Reflections - Adventures in February

Adventure with TSA

Seagull #6 from the Manatee Beach Collection

February 18 and 21, 2020

Pittsburgh and Tampa Airports

Dear Lori,

    I hope this card finds you healthy and content mixed with a manageable amount of excitement.

    When Spence and I flew out of Pittsburgh, TSA provided more excitement than I’d planned. I stepped into the body scanner, and an agent asked if I had anything in my pockets. “Only my handkerchief.” Not metal, no worries. But she said, “Take it out and hold it in your hand.”

    I obeyed, watched the machine lights arc in front of me, and stepped out of the scanner.

    A second agent held up her hand. “I need to check you. The machine detected something in your groin area.” Had it detected the pantyliner I wear for old-lady-sneeze-protection? The woman pulled on plastic gloves. “I need to pat your groin and back.” My eyes must have enlarged to ping-pong-ball-size because she added, “We can go to a private room.”

    I spread my legs. “Do what you have to do.”

    While she patted my back and between my legs, a second female agent glanced at my backside. “Your pockets have rhinestones. They could set the machine off. It has no fashion sense.”

    The first agent ran a wand over her gloves and let me through.

    On the way home, I wore plain-pocket pants for the scanner. A female agent said, “I need to touch your ankle.” Had my arthritis or the warm socks for deplaning up north set it off? She grabbed my ankle. “Your fine.” So, Lori, wear unfashionable pants and thin socks when you fly.

Love,

Janet

Janet's Pants

Adventure on Manatee Beach

Little Boy on Manatee Beach

Wednesday, February 19, 2020

Manatee Beach, Anna Maria Island

Dear Addy and Amelia,

    I hope you like school, Addy. I hope you can play outside, Amelia.

    When Uncle Spence and I went to Florida to visit my brother, we had an outside adventure. We went to Manatee Beach on the Gulf of Mexico. We didn’t see Mexico or any manatees.

    Beside the parking lot is the Beach Cafe. Behind the cafe, people crowded around tables on a patio. They ate pancakes or burgers and fries. Old men played a modern version of Dixieland jazz. A boy, about your age, Amelia, sat on the beach beside the patio. He scooped sand into a wide funnel top. Then he tipped the funnel and let the sand pour out of the narrow bottom. He also bounced his head and sun hat in time to the music. 

    We didn’t stay with the band and the boy. We walked. 

    Our feet sunk into the soft, white sand on our way to the water. The water stretched as far as we could see. Spence stayed on the hard wet sand at the edge of the waves. I waded. Waves swished and slapped my legs. They rolled back leaving white foam on the beach and pieces of broken shells in my beach shoes. Seagulls waded with me. They pecked the wet sand for food. Other seagulls soared overhead and shrieked. People who passed us smelled like suntan lotion. 

    After walking, we stretched a beach towel on the sand, sat on the towel, and watched the sunset. The sun hid behind the clouds for a little while. Then it dropped into sight. The glowing, golden ball seemed to sink into the water. Your uncle joked, “Can you hear the sizzle?”

Love,

Aunt Janet

Seagull #8 from the Manatee Beach Collection

Adventure with Bob's Convection Oven

Bob's Convection Oven

February 19 and 20, 2020

Bob’s Condo in Bradenton, Florida

Dear Reid and Claire,

    I hope this card finds you in satisfactory health and enjoying plenty of comfort food.

    When Spence and I visited Bob, I’d packed recipes for a strawberry pie and a chicken pot pie.

    Bob suggested I use his convection oven. A fan circulates heat, it bakes in 60% of the time, and the kitchen doesn’t heat up. Imagine—not wanting to heat your house in February. I used Bob’s White Lily Flour for the strawberry pie shell. Unlike whole wheat flour dough, this dough worked up like mashed potatoes. I whipped it into shape with a rolling pin. His oven didn’t heat the kitchen or bake the crust. My fault. I’d lowered the recipe’s temperature after burning a crust at home. I cooked the filling, lined the crust with berries, and shoved the pie in the fridge.

    Then I tackled the chicken pot pie. Filling and mashed-potato-like-crust concocted, I stuck the pie into the convection oven. The 60% time worked, but the smoke detector blared. A crumb burnt on the oven bottom. Bob swatted the detector with a dish towel until the blaring stopped. 

    With a flaky crust and meaty middle, the pot pie tasted great for dinner. As leftovers for the next day’s lunch? Yuck. After my fourth attempt to warm the pie, Bob ate his cold. “It’s fine. It tastes like chicken salad.” Alas, I’d put the pie in the convection oven, not the microwave. 

    And the strawberry pie didn’t set. I scooped runny filling with a spoon and slurped. Grainy, undissolved cornstarch scratched my tongue. Bob must think I’m an idiot in the kitchen. For my next visit, I’ll bake cookies at home and pack them instead of recipes.

Love,

Janet

Seagull #7 from the Manatee Beach Collection