This time the appliance in question was not an oven, but a microwave, and even though I had strict instructions not to go anywhere near the Simmons’ family microwave up in Franconia, I happened to be in charge of dinner. So I just had to use the opportunity when no one was looking and melt something (some of you may rememb once made smoke coming out of the microwave and on another occasion exploded egg whites all over the poor little machine and thus was permanently prohibited from using any major appliances in the TImberlane home). The object to be melted this time was a Tupperware, and not one of those flimsy ones that would melt by you just looking at them; it did seem quite solid, and I swear Tupperware of this kind has been successfully heated up in microwaves around the world before. I cannot tell you for the life of me what was different about this one, possibly some inherent weakness not visible even to the trained eye, who knows. After a mere three minutes of trying to heat up a most delicious cauliflower-walnut soup I had made earlier, the plastic container in question looked as if a truck had hit it head on, and it took quite some finesse and skill to pry it open and rescue the soup. Despite some efforts of trying to push out the dent just as a car mechanic would to with a distorted fender, there was no help for the poor little repository and its only chance to escape death by recycling may be some use as a paint pail. A sad end to a promising career I must say, from culinary receptacle to turpentine hopper – and all of it is my fault, of course.
What made it even worse was that it was not even my Tupperware I melted (what else did you expect?), but one belonging to a friend of mine – and I am not naming names here – but this friend will receive a brand-spanking new plastic container soon. I am sure all of you are quite excited by now, and have a hard time containing yourselves. Could it be me?
Despite this second melting incident in a row, I seem to have escaped unharmed, no cut-up fingertips, no bleeding all over the place, that sort of thing. I have been reasonably healthy and quite content, and what is even more important, so has my heel. I can now report four weeks of being pain-free from my plantar fasciitis. I have snow-shoed twice in the past three weeks, have hiked along Crane Beach, and topped it off today with downhill skiing at Waterville Valley.
My good friend and time-honored hiking buddy Rick and I, accompanied by the best hiking dog of them all (Phoebe), headed up north Saturday afternoon in search of snow and fun. We did have Tenney Mountain in mind originally, either for tubing or to watch the cardboard derby, alas, due to a busy week and supported by liberal doses of Valium prescribed by my doctor, I hard a pretty hard time peeling myself out of bed, and by the time we got on the road, we simply decided on a snow shoe hike. This turned out to be one of the highlights of the weekend (maybe second only to the melting incident) – we stopped at The Basin at Franconia Notch (http://images.google.com/images?hl=en&q=The+Basin+Franconia+Notch&gbv=2 – ignore the picture with the skein of wool, no idea what that has to do with anything) and snow shoed it up the Cascade Trail up to the Kinsman Waterfall (http://www.northeastwaterfalls.com/waterfall.php?num=196&p=0) . It was a pretty swell hike to say the least – water, snow and ice delighted in the most amazing formations, and the waterfall which was frozen solid, was just simply stunning.
The evening was spent in Franconia in very low key fashion, after a dinner that could have fed a platoon of soldiers, Rick and I both fell into a diabetic coma and while trying to watch an episode of the fabulous British series “Inspector Morse” both of us nodded off on our respective sofas, and neither of us could remember anything about the show. As a matter of fact, Sunday morning I was still so narcoleptic that I did not grasp the fact that the digital clock in my bedroom had not yet assumed daylight savings time. I thought it was 6 AM and kept wondering why Rick and Phoebe were rummaging around downstairs. We had originally planned to get up at seven to get to the ski slopes early, but thinking it was 6:30 AM when I peeled myself out of bed, I strolled comfortably in my pajamas downstairs, made a cup of tea, and did not know what do to with Rick’s slightly worried face, until I finally realized that I was just a wee bit behind the times (one hour to be exact) and better get myself in gear.
I stepped it up a bit and we hoofed it down to Waterville Valley, where a day of downhill skiing was on the agenda. Now due to my foot problems over the past eight months, I had not been able to go skiing as much as I wanted (despite all the fabulous snow up north), but I was so glad I went. I started off a little wimpy, Jell-O legs and all, and due to the valium felt a just a bit lightheaded, but after a solid warm up period on the easy slopes, I was good to go. I have to say a big thank you to Rick today, who taught me a lot, and at the end of the day I went home a proud little skier (of course it may be a little depressing that Rick’s niece Caroline who is 4 and just about reaches up to my knees, told me that she was doing black diamond runs…….).
It has been a busy week, full of culinary events (which is not really supportive of those plans of mine to get back in fighting shape, but I am working on it, and went to the gym twice at least). Wednesday night, my friend Ruth and I had a girl’s night out and headed to Ole Mexican Grill (http://www.olegrill.com/) near Inman Square, and I could kick myself for having lived near this neighborhood and never been there. It’s a crime I say!! The place is fantastic – the interior dipped in warm and inviting colors, the dishes heavenly delish – we are talking upscale Mexican cuisine – what a wonderful experience! The guacamole is made fresh for you on the table in one of those stone pots and absolutely divine; Ruth had duck with mole sauce, and I had some spicy pork dish with cilantro rice. Bottom Line: I must go back there, soon.
Thursday night, dinner group number two, “The Lab Rats”, consisting of the charming trio of Susan, Georgiana and Hannah livened up my home – the motto for the night was Italian food. Hannah delighted with an artichoke dip, Georgiana dazzled with a spinach-fennel-blood-orange, pecorinso cheese and roasted pine nuts salad, yours truly made “Pasta Con Salsa did Zucchini con Ricotta” and Susan, who is half Italian, delighted with some Italian lemon cookies whose name I forgot, but they were absolutely wonderful.
My friends, it is bed time, got to go get some zzzzzs. A busy week looms ahead, big pipeline presentation this Thursday and the same evening I am hopping on a plane to Washington, DC. I will be spending a couple of days in Bethesda, Maryland for a conference on targeted anticancer therapies and upon my return Saturday afternoon, I plan on sleeping at least 16 hours.
Sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite.
PetJ
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