a mature palate…[doesn’t that sound sophisticated?]
When I was a kid one of my favorite books was Harriet the Spy. I first read it in the fourth grade, and I think that my love of people watching was greatly influenced by Harriet and her penchant for spying on people and keeping a notebook with her observations.
A little itty bitty part of me started blogging to do just that. 😉
Another thing that I picked up from good ole Harriet is a love of tomato sandwiches. Weird, I know, but oh so tasty! When I was a kid I would lather plenty of mayonaise on a couple of slices of Wonder bread, slice a tomato over it, and mash it together into a delicious mushy mess of goodness.
I hate to say that it’s been years since I ate a tomato sandwich, and I can’t really come up with a reason for not having eaten one. I guess I found more interesting things to do with tomatoes.
Until today.
I came home from work with the hungries and stood in front of the open refrigerator door contemplating cottage cheese, yogurt, and leftover pot roast. Then I spied a red, juicy tomato. Jackpot. Only, this wasn’t Harriet’s 11 year old-style sandwich. Oh no. I used a multigrain wheat bread with a light tangy mayo, and sprinkled garlic salt and parsley over the tomatoes before carefully placing a second slice of bread on top and…mashing it together into a delicious mushy mess of goodness.
Heaven.
by popular demand
Here’s my get up from this morning’s Facebook status,
I look ridiculous today. I am wearing red track warmups leftover from when Jonathan was younger and running cross country. Pink crocs left behind by Vicky. Christy’s long-sleeved lacrosse shirt (warm!) and a powder blue fluffy bathrobe. Did I mention it’s cold outside? I didn’t? Well, there won’t be any pictures posted.
There’s more to the story, at least what I’m going to post about. You see, this get up, while a mess, and thank you Lisa Hendey, aka, CatholicMom, I will not be going to Walmart to end up on the People of Walmart website (I guess it’s really moot since I’ve posted the picture), as I was saying, this get up is comprised of leftovers by my children. Actually, the bathrobe is mine, and nice-looking as well as warm and utilitarian, and the socks are a bonus in the ridiculous meter. I bought them in the Outer Banks years ago. They have sand dollars all over them. But the rest of the stuff is left-overs.
Let me explain why that tickles me. You see, when I was a teenager I worked in a bank on school breaks. My mother’s employer, C & S Bank, would hire the children of their employees during the breaks. I enjoyed a rather nice job, and got to meet a lot of interesting and weird people. One of those people, a nice lady we’ll call “Wanda” because it rhymes with her real name, had two teenage daughters that went to school with me. One was pretty normal, but the other was a shallow clothes horse. She ended up being fairly normal, but at that time was consumed by wearing the latest fashions. In 1978, that was pretty horrendous stuff.
Let me share with you some of the highlights of that time.
Wanda would go to work in her daughter’s fashion discards. At least I stayed inside all day.