correct and that’s me in the picture.

“That’s it, except for our $25 service fee.”

Hmmm, didn’t know about that. I pulled out my checkbook again.

“We don’t take checks.”

Sinking heart. Rush of sweat. There was no way in hell I had $25 in my wallet.

I checked. A ten. A five. And 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9 ones. $24.

I glance in the change compartment. Nope, no quarters. Not enough.

“Oh, I only have $24 and some change.”

They looked at me blankly. One woman said, “There’s an ATM in the lobby. They’ll charge you though.”

“I guess I have to go back to my car. I have some money in the car.”

More blank looks.

So back in the elevator I go. Down to the lobby. Four or five blocks back down the hill to my car. Yep, as I knew, I had two ones in my cupholder.

Four or five blocks back up the hill. Through the metal detector (again). Up the elevator to the fifth floor.

A ten. A five. And 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9, TEN ones.

She gave me my receipt and I left.

So, a happy ending. A long-put-off task finally done. But it got me thinking. What would I have done in that situation? If I had been on the other side of the counter when I walked in, so prepared, doing everything I was asked, and coming up $1 short on the cash?

Would I have offered a dollar? Or as it turned out when I counted my change, 38 cents?

To be fair, I didn’t ask anyone to help me out. I never would do that — not in my nature.

But I like to think I would have offered the dollar anyway. Made a small gesture to help someone out (and make their day, really).

But, I can’t be sure. I hope I have the opportunity to prove it sometime when someone, a stranger, needs some change for the meter or their grocery order or something else trivial.

Because I really do think “pay it forward” should work even when you weren’t paid in the first place. Gotta start somewhere.

Lesson learned.

Each day, learn something new,
and just as important, relearn something old.
~ Robert Brault

That: We stopped at McD’s yesterday morning to use our 2-for-1 breakfast sandwich coupon. I got my coffee and was waiting for the young girl (teens-20, maybe a college student) to move away from the cream & sugar spot on the counter so I could move in. I watched in disbelief and fascination as she proceeded to load her coffee (a medium, at most) with no less than 10 (TEN) sugar packets and 4 (FOUR) creamers. My eyes got wider and wider as she methodically ripped and dumped packet after packet and the pile on the little corner of counter got bigger and bigger. She must be playing a joke on someone, I thought. “Here, so-and-so, I got you some coffee….ha ha.”  But no, she was just calmly ripping and dumping, as if she’d done this many times. I nudged Mike, to make sure he was observing this, too. After a while, she finally stopped, put the lid on her coffee, and left the restaurant. I tried to imagine what it would be like to drink such a concoction. Hot sugar water with a little coffee extract in it? I imagined her day…hamster on a wheel, talking a mile a minute like one of the Chipettes. The image stayed with me a long time…clearly my mind doesn’t have enough important stuff to think about.

The other thing: Why is it that Mike and I feel guilty for spending a weekend at leisure? We both work hard all week, and when the weekend comes, we feel we should be doing more, and more, and more. Especially with house projects (the endless sunroom and now, our basement stairs and lower “landing,” for lack of a better term). Yesterday was a lazy, mostly unproductive Saturday, and now, today, we’re lounging with our laptops, coffee, and day-old donuts, listening to the Roots and Rhythm Mix on YEP, and dreading the thoughts of getting up and doing something. What’s the adage…we’ll rest when we’re dead? Sometimes it feels like that, and I know I work way less and lead a way less busy life than most other people I know.

But, I better go and figure out how to spend the day productively…taxes to do, bills to pay, wood to sand, and far too many things to clean, straighten, organize, empty, throw away, or otherwise attend to. You know: this, that, and the other thing. Always another other thing.

That destructive siren, sloth, is ever to be avoided.
~ Horace 

Last post: lamenting my inability to lose weight. This post: espousing on the agony and ecstacy that is the macaron. A cookie — and so much more.

I was largely uninitiated in the macaron mystique until my niece became a macaronaholic before Christmas, making dozens and dozens and dozens and DOZENS in an attempt to achieve perfection. Based on the ones she shared with us at Christmas — a glorious assortment of lemon, lime, cherry, and vanilla, each a picture-perfect wonder — she achieved it.

Before that, I had read a bit about the surge in popularity of these pretty little sandwich cookies, but I didn’t understand. I was confusing them with macaroons — those dense, chewy, coconut cookies. Macarons (a French creation) are completely different. Not coconut — almondy, meringuey, chewy — yet light. Yet luscious, usually filled with something wonderful like buttercream frosting. Hard to describe. Easy to love. Gluten-free, so there’s that too.

Also, a little hard to Google, because if you try to search for “French macarons,” Google helpfully switches it to “French macaroons” — at least until it learns better.

Anyway, once I knew about my niece’s obsession, I started doing a little research online and found that macarons have been all the rage for quite some time. Bloggers galore have posted about their attempts, and pastry chefs everywhere have shared their tricks. Me, I just fell in love with the taste and have been wanting to try my hand, despite reading how difficult they are and how any of a dozen little foibles (too much humidity, over-mixing, under-mixing, mixing too fast, mixing too slow, cold eggs, warm eggs, old eggs, new eggs, on and on) can thwart even experienced bakers.

Clearly this macaron obsession is a powerful thing.

For my first attempt, I relied on the method and tips at BraveTart.com — truly a great resource. Howevah, and it’s a big howevah, I wasn’t ready to buy all the tools recommended…e.g, a food scale ($25 on Amazon) to weigh the ingredents rather than relying on the amateur’s way (measuring cups), or a pastry bag and tips for piping out the cookie batter (reverently called “the macaronage”). So, I improvised.

I’m not sure why we have this postal scale that used to be at Mike’s office, but we do. So I used it. I have no idea if it’s accurate, but I figured if I used it to weigh out all the ingredients, at least proportionally everything would be in sync with the recipe.

Also, a pastry bag and tips is not a big investment, but again, I already had this.

Almond flour is a key ingredient, and while I’ve  tried twice now to buy ready-made (Bob’s Red Mill), Wal-Mart has been totally out for well over a week (way to manage inventory, world’s largest retailer). So I made my own by grinding almonds in my food processor — a totally normal thing that many bakers do. Blanched almonds (without any of the brown skin) yield the prettiest result, but blanched, slivered almonds cost a little more than the unblanched, sliced, so I opted for the sliced.

Also, all the recipes call for using a stand mixer with a whip attachment to beat the egg whites into meringue. I just have regular beaters on my mixer, and while I’ve made meringue with no problem, I opted to use my immersion (hand) blender that has a whip instead. It took virtually the same amount of time the recipe called for (like 9 minutes of beating — quite a lot), so I don’t think that was an issue.

Mixing the almond flour-powdered sugar mixture with the meringue to create the macaronage is a crucial step. I think I did OK — at least I think it approximated the description in BraveTart’s recipe. Loading this into my handy Pampered Chef decorator was a bitch — I’ll be springing for a pastry bag. And while it wasn’t easy to pipe out the little rounds of batter, I was happy the batter seemed to be the right consistency and spread and flatten as it was supposed to.

After following BraveTart’s suggestions for whacking the cookie trays on the counter a few times to get any air bubbles out, I was hopeful when I finally got them in the oven. My oven can be set to convection or regular — I chose regular after reading that the fan on the convection can cause the macarons to crack.

I thought I saw the start of “feet” — key to a great macaron. Feet is the name given to a thin layer of airy, sponge-looking cookie that the smooth top rests on. (See the beautiful feet on BraveTart’s photos).

But, alas, feet were not forthcoming.

That thin, airy layer you can see on a few of them should be at least double that size. No cracked ones on this tray, at least. The other tray, below it in the oven, didn’t fare so well. Clearly a product of some oven discrepancy — I’ll have to experiment with that on future batches. I tried the convection setting on the second batch of trays, but cracking was more of a problem. BraveTart recommends adjusting the oven racks to avoid them getting blown on by the fan, so maybe I’ll try that, too. The idea of a convection oven is supposed to be super-even baking, so it seems like it should be ideal for macarons. But so far, not so much.

Also, I experimented with using my silicone baking sheet liners on the first batch and parchment paper on the second. Parchment worked better with less sticking.

In the end, my first-ever macarons turned out flatter than they should have been, and many had cracks. Many were hollow underneath — which I think means they were underbaked. I didn’t achieve perfect, same-size circles — some were downright oval. They were a little tan on top, instead of soft, creamy ecru all over. They had flecks from the almond skin.

So, by now you might be thinking I threw the whole, pitiful batch away.

But here’s the beauty part: Macarons are scrumptious even without feet. Even with cracks and speckles and a suntan. Even without perfectly matched tops and bottoms.

Even more beauty: They get better over time! Store them in the fridge (for up to a week) and they’ll mature into even greater lusciousness.

I soldiered on.

Instead of the classic buttercream filling usually called for, I used a different chocolate frosting recipe from the can of cocoa — one that didn’t require a mixer. Seriously, considering the state of my kitchen, and that I’d been at this for almost two hours and it was now dinnertime, I wasn’t willing to dirty another appliance. (And this shot was after I put the food processor away.)

Soooo, after all that, with my first macaron effort — and a few of the tasty results — happily under my belt, I’m still hooked. I’ll try again, tweak a few things, and strive for prettier, more classic cookies. I’ll try other flavors and colors. I’ll go for the real buttercream and experiment with some other fillings, too. But I’m sure not complaining…except maybe about those 5 lbs. I can’t seem to lose.

Try again. Fail again. Fail better.
~ Samuel Beckett 

In my experience, nothing I do will make weight “fall off,” short of lopping off an arm or leg with a chainsaw. Not that I’ve tried that, but I’m pretty sure it would work.

However, no amount of diet modification, calorie counting, dread-inducing exercise, mind-over-matter attitude, spiritual awakening or ANYTHING I’ve ever done has resulted in weight “just falling off.”

Maybe if I was significantly overweight to begin with, this shedding would happen. But losing 5 (or maybe 10) pounds has been next to impossible for as long as I’ve needed to.

Yes, 20+ years ago, I followed a strict low-fat diet for health reasons, and I was pretty darn skinny. But I was pretty thin when I started, so that hardly counts.The diet didn’t make me feel any different, so I stopped.

Yes, I did a pretty strict diet for a few months a couple years ago and lost weight. It made me look old (ummm, I didn’t really need to lose weight in my face and neck, thank you), and it was a drag since it was virtually impossible to find anything to eat at restaurants — at least the restaurants we frequent.

Yes, every Lent I give up something — most often sweets — and I do lose a few pounds. Maybe 2 or 3 over the course of 6 weeks. It comes right back on when the sugar-fast is over. Like, say, at Easter brunch with my in-laws.

Yes, I go on exercise kicks. Exercise makes me ravenous, so I eat more. No weight loss through exercise. Ever.

Yes, I often try to eat four 400-calorie meals a day. A 400-calorie meal usually seems like a snack.I think I just had one — light whole grain flatbread tortilla wrapped around a few tablespoons each of hummus and cottage cheese and a handful of spring mix with a cutie orange on the side. I’m busy now thinking about what else I can eat. Preferably something that starts with potato and ends with chips — even though I know we don’t have any because I ate them all a couple days ago.

I often think I could be REALLY happy just eating 1600 calories a day of junk. Potato chips mostly, with some chocolate occasionally to balance out the salt with sugar. Maybe some nachos once in a while.

I also love healthy food — brown rice, tofu, roasted veggies. I could live on that, too. But Mike can’t, so I’d have to make 2 different meals all the time, and it’s enough of a drag just making one. But, yes, I was thinner when I lived alone. And no, that weight-loss tactic is not on the table!

So that leaves me where I am. Needing (OK, wanting) to lose 5-8 lbs. Trying to watch what I eat (I know it’s an issue of quantity rather than quality, most of the time). Trying to force myself to exercise a few times a week. Feeling frustrating that short of following a super restrictive diet that makes me unhappy, those skinny jeans will likely stay buried in my drawer forevermore.

And that just sucks.

She looked as if she had been poured into
her clothes and had forgotten to say “when.”
~ P.G. Wodehouse

I dread the annual shred, which takes several days to make sure I don’t blow up my shredder and never fails to leave little bits of paper all over everything, no matter how careful I am.

Like sands through the hourglass (and paper through the shredder), so are the days of our lives.

Anyone else remember that? I grew up watching soaps — some of my earliest memories are of having to take an afternoon nap (until I was 6 and in first grade!), during which time I was not allowed up until 3:30 or something. I used to crouch at the top of the stairs and listen for one of the soaps to come on (could have been Days of Our Lives, could have been Another World), so I knew it was OK for me to get up. Of course, I’m sure the daily nap “for my own good” was really so my poor mom could lie down and rest for a bit between doing the wash (worsh), cleaning, cooking, etc., etc. for our family of nine.

It’s interesting, though, as I shred old check stubs and such, to see what I was working on “back then.” In 2004, I was working with a company who managed its contractors through an outside firm, so I have many stubs from an intermediary I had forgotten all about and can’t even recall which client the work was for. (Which is a little scary, since 8 years is not that long ago.) And I was living in a different house and Mike and I were only dating. OK — so now it does feel like a long time ago.

I’m also having the usual post-holiday, “Oh my God I’ve got to get rid of some of this crap!” anxiety and scanning the house for things I can toss or donate. While I see plenty of things, most are not mine to dispose of (ahem) so will have to stay. But it bothers me to know that we could empty this house of half its contents and never miss them! Attic stuff, basement stuff, closet stuff, drawer stuff — so much stuff. It’s suffocating. [Make that "stuffocating" -- brilliant, Mel!]

But now I’m merely procrastinating. It’s time to get back to the shredding, de-Christmasing, thinking about exercising, halfhearted organizing, and general life contemplation that are as much a part of January as playoff season. Oh. Wait. That didn’t work out so well either.

You have succeeded in life when all you really want
is only what you really need.
~ Vernon Howard

It didn’t dawn on me until two days later that I didn’t seem to have the cocoa-roasted almonds I’d bought at Sam’s Club the other day to give to my neighbors for Christmas. I searched my house. I searched the trunk and back seat. I checked my receipt to verify I had, indeed, purchased them as I thought. Yep, there was the $9.98 charge. But no almonds anywhere.

Nuts.

I took a long shot and decided to go back to the store and see if by chance someone had found my almonds and turned them in.

“I know this is a long shot,” I said to the woman at the Service Desk at Sam’s. “But did anyone…?”

She grabbed a binder from under the counter and started flipping through it. Evidently, people must lose or leave stuff behind often enough that they have to track it.

She was starting to shake her head no, when she suddenly perked up and said, “Were those Emerald almonds?”

“Yes!” I said.

“Go get another one,” she said. “Someone turned them in.”

No way, really?

Some people are such good souls. Far more than those who are, as my friend aptly put it while commenting on my last post, “jagoffs.”

Sure does wonders for one’s heart health — far beyond what the almond ads promise.

How far that little candle throws his beams!
So shines a good deed in a naughty world.
~ William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice

December 20, 2011

Tastings Import Company
910 W. Van Buren Street, Suite 5000
Chicago, IL 60607-3557

Dear Sirs:

Please find enclosed a copy of the $5 rebate check for Funky Llama wine that you sent to me on 12/2/2011 and that I then cashed. Big mistake. Not only was the check returned by the bank, which charged my account the $5, it also charged me $12 for a returned check.

I tried to contact your company at 312-226-9438, only to find a recording that told me to call another number (847-733-7173) that is now disconnected.

I now have little hope of recouping my $17, but if an actual person receives this letter, why in God’s name did you even send the $5 check at all, months after I submitted the rebate information? Just like to mess with people during the holidays, do you?

I hope I am the only person dumb enough to painstakingly remove and send in a half-dozen wine labels to get a lousy $5 rebate that ended up costing me much more. On the other hand, how ironic, as I will need to drink a bottle or two of wine to relieve the absurdity of this situation.

Thanks a million — or at least $17.

Sincerely,

I made three calls to the bank trying to understand what had happened. It was made more puzzling by the fact that although I cashed the check, the bank arbitrarily charged my mother’s checking account, which I have my name on and handle for her, the $5 and $12 fees. (Ummmm, sorry Mom?) Actually, the $12 fee took a few days to appear, and the bank then earned my sincere gratitude for waiving the fee after I called for the third time and asked if there was anything they could do, under the circumstances. So, thank you for that, PNC Bank! I do appreciate it!

As for the rest of it…seriously. Have you had anything this absurd happen to you? Coincidentally, I have a $3 rebate check in my purse for something totally different that I am now afraid to cash. So much for pinching pennies. But I do think I’m going to go drink a glass of wine — just not Funky Llama.

If you wish to keep your affairs secret, drink no wine.
~ Author unknown

No, I’m not. I just haven’t had anything to write about lately. Not that that’s always stopped me in the past, but even I don’t care enough to write about my life lately, let alone feel compelled to bore anyone else with it.

For example:

• Joining the 21st century: I’m writing this on my new laptop — my latop, not one I share with Mike, which has been the case for the past 5 years. I feel a bit guilty because the old one still works fine, but I got tired of sharing it. So now we each have one to use…except…Mike got a new toy too — a tablet. He’s having fun using it, so now the old, perfectly good laptop is not being used. I feel wasteful (but I love my zippy new laptop). I also joined Facebook a short while back — I know, not exactly an early adopter. It’s been fun to reconnect with old grade school and high school folks. This whole “friend” (but not really) thing took me a while to get used to, but I think I’ve got the idea now.
• Home life: Our evenings (which begin earlier and earlier because it’s dark at 4:30) consist of Mike on one end of the couch with his tablet and me on the other end with my laptop (dual recliners, don’t you know — could we be any more suburban?) with a cat or two curled up with me or on me. Somewhere between 9:00 and 11:00, I get at least an hour of sleep in before bedtime.
• Christmas: Shopping done, decorating done, cookies done…nothing exciting there. Looking forward to seeing my family next week, as always.
• House projects: Mike’s making good progress on the sunroom (I think we’re moving into year 3, but I’ve lost track). Someday I’ll have awesome pictures to post…but not yet.
• Work: I’ve been busy this year, and I’m grateful that despite the still down economy, I did OK and have a nice project load to carry me into 2012. Truly thankful for this.

Are you bored yet? Told you. I’m having trouble thinking of even boring things to write about…which, when you think about is, is quite a luxury. Life may not be exciting lately, but it’s perfectly fine…and so am I.

But enough about me. What’s new with you?

In three words I can sum up everything
I’ve learned about life. It goes on.
~Robert Frost