On The Road In Minnesota-Part I

Hello, Loyal Readers!
I'm going to try something different on you. The next few blogs will be the serialized version of the story I'm currently working on. It's a true story, for the most part, and, I hope, an amusing one. You be the judge and let me know...

On The Road In Minnesota   Part I

   Here’s a story for everyone who thinks show business is glamorous. I used to sing for a living, and often found myself on the road at holiday time. One year, I was booked into Rochester, Minnesota the week between Christmas and New Year’s. Those of you who are not traveling cabaret singers wouldn’t know this, but the week between Christmas and New Year’s is the single worst week of the year for an entertainer. Most just take it off, but I needed the money, so there I was on a journey from Chicago to Rochester, Minnesota, noted for being the location of the Mayo Clinic, and very little else. Great. My audiences would probably consist of worried and grieving relatives of patients with life-threatening medical conditions. Just the group to appreciate my catchy tunes and snappy patter.

   In those days, there were no direct flights from Chicago to Rochester, Minnesota, and I couldn’t afford the short connecting flight from Minneapolis, so I took the bus for the fifty mile or so final leg. Of course it was snowing. My little poodle had accompanied me and we were both eager to get to our hotel and rest after the trip. I don’t know what the dog was dreaming of, but I pictured a comfy, warm room with the customary two double beds, private bath and a working TV. I didn’t ask for much in those days. A Ramada Inn-level of accommodation would suit me fine. After a very slippery ride in a cab, I arrived at my hotel, which was a long way away from any Ramada Inn. The lobby sported naugahide covered chairs with curved metal arms, against dark lime walls. The windows were covered by heavy, dusty drapes which, I reckoned, had not been opened in my lifetime. Lighting came from circular porcelain fixtures hung from the ceiling on dusty chains. They shed a weak yellow wash over the place and in the centers of these fixtures could be seen shadows of bug bodies. A dark, patterned carpet of low pile covered the linoleum floor, which was a black and white checkerboard disguised almost to a uniform gray by the wax buildup on it. The whole place reeked of cigarettes. In one corner, a sad little Christmas tree glowed bravely, the only indication that anyone was aware of the season. There was a front desk with a middle-aged woman sitting behind it watching a small television while she chain-smoked.

            “Hi,” I said brightly. “I’m Phoebe Otis. I think my manager made a reservation for me.”

            Without speaking and without looking away from the TV, she shoved a register at me. It had a pen attached to it with a piece of twine.  I signed the book. The pen was sticky. I shoved the register back to her and still not looking away from the screen, she pushed a key across the counter to me.

            “Second floor, turn left off the elevator,” she said.

            She was busy lighting one cigarette from another, so I didn’t bother to say thanks. I picked up my bag and my dog and crossed to the elevator which didn’t smell any better than the lobby. We progressed to the second floor at a rate of speed I was sure I could have beaten on the stairs, and shuddered to a halt. After a nerve-wracking delay of almost 90 seconds, the doors slid open. Whoever had decorated the lobby had continued on the second level. A dimly lit hallway painted the same dark lime shade stretched off to either side of the elevator doors. I had been told to go left, and go left I did, finding room 212 five doors away. The lobby and hallway should have prepared me. The walls of my room were, wait for it, dark lime green. It was shaping up to be a long week.

Stay tuned, Friends....

A New Recipe, As Promised

            My brother Rob and I both love to cook and we’ve engaged in a life-long, unspoken competition to see who can come up with the best new dish. We had many discussions about pork tenderloin. He distained the boneless variety as being too easily dried out when roasted. I, on the other hand, keep one or two in the freezer for an easy dinner, maintaining that “they don’t dry out if you cook them right.” (I really am a snotty little sister, aren’t I?) I spent a good deal of time coming up with recipes to prove my point, and tonight, two years after his death, I’m still doing it. Here’s one way to cook boneless pork tenderloin so it won’t dry out:

            There are only two of us, so I usually cut the tenderloin in half before I freeze it. The result is a nice little roast that we can enjoy for dinner and then if there’s any left, I can do sandwiches or Chinese soup.* Boneless pork tenderloins usually come split down the middle, so you wind up with two pieces. For this recipe, I cut a ½ deep groove down the center of each piece, lengthwise. I salted the pieces with a citrus/sea salt blend** and gave them a few grindings of pepper. Using a peeled bosc pear, which I had cored and cut lengthwise into 8 pieces, I filled the grooves with lengths of pear and laid a branch of rosemary on each one. Then I put them together and tied them. I seasoned the outside of the roast, drizzled olive oil over it and put it in a pan with the rest of the pear. You can use as much or as little pear as you like. I just think the pear/rosemary combo is great. Roast the meat at 350 degrees until the internal temp is 130, then take it out and tent it with foil. Let it rest for at least 10 min. Serve in 1” slices, with the additional pears from the roasting pan and some nice, grainy mustard. Let me know what you think.

*Otherwise known as Oodles of Noodles. This wonderful foodstuff was a staple of my diet when I was in college, and turned out to be an effective hangover cure in later years. I still keep a supply though hangovers are part of the past. It’s great for transforming left over anything.

**I got it at the craft fair at Town Hall at Thanksgiving. The women who make chocolate in Truro sell it. Yummy!

A Whole Year!

   Well, I just realized something: I’ve been writing this blog for a whole year now! Wow. I’ve actually written 33 posts over the last year. A perfect score would have been 52, one for each week, but 33 isn’t too bad for the first year.

   Most importantly, I want to thank my loyal followers. Writing a blog is interesting, because most of the time I don’t know if anyone is actually reading what I’ve written. It’s like tossing a cookie off a mountain, hoping someone below will catch it and enjoy it. I really appreciate the feedback. Comments are most welcome. I know I promised at the beginning that I would write stories of Provincetown, and I will, but as some of you must have noticed, I’m not above commenting on current affairs. Actually “commenting” may be too mild a term. “Ranting,” “bitching” and “running off at the mouth”, might better describe some of my recent tirades. If this bothers you, my apologies. I seem to have found my politics in the autumn of my life, and occasionally I must vent. This blog provides a great place to do that, however, I have not forgotten my original promise, and I will keep it. You can expect more amusing (sic) anecdotes about my early days here in town, and more recipes as well. Just know, all of you, that I’m very grateful for your readership and feedback, and I’ll keep throwing cookies off the mountain.  

Christmas Story

Okay, here’s my Christmas story:

   Every year we have the unofficial Christmas decorating race on our street. Whoever puts up lights first starts it off, and it goes on until every house is resplendent.  My efforts usually involve a decorated, lighted wreath and strings of lights around the door, all of it pretty simple, but enough to be included in the neighborhood holiday spirit. Most of our neighbors are Catholics, and St. Peter’s is right down the street, so it gets VERY Christmassy around here.

   Except that I’m Wiccan, so one year, not too long ago, I decided I needed a symbol of my own to display. In Wicca, we have a pentacle, which is essentially a five-pointed star inside a circle. The points of the star represent Earth, Air, Fire, Water and Spirit. I made a pentacle out of lights and hung it in the window of our house. The lady from across the street, who was a pillar of the church, came by to admire our decorations.

   “Oh,” she said. “Something new! What a lovely Star of Bethlehem! Where did you get it?”

   “Why, thank you,” I responded. “I made it myself. Would you like me to make one for you?”

   Her eyes lit up.

   “Oh, would you?”

   Of course I would and I did, and she hung it in her front window every year at Christmas.  To her, it was a Star of Bethlehem. To me, it’s a symbol of my Pagan faith.

Something for everybody. I like that.

Happy Holidays.

THE DONALD

The thing that bothers me, keeps me awake these nights, is that it seems that no matter what idiotic, inflammatory statements Donald Trump makes, he remains at the top of the Republican list of choices for the nomination for President of the United States. Now, I know it’s almost a year until the election, but really, people, isn’t anyone else getting nervous? What if he is the Republican candidate? Oh, no, you all say, he’ll never make it that far. Really? I wonder. Remember Sarah Palin? What if he does get nominated, or worse, elected? With each passing day his chances for success improve.

    Of course we live in a free society, and he can say whatever he wants to say. Because he is so wealthy, he can air his views from a very wide platform, and that is his right as an American. However, his recent remarks indicate he’s perfectly fine with ignoring some of the most basic principles upon which this country is based. These are principles I am very fond of, and hearing him talking about keeping an entire religious group out of the U.S. and perhaps incarcerating those of that group who are already here makes me very uneasy. Don’t get me wrong. I’m very glad Trump has made his views clear. I am glad to know where he stands. I’m not glad that so many people appear to agree with him. It makes me wonder where I’m living. I thought we had evolved beyond thinking like the Donald’s. Do most of the Republicans in this country really buy what he’s selling? How long are we going to listen to his raving? When will he disappear so we can get down to the serious business of choosing our next leader?  The only way to silence him is to withdraw support for his campaign. I know it’s entertainment that rivals the most extreme “reality” TV, but the clock is ticking on this. Let’s not sacrifice our national integrity for the sake of entertainment. I long for the day we say,

            “Donald Trump, you’re FIRED!”

Food Trucks!

     So what’s the big deal about allowing food trucks? I think it’s a great idea. I think it would elevate the food production industry in our fair town. From what I see on the Food Network, today’s food trucks are not the bean wagons they once were. No, these rolling kitchens are dispensing pretty sophisticated cuisine and in my humble opinion would give our existing restaurants a run for their money. Of course, I don’t own a restaurant, so I see this as a good thing, a view not shared by some of those who do. But isn’t this America, home of the competitive? Isn’t good, honest competition one of the mainstays of our capitalist system? I’ve asked several people, (none of them restaurant owners), for their thoughts on this, and without exception they have said “Bring on the food trucks!” It seems there is a certain school of thought that embraces the idea that our restaurants need a good ‘kick in the pants’ to relieve a complacency believed to exist in the local food industry. Personally, I think it’s a good way to get people to come here. Why couldn’t this be a foodie destination? Of course the trucks would have to be regulated, and subject to the same health laws and licensing as any food distributor here in town, and we would need to designate areas where they could operate with appropriate fees for the spaces they occupy, but that’s all just an extension of the regs already in place.  

     Or, if that’s not acceptable, how about allowing them in a designated area only on certain days of the week, the way we do the Farmer’s Market? That might work. In fact, what’s the big difference between the two? I see them as more similar than different.

     I’m sure there are other ways to do this that I haven’t thought of. Why not consider it? Food trucks might be a great addition to our town, and I don’t think we should reject the idea out of hand, just because it’s a change. It could be a good change.

I'm Back!!!

November 18, 2015

            I know, I know. If I’m going to have a blog, I have to keep it up. My apologies. I hope I haven’t lost the few readers I had. All kinds of things got in the way, none of them a valid excuse. I can only say I will try never to do that again.            

            A lot has happened since I last wrote, but to me the most dismaying were the attacks on Paris. I know I’m not alone in feeling the same way I felt after 9/11, but also there’s a touch of the way I felt living in New York during Son of Sam. It’s a little scary to go outside.

            We all know there is evil in the world, and to our credit, we seem to pull together when it manifests itself. The around-the-world response to Friday night in Paris was quick and touching. Our finest hour. It wasn’t until Saturday that I heard someone use the attacks as a political instrument, and of course it was, who else? Donald Trump. (I guess he doesn’t like being referred to as “The Donald” anymore. I haven’t heard that in months.) He thinks we should ban all refugees from Syria. Period. Jeb Bush evidently wants to allow Christians only to come in. My question is: What happened to “Give me your tired, your poor…” What about the “wretched refuse yearning to be free…” ? Do we just trash all those values and standards? If so, what’s left? This is supposed to be a free society we have here. To me, that means we let everybody in. Terrorists? We’ve been told for years they are already among us. What’s changed? The attacks in Paris were hideous, but they didn’t suddenly signal every terrorist in Europe and the Middle East to join the flood of refugees. Obviously that’s what Isis wants us to think, but it seems ridiculous to me.

            Well, this turned into quite a rant. Let me know what you think. It’s good to be back.