Merci beaucoup



The longest day, 6 June 1944. My kind, up-the-street neighbour, Bob, was on Omaha Beach 70 years ago today.



My kind, up-the-street neighbour, Bob, and i were in the shed addition of the barn, where he had stored his two ride-on lawn mowers. He had asked me if he could store them there for winter, and i readily agreed.

He owns both, and when he got the second one, which belonged to his brother-in-law who moved and didn't need it any longer, he gave the first one to his son to use. At the end of mowing season, after he had prepped both for the winter, he asked if he could store them in the barn.

And so, earlier this spring, he asked if he could get them out of the barn. Most of the snow had melted making access to them easier. He had removed the batteries in each in the autumn, and had brought both along with him to put them back in. I wanted to help if i could, and we repositioned one of the mowers so it would be easier for Bob to back it up and out beyond the sliding door. He asked me if i knew a foreign language, because i was explaining something and used my hands a lot. I laughed, told him i knew French, and when i had lived in France, found out just how much French i didn't know, and how speaking with my hands seemed to help. Guess i kept up the habit after i returned.

Bob then related he could remember merci beaucoup in French, but not much else. In his plain yet eloquent way, he explained,

"I wanted to go to college after the war, and I could use the GI bill. In order to be accepted into any college, I had to have a foreign language and I hadn't graduated high school, so when I went for my GED, I had a French teacher teach me all that summer so I could know enough to pass and get into college. It didn't stick with me, though," and here he pointed to his head, "other than merci beaucoup."

Merci beaucoup. It means, "thank you very much."

I was dumbstruck as i realised this nearly 90-year-old man had quit high school to join up, and once the war was over, got on with his life. I couldn't think of anyone in my generation who would have been willing to do that, nor could i think of anyone in younger generations who would be willing to do that. I couldn't say a word as he shouted over the lawnmower's din that he'd be back for the second one later, and waved as he rode the mower up the street. I waved back with tears rolling down my cheeks.

Merci beaucoup, Bob. 

Digits crossed

I drive a Honda Insight, which is a hybrid. I bought it used in 2003, and she's still going strong. The Honda Insight, unlike the Prius, has an electric boost that helps the combustion engine when it needs it, and after the car is warmed up, any time another car would idle, the Insight goes silent and is all on batteries (such as at a stop light). The Prius, on the other hand is all electric until about 20 or 25 mph (32 or 40 km/hr) when the combustion engine then goes on and takes over. When i bought my car in 2003, i was told then that the replacement batteries for the hybrid part of things cost about $7000. That was just for the batteries, not labour.

At the time, the warranty was for 8 years or 80,000 miles, whichever occurred first.

I moved in 2009, and my batteries were starting to fade. Just before that, Honda extended the warranty to 10 years or 100,000 miles, whichever came first, no matter in which US state you lived or in which state you bought the car. My car was a 2001 model, so i was on the 10-year bubble. They honoured the new, improved warranty limits, and the hybrid batteries were replaced for free. They did say they were not providing a warranty for the replacement batteries. I was okay with that, and understood why they wouldn't want to. Even though battery prices had fallen since my 2003 conversation because now there were more hybrids on the road, it was still an expense i didn't have to shoulder, and one that i'm sure Honda didn't wish to repeat.

In February of this year, my IMA and engine light went on. That usually means the hybrid battery pack is failing. Took it to the dealer, and they confirmed that that was true, using their diagnostic computer testing. I had looked online just before i took the car for the test to see that one person had changed his little starter battery to have the hybrid battery system work again, although his success was short-lived. In several weeks, the IMA and engine lights came back on.

I related this to the guys at the dealership. They shook their heads sadly, nope the starter battery looked just fine, the cells must be going in the hybrid battery pack. I wasn't surprised that my free replacements wouldn't go as long as nearly 10 years, but i expected they'd last at least 5 instead of not quite 4.

The dealership mechanic said that i could choose to drive my car without replacing the hybrid battery pack. It would work like any other regular combustion engine. Period. To replace the hybrid battery for parts and labor was $5600. They understood that i'd want some time to think about it.

Now i know cars are just machines, but i've grown attached to this one, and it really is my dream car, so emotionally, i wasn't at all happy to hear this news. SFB had agreed to pick me up at the dealership if i needed to leave my car there (they don't have courtesy cars, and the dealership is close to 40 miles/64 km away). I called to let him know he wouldn't need to pick me up and related my sad news. He said that fifty-six hundred bucks would buy a lot of gas/petrol, so try a few tankfuls and see how it went.

That sounded like good advice, so i did. My winter mileage is usually lower than summer mileage, and in-town driving, which is what i do 99% of the time these days, is lower than highway mileage. So, my usual winter mileage, which had been about 52 mpg (21 km/litre) fell to 43-44 mpg (17 km/L). The car is paid for, and i'd be hard pressed to find another car at no cost to me that would give me that kind of mileage. The warmer weather is arriving, and my mileage has increased to just under 49 mpg (19 km/L).

Not having the electric assist means my car drives like my old VW Beetle, where if i have to go uphill, i need to zoom up a bit so i can keep a somewhat respectable speed on the incline. Having to merge from the on-ramp to a traffic lane on the turnpike is a little scary, because i just don't have a lot of oomph when there's only the 3-cylinder engine. Again, i zoom as much as i can to build up speed and merge.

Over the weekend, i loaded my kayak into the car to go down to the boat. I tie down the hatch, so the open door light stays on, and it's a 10 or 12 minute ride to the shipyard. On the way there, my battery light came on, which was worrying, and the brake light came on, too. Nope, i was NOT driving with the parking brake on. I checked and double checked.

Once i got to the shipyard and turned off the motor, the car would not restart. I decided to kayak out to the boat, do the few things i had planned on and rather than go sailing after those few things, i'd come back and see if i could restart the car. If not, i had my AAA card* at the ready.

After a couple hours doing stuff on the boat, i returned to my car. She started right up. A gift, and i knew i'd need my mechanic to take a look. It was most likely the starter battery, but it might also be the alternator.

He looked, saw it was just the battery, and replaced it. I picked up the car yesterday, and on my way home, for the first time since that sad day in late February, the hybrid battery pack started recharging. I knew because i've got a battery gauge that shows when it's charging (green lines) and how fully it's charged (orange lines). When i got to a stop sign, the engine cut out. Just as it always had when the hybrid part was working. Traffic was clear, so i put the car in first, the engine started right up, and away i went. Going up an incline, i felt the electric boost help me up the hill.

So, i'm cautiously optimistic. Being mechanically retarded as i am, and not having the diagnostic machines like the dealership, i didn't argue about changing out the starter battery. But i can also hope that the starter battery was perhaps starting to go in February, enough so that the hybrid battery pack was shut down, and that the new battery can handle whatever extra work it needs to do to "talk" to the hybrid battery pack and see that it's topped up. It could be a situation like that one i read about on-line where this will only last a few weeks. Or--and here's where my mechancial ineptness allows me to hope--this could mean i've got a few more years left to the hybrid battery pack.

Time will tell. Either way, spending $138 for a new starter battery so my car won't leave me stranded and perhaps has reawakened the hybrid part of things is a far cry from spending $5600.

*AAA-American Automobile Association, a group drivers can join in the US for an annual fee. Before the Internet and global positioning systems (GPS) widely available for cars, AAA was a wonderful resource for all sorts of maps, and they'd help with route planning. They also offer roadside assistance. A jump, a tow, if you are stranded someplace.

Delicious mistake

SFB was working on a boat, doing electricals and stayed overnight chez moi for the two-day job. I told him to come for supper if he liked. I was planning on salmon pinwheels and had to get them at the store. Yes there are oodles of recipes on da interwebz so i could make my own, but these are quite tasty and readymade at the store. Just pop them in the oven for 18 minutes or so, and Bob's your uncle.

He offered to pick them up, so i thanked him. He called me from the store to say that he had gotten a pound or so (~450 g) of a nice fillet, did i need for him to pick up the cream cheese? No, i told him, i had cream cheese here. Which i do, but i wasn't thinking of having to fuss with making them, i was thinking of something that was easy to pop in the oven without any prep from me.

I went online to see if i could find a good salmon recipe with a mustard glaze. My own attempts at making a mustard glaze were okay, but something was missing.

I stumbled onto a Martha Stewart recipe that looked easy. I'd make that instead of the pinwheels, served with brown basmati rice and a green veggie, maybe broccoli.
simples.

Once SFB arrived, i realised i needed lemon, so i ended up at the store after all and got one.

We had a lovely boat conversation and cocktail as i put the rice on to cook. I rarely have any sort of cocktail hour, so it made for a nice change, especially on a work day. The glaze was simple enough, 3 tbsp olive oil, 1 tbsp lemon juice, 1 tbsp mustard, salt and pepper (i omitted the salt), mix together, spread over fish, bake for 8 to
12 minutes.

It was so yummy, i could scarcely believe i made it. There was only a very small portion left, perfect for a light lunch.

And to think that had he gotten the pinwheels, i'd have never found this easy, yummy recipe.

I tried it again over the weekend as i enjoyed it so much when SFB was here, but i got a little heavy-handed with the lemon juice, and it's not as good. This dish will be gracing my menu for some time to come.

Thanks for the movie review, John Gray

John Gray, over at Going Gently often writes reviews on movies he's seen (or films, if you're on the other side of the Pond)and recently wrote one about "The Lunch Box," which you can read about here.

We have a cinema nearby that shows a number of independent films, and i was hoping to see "The Grand Budapest Hotel," but i got busy with work stuff and realized with some sadness that last night was the last night it was showing there, so i missed it. I can rent it when it goes to DVD, so all's not lost. The paper schedule i have for the cinema had tonight's entertainment as TBA so at the time of publishing the schedule, they hadn't secured anything. I went on-line, hoping to see that they extended "The Grand Budapest Hotel" by a day. They hadn't. What they did do was show a limited run of "The Lunch Box," and based on John's review, i went to see it.

I was not disappointed in the least. A wonderful film. I'd even be willing to pay to see it on the big screen again, and i don't say that often about films i've seen.

If you have the chance, go see it. Go. see. it.

Red eye

SFB was helping me with a small boat project the other day. He was drilling a bit of Starboard®, which is a hard plastic material that can take the place of plywood in many a marine application. We were fitting new supports for the stays as one of the plywood ones original to the boat had rotted and split. He had used the old ones as templates and cut them to size over winter. Once the weather warmed up, we could install them and drill holes for the screws to secure them.

I had thought to get eye protection, but forgot to say, "hold on a sec," when SFB, already in the cabin, asked me to come help him for a moment. He drilled the first hole as i held the piece of Starboard® in place, and something landed in my eye. Hard to tell if it were dust, dirt, a bit of Starboard® or what, but it itched like mad, so naturally, i rubbed it, so it itched and burned, and i kept thinking i could blink away whatever the problem was.

After we were done, i checked in the mirror and couldn't see anything in my eye. It was red, but that was all. After a good night's sleep, i was sure it'd be fine next day.

And it was, sort of. Still a little irritated and red, but nothing screamed at me to run to the doctor's. I spent most of the day inside and treated myself for a walk along the breakwater when i ran errands in the afternoon. That was yesterday.

Today, i awoke with a feeling of gunk in my eye that had worked itself out. Eye was a little red, nothing to worry about. And, i got on with my day. SFB came back to help me move the boat onto the driveway and to wire the two lights that were removed when we removed the original stay supports. I got into the boat, this time with eye protection, and my eyes started to burn. And itch. So i rubbed and realized i was making things worse. I went inside the house to wash them out with water, and they teared a little bit and felt better. I'm not one who's known for having spring allergies, but this felt like the itchy eyes some people have described to me.

We ended up having to run to the hardware store to get different wire from what SFB had pulled from his stash, so i went with him. We chatted easily, i got back home, and went to put my purse in the house. After doing so, i caught a look at myself in the mirror. My eyes were as red as any stoner's in the seventies, and i knew i had to do something. SFB had commented how he used to have a great cache of all kinds of boating stuff, but since he had sold his boat and then a few years after helped his daughter and her boyfriend with preparing their boat so they could be full-time cruisers, most of his stash was gone.

Apparently, i'm the same way with drugs, because last week i had a headache, and grabbed the bottle of aspirin. Expired 2010. Now, here i was with red, itchy eyes, and nothing on hand to help.

I told SFB i was going to go get some eye drops, did he need anything? Nope, he'd work on rewiring the lights, and as the cabin space is really small, there wasn't anything i could do to help, other than give him all the space.

I drove to the drugstore and realized the last time i had bought eye drops, i had been a stoner in the seventies. I smiled to myself, thankful that i found a parking spot immediately in front of the drugstore, and went in. It took me a few minutes to locate where the eye drops were, and once there, i'm sure my mouth fell open. I had expected to find a name brand box and store brand box. But, no, this wasn't 1974, this was 2014. There were easily six different kinds of eye drops. Some removed only redness, some redness and soothed, some for allergies. Each one had Drug Facts on the side panel. A few were on sale, the store brands were buy one box and get a second 50% off. I decided the redness and itchy eyes kind was probably best for my needs, completely denying that any of this could be allergy related.

I found a box of gauze on sale and thought that might be good for the boat's boo-boo kit, so picked that up as well.

There were two cashiers, and i stood in line where i'd be the next customer waited on. Only, he had a to return an item. Something about a phone accessory he got that didn't fit, wasn't quite right. No, he didn't know what straight talk was, he had a data plan, only 30 bucks a month, and that was great. The chit chat part gave him only 100 minutes per month, but that was all right. Yeah, i thought to myself, it's all right because you're spending all your chit chat time right now while my eyes are burning, and while you were blathering on cashier #2 has waited on the customers who were in line when i walked up and now there's a new customer who has since walked up who is being waited on. Meanwhile, here i am, waiting, waiting, waiting....

Cashier #2 was done ringing up the latest customer, so i went over to her register. Good thing because she rang me up while phone accessory return man was still asking questions.

I nearly squirted drops in my eyes as soon as i got in the truck, but i decided to wait until i got home. It's been so long since i'd used these drops, i didn't want anything to go wrong and then be stranded, unable to drive. Sounds silly, but it's been nearly 40 years since i used the stuff. Who knows what's new and different?

As soon as i got home, i took the bottle out of the box, hacked through the "do not use this product unless the incredibly infuriating plastic wrap is securely in place because we want to keep you safe while raising your blood pressure," and squirted a few drops. Shades of the seventies, as my eye wouldn't stay open and i wore more of the drops on my shirt. A second squirt was more successful, and i felt nearly instantaneous relief.

An hour later, i squirted a two drops in my left eye, the one with the original irritation. Felt loads better, and the whites of my eyes returned to being white. The half-ounce (15 mL) bottle i have ought to last well until its expiry date sometime in 2015.

I looked in my medicine cabinet. Very few meds. Some nighttime cold relief medicine. Some Vicks® vaporub. The new bottle of aspirin i bought last week for the headache. A bulbous syringe for ear wax removal. A box of Sudafed®, the version of pseudophedrine meth addicts use because that stuff works better than the PE version. Some ointment that i can put on before i go out into poison ivy land that's supposed to keep the poison ivy from penetrating my skin. Rubbing alcohol. Hydrogen peroxide. Bandaids (plasters). And now the eye drops.

I guess that's the downside of being medically boring. You just don't keep loads of stuff on hand because there's not much call for it.

Next time, somebody please pull me away

I've mentioned before that i am on facebook and find it can be entertaining. And a timesuck. And some things i read make my blood boil or make me smile and say, "Awww."

Tonight, as i read something inane, i broke the rule i made for myself some time back, and i read the comments. Now, there are times where reading comments can be helpful because someone will provide an explanation, or as in one person i follow who's a US English grammarian, the comments explain how we are separated by a common language at times with other English speakers. Most of the banter is good-natured.

All too often, however, if someone shares on their wall something they find cute or funny, if i click to look at whatever it is and go on to read the comments, i nearly always wish i hadn't. The comments are chock-a-block full of trolls and people who must lead very small lives.

Anyhow, in a weak moment this evening, i responded to a comment. The comment did irk me, but at the same time i realised the person making the comment failed to understand the principal difference in what he knew as usual and ordinary and what was meant by the graphic shown.

It was an innocent enough graphic, one depicting a chart for (US) gallons, quarts, pints, tablespoons, teaspoons, and cups, and showing equivalent amounts. As i tend to be a bit more left brained about things like this, i work better with a list rather than a pie chart with arrows pointing this way and that. But, it was clever to show it all on something that could be easily printed off and used in the kitchen.

And here's where the problem lay. The top commenter (what does that mean? He has the most numerous on that particular site, or that he's the most popular at the moment because he has more likes and replies than others? but i digress...) as i was saying, the top commenter (TC) asked why wouldn't the US just grow up and go to metric.

I've had occasion to convert recipes, and Mr TC missed the point. It's not just a matter of using metric. Most US recipies don't measure things by weight, but by volume. Well, the meat or fish is usually measured by weight. But the flour, sugar, salt, pepper, and spices are aren't. They're measured by volume. So, if something calls for three cups of flour and one cup of sugar, it's not a matter of saying 1 cup=8 ounces, therefore 3 c=24 oz, or 908 g. Because the US measuring cups measure volume and disregard weight. A cup of cake flour weighs less than a cup of sugar, but you use the same measuring cup in a US recipe; whereas in a metric recipe, it might call for 900 g of flour and 75 g of sugar because it's making the assumption that you're weighing the ingredients.

And, i got sucked in and tried to explain. Volume vs. weighing. Another snarky commenter said, Oh, so you can't use a metric measuring cup then, is that so hard, Megan?

Completely missing the point. I replied the the second commenter that he misunderstood what i had written. Recipes in the US or in older UK and Canadian cookbooks for that matter, don't weigh every ingredient. They use volume instead, a cup of this to three cups of that, and as long as the ratios stay the same, the recipe works. Nothing is weighed, only measured by volume.

And then i could feel the centrifugal force starting to suck me in. It was at the critical moment. I could wait and see what the follow-up was, or say, "Enough!" and move on. I chose the latter and am rather rueing that i said anything at all. Because it seems that people are more interested in beating their chests and saying something inane than they are about learning anything.

I did hesitate for moment, though, and wondered if i ought to relate when i lived in France and had to think in metric. I was somewhat successful, but not really. I needed benchmarks to have things make sense. Height in metric made no sense to me whatever, but in French, someone would say something like, "He's one and a half metres tall." It took me awhile to realize why it was so hard for me to grasp that. After all, one meter is 39 inches, just a tad over 3 feet. Or a yard. And that's when the lightbulb dimmed. We never use yards for vertical measurement. Why, i don't know. We just don't. A man can be six feet tall, but we'd never say he's two yards tall. So saying he's nearly 2 metres tall just doesn't compute in my brain.

I had to cook for myself when i lived there, and would go to a butcher shop and convert the ounces of meat i wanted into grams. I'd ask for 250 grams, and the butcher would say, "oh, this is 248," or "It's 256," and it was always close enough for my needs. After a few months, the butcher asked me why i always asked for a specific amount and then when he'd tell me something that was close but not exact, i always said it was all right?

I explained that in the US, we didn't use metric, but the English system of pounds and ounces. He and a few other butchers who i guess were also curious and paused in their work nodded that they understood that. I said that in the States, i'd ask the butcher for a half pound of meat or quarter pound of meat, and he's weigh it out for me. It wasn't always exact but close enough.

"Ah!" the butcher said, and the other butchers looked at him as recognition came across his face. "So, you must order the weight you want, and they give that to you. More or less."

I nodded, and a few of the other butchers started to smile as if sharing an inside joke.

"So, you don't ask for a specific weight here?" And here i had been so proud of myself for using the metric system. sigh.

"No, you just tell me how many people you're cooking for, and we give you what you need."

"Really?" i asked. This was a new idea to me.

All of the other butchers nodded solemnly. "Okay, i'll do that next time," i said. And i noticed the next time i was in there, sure enough, the customers were ordering for two people, or four people. So, i ordered for one person. Most of the time. On occasion, i'd order "for two people." And here, the butcher would smile with a twinkle in his eye and say, "Oh, do we have a date? Are you cooking for a new beau?"

When i returned to the US, i was glad to get back to pounds and ounces. People were measured in feet, not yards/metres. I could ask for a quarter pound of meat and not have questions about my love life. But some of that eyeing portions stayed with me, and there are times where i ask for a specific piece of meat or fish, knowing it'll be enough for my needs. The deli person dutifully weighs it and tells me the weight. I say it's fine, because it is. I know by looking at it, it's the perfect size, regardless of weight.

In the end, i decided that reliving that pleasant moment in France where finding genunine interest in something mundane we do without thinking can be done in a completely different way someplace else with results every bit as fabulous was reward enough, and didn't need to be marred by silly commenters who only wanted to beat their chests and crow rather than learn anything.

She's gone 'round the bend methinks

Okay, i know this is a bit silly, but it caught my fancy. A local weekly paper ran the ad that at a nearby museum, a car will be raffled a week before my birthday. The car looks like this:

I know it's insane. I'm mechanically retarded so i do not belong even *thinking* about having an MG, but i've always loved them, ever since my dad had a 1955 or was it a 1958 MG hardtop. A little red two seater with a miniscule back seat. How i cried when he sold that car. My brother and i were getting too big to squish ourselves in the back.

I was going to buy one ticket and opted instead for two.

Just one of those flight of fancy moments, but it looks like such FUN and who wouldn't want tool around in this 1951 MG TD roadster?