Cooking With Sam

Today, Sam and I decided to make meatballs and sauce for dinner. Actually, we decided it yesterday. It’s a part of our routine for Saturday errands. We talk about what he might want for dinner for either Saturday night or Sunday night, and we work this into our making of the grocery list. 

First we have to decide what we want to eat, then we have to figure out what we need to make it. Next, we have to check to see what ingredients we have, and whatever we don’t have, goes on the list. We were a little undecided whether we were going to be eating meatball grinders or having spaghetti, so we covered both bases by adding both spaghetti and rolls to our list.

So, today it was going to be meatballs and sauce. And since we still weren't sure whether we were going to end up grinders of pasta for dinner, we decided to slightly modify our recipe. This meant two things. First, we weren’t going to add sliced mushroom to the sauce. Sliced mushrooms are fine for spaghetti sauce but we didn’t want them in our potential meatball grinders. 

The other thing we decided was that we were still going to cook Italian sausages but we were going to add them in whole to the sauce instead of slicing them. Again, this was due to the potential grinder issue. Other than that, recipe-wise, things stayed pretty much the same. What changes was how we went about it.

Normally, Sam and I make our own meatballs using a recipe he got from school. This usually takes us a couple of hours and we bake them the day before, then I add them to sauce and along with garlic and spices the next day. Sam is usually in charge of slicing the mushrooms.

But today, we did it different. When we went grocery shopping yesterday, the precooked meatballs were on sale so we decided to give them a shot. It also seemed like a good time to keep building on how much of the cooking Sam would be responsible for. After all, our weekend cooking projects aren’t really about what we’re cooking. They’re about teaching Sam some basic skills. I’m not sure he realizes this or not, but it doesn’t really matter, as long as he’s getting something out of it- along with the good food and companionship.

So, today Sam did a lot of work. After dumping the meatballs into the crock-pot and adding the sauce, I took out a bunch of the spices I normally use, and went through them all with Sam. I had him smell each one so they would meet with his approval - and so there wouldn’t be any surprises. With a little help- mostly for reassurance, he added them.

Next up was peeling and cutting the garlic. This is something that would have been unheard of a few years ago. First of all, Sam would never have stood for the idea of his fingers smelling like garlic, and secondly, he wouldn’t have liked the smell. But little by little, as we’ve baked the safer things (that is to say, sweeter things) over the years, he’s gotten used to dealing with different textures.

For example, he’s been cracking eggs for a while. When he started, he washed his hands every time he got so much as a drop, or thought he got so much as a drop, of egg on him. Now he can wait until he’s cracked them all. Plus, he actually enjoys doing it instead of being disgusted by it. We have certain system that we follow and I think that it help a lot knowing what the routine is.

Anyway, I showed him how to break the clove off the garlic bulb and had him try a few. I did the same for showing him how to peel the clove, and slice it and dice it. This was a very big deal for him. And it was a very big deal to me, too.

Besides the smell, I don’t think Sam would have had the skill to cut the cloves a few years ago. I mentioned that I have Sam slice the mushrooms whenever I cook with them, and I’ve been doing this for a few years now. He uses a semi-sharp knife for this and while he was a little nervous to begin with, he doesn’t think twice about it now - as long as he’s using the same knife. 

At the beginning of last winter, I started having him slice that apples for me when we made apple pancakes. This required a larger and sharper knife than what he was used to. But the knife isn’t razor sharp. Yeah, he could cut himself if he wasn’t careful, but he’s careful, and I’m right there. 

And I figured the apples would be a good thing to lean on. They would be a little wet and maybe a little slippery, but they’re large to hold which means he has a better chance of keeping his fingers away from the knife while he’s cutting. So, little by little, he’s been doing great. (So good, in fact, that I’ve stared- just stared- to teach him how to peel apples).

Anyway, since he’s been getting better with the knife, with a little bit of help and some off and on guidance, I had him slice and dice up the cloves of garlic. This was a pretty slow process for him, but it was his first time, and for a first time, he did really great.

He slid the chopped garlic off the cutting board onto the sauce and spices and meatballs - and he stirred them all up.

Now it came time for cooking the Italian sausage. I’ve had Sam do a lot of baking, but other than cooking some hamburgers a few times, he hasn’t done a whole lot of stove top cooking. This to me, is more dangerous. It’s easier to get burned and it’s easier to have hot spills- which can lead to bad burns. But a lot of it is not only knowing the right settings, but having some confidence, and knowing how to react if you do get burned.

I had him put some olive oil in the pan and the sausages in the pan and had him turn them a couple of time. This was on pretty low heat, but it was still enough for a tiny, very tiny, bit of grease to splatter. We discovered that when a tiny bit of hot grease gets on you, “it stings a little”. But all was taken in stride - there was no panic, there was no dropping of pans, there was, in fact, no problem at all with it. He’ll need a lot more practice, but like everything else, we’ll take it slow and we’ll take our time.

He cooked the sausage and with very little help, added them to the crock pot and stirred everything together. All in all, a great job.

We left the sauce to simmer in the crock pot and later, we went to feed the ducks this afternoon. On the way home, I asked Sam if he had any more thoughts about dinner. He decided he wanted meatball grinders, but maybe I could make the spaghetti anyway, so all we would have to do is heat it up for leftovers tomorrow night. It sounded like a good idea to me. 

When we got back home from feeding the ducks and I started cooking the spaghetti- I’m not quite ready to have Sam handling big pots of boiling water- not yet, anyway. And while I was cooking, there was a last minute change. He decided we’ll stick with the spaghetti, and we’ll have the grinders another night. Which also seemed like a good idea to me.

Grocery Store Roadkill

You try not to look over, but can't help it. Once you do, you're left with a lingering feeling of nausea mixed with regret. 

The Ride Home

English Lesson, Part 2

After one full class of reading Shakespeare in Language Arts, Sam's class has now moved on to doing plot summaries of unrelated short stories. I'm not surprised by this.

I'm not sure how I feel about all of this, but I think I commend the teacher for trying. It's good to expose him, or any kid, to something like this. But I'm pretty relieved to see that they have moved on to something else. The problem is not that reading Shakespeare would have been a challenge for Sam. The problem is that it would have been just shy of impossible for Sam.

When Sam first told me about the Shakespeare stuff, I picked a random quote, just to juxtapose it with what I know about Sam. This is the quote, "Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind."  To say that Sam would struggle with this would be an understatement.

I think with a lot of effort, Sam might get the meaning- and maybe even retain it for a little while. But to what end? There would be a lot of frustration involved- on his part, and on the teacher's part. And I think that Sam, being Sam, would easily read the teacher's frustration, and that frustration, along with his own, would make him feel more and more like a failure.

I would struggle if someone forced me to learn, never mind understand, Chinese. And I would get pretty nervous and frustrated if someone put me in front of a piano and expected me to play. It's not that I wouldn't want to be able to do these things. It's just that they are not within my abilities to do so.

I can remember reading Shakespeare in school, and I remember struggling with it. And I remember wishing that it came easier to me and, especially, that I enjoyed it more. I remember feeling like the kids that really enjoyed it were in on some secret that I just didn't have the ability to easily understand - no matter how hard I tried. It was work for me, and it was frustrating - and I felt left out. It was like being stuck outside of a party and trying to look in through a fog covered window.

I worry that there are a lot of things in life that are like that for Sam.

So, I'm glad, I think, that he was exposed to this. But I'm more than glad that he wasn't made to feel like an idiot for not understanding it. I'm glad he tried but I'm glad they didn't push and push and then get mad at him for not being able to understand Chinese.

English Lesson

In our afternoon, Home From School phone call, Sam tells me that they were doing poetry in Language Arts. I asked him how he liked it and he said it was okay, but a little hard to understand. Apparently, the poetry was written by some guy named "Shakespeare".

I'm surprised, but glad, that Sam didn't seem frustrated by this. Considering his struggles with everyday language, I'm curious to hear how it goes today.

I Will Now Be Going to My Happy Place

A large, used, metal gate has mysteriously appeared in my backyard. Since I don’t own a fence that this thing would fit into, or have any discernible use for something like this, some people might think this is strange.  I prefer to try and not think about it.

I do wonder though, where was this thing found? Was this picked up off the side of the road? Was somebody advertising “Free Gate” - like maybe on one of those homemade posters you sometimes see on telephone poles - the kind with a photo, where you have to rip off a little tab with a phone number on it. 

Maybe this was ripped off of someone’s fence, as payback for some perceived slight.

These are all rhetorical questions, of course. I don’t really want to know.

The only thing I really wonder is - how long before this free gate turns into a jagged hunk of rust, and how much is it going to cost me when I inevitably have to get rid of this thing?

Free gate. Note the free bikes and the free shelves behind it.

Cold Season

I feel bad that I've given Sammy my cold. He started off with a scratchy voice on Saturday morning and from that point on, I've been putting the steamer in his room at night. I thought his cold was getting better but he came home from school today pretty stuffed up. 

There's no complaining on his part, as usual, but still I feel bad about it. I filled up the steamer again tonight and we'll see how it goes I don't really know how much good it's doing, but he seems to like it and it makes me feel like I'm doing something.

Years ago, when I was small, if I had a bad cold, Mom and Dad would put a steamer in my room, as well. I don't remember it helping a whole lot, but I don't remember it hurting, either. In any case, it felt like I was getting attention, so that was a pretty good reason to go along with it, regardless. 

If my cold was really bad, they would set up a makeshift steam tent. One time, this consisted of a sheet, one end of which was tacked on to the adjoining wall of my bed. The sheet was pulled across by bed, where the other end of the sheet was draped over the backs of a couple of chairs. On one of the chairs was the steamer. 

The theory was that the steam would be more concentrated, than if the steamer was just filling up my little tiny room . I think it pretty much worked because I remember the wallpaper next to my bed almost peeling off because from all the humidity. 

Another time I remember Mom and Dad setting up a card table that straddled the head of my bed. They draped a sheet over that, too. This held the steam in, but it also produced so much condensation that it was like rain dripping down from the underside of the table. Still, between attention, and having Mom and Dad making me a pretty cool fort, it was more than worth it. It almost made me not want to feel better- which was not something I need a lot of encouragement on, anyway.

I don't do anything as fancy as that for Sam. Its not that I wouldn't bother, but his bed is pretty much a fort already. He sleeps on a lower bunk and every night, he surrounds himself in a nest made out of his stuffed animals. Still, I'm pretty sure he likes the extra attention that comes along with having the steamer in his room. And I think he likes feeling that someone cares and that he is being cared for. Who wouldn't?

I'm hoping he'll feel better in the morning.

A Little Lighter

This morning was the first morning this winter where I went out and started my car early. Yesterday was cold and grey and blustery and today is predicted to be the same.

About twenty minutes or so into my commute, I travel a winding and hilly road that follows a small brook that cuts between mountains. For the first time in a month or more, I noticed that the tall pine trees on the mountaintops were faintly silhouetted against a dimly lit, but brightening, sky.

It is cold and blustery again outside - just as they predicted. I'm looking forward to being able to go on walks again - and not freezing, but I don't think that will be for a little while.

At least the days seem to be getting just a little bit longer.

Today's Other Brief Comment

My cold is definitely getting better. Thanks for asking.

Today's Brief Comment

It's beginning to look like I didn't win the lottery.

A Musical Interlude

I'm fighting a cold today so things are a little more low key than I planned. Sam and I did our errands but I got none of the cleaning done that I was hoping to do. I ended up falling asleep on the couch instead.

Later on this afternoon, after I was finished making dinner, I was playing the video down below.  By now, Sam was over on the couch. He was out of site of the screen, but he was tapping his foot along to the music. When it ended, he asked if that was Rachael that was doing the singing. I told him it wasn't and he seemed slightly surprised, but he thought it was catchy anyway.

Again

Last night, I got another call from my credit card company. Apparently, my card number has been stolen AGAIN. This is the second time in less than six months. I don’t understand this. I’ve used the same card exclusively for years and I’ve never had a problem. Now, all of a sudden, it’s happened TWICE.

Unlike the last time, it wasn’t any internet purchases that set off alarms. These charges were for what appears to be direct purchases. I’m assuming this means that someone must have an actual copy of my card in order to do this. I mean, I can’t imagine someone letting me buy something like gasoline or food, for example, just by rattling off credit card numbers instead of showing them an actual card.

There were two separate questionable charges on my card. The first one was for some place called the “Stevenson Inn”. If you look them up, as I did, you’ll see that on TripAdvisor, they have an average rating of two and a half stars (don’t confuse them the similarly named and similarly rated Stevenson’s Inn).

While a couple of the ratings are quite high, most of the other ratings are as low as you can go. And they have a common theme- the theme being that this is a place to avoid. According to one reviewer named “Krizzy777”, the place had, “black mold in shower, toe nail clippings on bathroom floor, glitter on sheets…”. If you do decide to stay, Krizzy777 suggests that you bring Lysol and rubber sheets. Her review carries the simple yet informative title of “Gross”. Other reviews carry titles such as “DUMP DUMP” and “Just keep driving!”

As I mentioned, there are a few higher ratings. But what I found a little curious about a couple of the higher reviews was that they both mentioned “no bugs”. Why did they feel the need to say this? Who mentioned bugs? Why would this be something you would just throw out there in a four or five star review? I wouldn't expect to see it out of nowhere in a positive review, any more than I would expect to see it on their sign out front.

Well, interestingly enough, it turns out there is another site, called “The Bedbug Registry”, and this place has several surprising, if not very well written, comments. Actually, maybe not so surprising, considering the unsolicited "No Bugs" proclamations.

Despite all of this commentary about the quality of the rooms, my charge was for only nine dollars. What would somebody buy for nine dollars? Has the hotel drastically dropped their rates in some kind of an effort to counteract the bedbug and toenail clipping rumors? What kind of a transaction goes down at a place like this where they will not only accept a credit card number verbally, but whatever you’re buying will only cost nine dollars?

Anyway, I’m guessing that what must have flagged this questionable purchase to the credit card credit card company, was that it was made within a couple of hours of a purchase I had just made close to home- and my home is about 1100 miles away from this place.

The other purchase that was flagged was for someplace called “Cutz by Jean”. I looked them up too. This was quite strange. It turns out that this place is nearly a seven hour ride away from the other place, and, according to Google Maps- the route has tolls!!! Where are the charges for the tolls???!!!

The charge from “Cutz By Jean” was for exactly $90. This meant that whoever used my card number, did not get the facial, since, according to their website, the facial is only $85 (a bargain, I might add), unless of course they got the facial and only left a five dollar tip. And if you're on my dime, why are you so cheap with the tip? So, if it's not the facial, that leaves either the Hot Shave, the Hair Coloring or the Hair Extensions- each of which are EXACTLY ninety dollars.

All of this seems very odd to me. Somebody is going to take a stolen credit card number and go to a two and a half star hotel to buy a nine dollar meal or nine dollars worth of coffee or nine dollars worth of something- and then they get the brilliant idea of driving approximately 700 miles to get their hair done, which they apparently were not happy with, since they didn't bother to leave any tip at all - even though they weren't the ones paying for any of it in the first place.

What is going on with this world? And how did they pay for those tolls?