Beverages of the Apocalpyse

This excellent basket included some
beautiful hand-knitted items, including
that red Norwegian-style resistance hat.

I am now stocked up on Beverages of the Apocalypse.  We won a basket at a recent event, which included a whole bunch of hot chocolate packets.  When I make hot chocolate, I usually make it by heating milk in the microwave and adding dark cocoa and sugar.  But the microwave just broke, so the packets are welcome.  And I just re-ordered a bunch of tea and chocolate from Equal Exchange.  

A recent phone conversation with Younger Daughter:

Me:  Did you hear about the meteor that was over Ohio?  K saw it!

Younger Daughter:  You know, we’ve had a lot of signs of The Apocalypse lately.  In the past few years we’ve had an eclipse, a plague, and now a meteor.  Am I wrong?

Me: We’ve also had a giant wind storm (last year and this year), power outages that lasted a long time, and yet another windstorm, followed by snow.

YD:Yes, we had a lot of snow and cold this winter. 

Me: AND the microwave broke.

YD: Are you ready to be raptured yet?

Me: “Take me away, Calgon!”

YD: I don’t know who Calgon is.

- - - - - - - 

The correct phrase from the commercials of my childhood is “Calgon, take me away!”  

The fact that I still remember this phrase proves the efficacy of advertising slogans.  The reminiscence led me down a rabbit hole, courtesy of Youtube, which revealed the changing portrayal of stresses in US (white) women’s lives. 

In the 1960s, the ad slogan was “Calgon Bouquet: nicest thing that’s happened to you since him.”  The woman is defined by her service to others - the husband and the children.  The ad is narrated entirely by a male voice.

In 1977 the commercial for Calgon has “the dog, the telephone, the children, the doorbell” as the stresses in the woman’s life.  The woman is still anchored to a life solely at home.  The ad starts with a male voice narrating, but the woman has one line, the famous “Calgon, take me away!”  The scene shifts to a ludicrously giant bathtub in a room with huge windows (no curtains!) for the enjoyment of the bubble bath.

By 1979 the woman now obviously has a job outside the home.  The stresses are: traffic, the male boss yelling, and then at home – the baby and the dog.  A microcosm of the economy which had (white) women joining the work force but also still responsible for most of home life.  Calgon takes her away to the same kind of bathing area with a ridiculous number of 3-story-high pillars.

In the 1980s the commercial is much shorter. By now all of American knows the schtick and all the woman has to say is the one famous line.  The bathroom scene is not shown in a wide angle.  

The internet shows no evidence that Calgon commercials ever featured a person of color. 

The fact that the next generation knows nothing of Calgon taking us away surely means that the Apocalypse is on its way. How about you, dear reader, what would be your favorite Beverage of the Apocalypse?

If there is going to be an Apocalypse,
I will need Peach schapps.

Grocery Store Grace

Blueberry muffins

November 2025

The Common Household Husband and I were at the grocery store the other day.  (It’s like date night for us.)  CHH asked about the blueberry muffin mix I was holding – it’s not an item we ever buy.  I explained, “It’s for the food bank.”  

The Girl Scouts were doing a collection of Thanksgiving items, and for once in my life I was organized and had the list, which included “baked goods mixes”.  Given the cruel halt on SNAP benefits and the ongoing federal government shutdown, making a donation seemed imperative.

Suddenly there was a woman next to me, saying to me, “I overheard that you are getting things for the food bank.  If I give you $20 cash could you please buy extra to give to the food bank?”  

! ! !

I balked.  I actually prefer to give a financial donation to the food bank, but I was buying physical groceries that day so that the Girls Scouts collection would be filled with items. An encouragement to the Girl Scouts to applaud their efforts.  Also, I was reluctant to accept cash from a stranger.  

I said to her pleasantly, “This is for a collection for Local Food Bank.  I encourage you to give a dollar donation to them directly. You can donate online.  That’s very helpful to them.”  The woman enthusiastically accepted my answer, and said, “Yes, I think I can do that.  Or at Other Local Food Bank, which my church supports!  I was just so grateful to hear someone is getting things to help food banks.”  I in turn thanked her for her willingness to help out in this time of grave need.

There it is: a weird but heartwarming slice of life in 2025.  And now it turns out Local Food Bank is running out of storage space because of all the items people have donated.  A monetary donation is definitely the way to go in this moment!  Now if only the nation could be heartwarming enough to fully fund SNAP for those in need, and to pay people living wages so maybe there will be fewer people in need.  Oh, and make health care affordable for everyone and not connected to employment.  And just not be nasty and cruel.  Is it too much to ask?

2016 collection for Food Bank

September 2025

I entered the grocery store on the Thursday after Labor Day, and procured what the homegrown folks here call “a buggy,” i.e. a shopping cart.  In the cart the previous shopper had left behind a handwritten list that said:

What else could anyone need?

15 - 20s

15 - 10s

16 - 5s

2 - 1s

_____________

6 Tequila

2 Grenadine

5 Vodka

2 Rum

3 Jim Beam

1 Old Grandad

All I could think was - someone is going to have a much more exciting weekend than I am.  Both cash AND booze!  So much liquid courage!

Gin - not on the list. 
But surely, especially in 2025,
it's Five O'Clock somewhere.

A little bit of what was going on then:  

• Personally: eye doctor and ear doctor appointments to deal with non-life-threatening but annoying health stuff.  (The ear stuff is ongoing.)

• We (the nation) didn’t know if we would be able to get a covid vaccine.  (Our state legislators and governor came through for us.)

• The US Secretary of Health and Human Services Robert F Kennedy Jr was revealed to be a nutjob (well, most of us knew that already, but he testified in Congress - without being sworn in - and exhibited his nutjobbiness).  He had decimated the CDC and cut vaccine research.  

• We were in the midst of a soul-crushing election campaign of misinformation funded by the richest man in PA to unseat three PA Supreme Court justices so that he could better control the courts and the 2026 elections.  Severely anxiety producing.  (On Nov 4th we won decisively, and the rich guy lost. But I’m sure it won’t be the last we hear from him.)

• There was still no PA state budget (it was supposed to be in place by July 1, 2025) and I was calling my electeds about that.  Our State Rep said that dealing with the Republicans was like negotiating with jello.  (That state budget was just signed today Nov 12, 2025.)

No wonder our mystery shopper needed those items on that list.

2017.  Image of pile of
cash in our Congressman's hand.

Pin the spine on the Congressman.
Spines still needed today.

These days, whenever something weird happens at the grocery store, I think back to this, two years ago:

July 2023  

I was at the grocery store, with the pasta & sauce aisle completely to myself.  I sneezed.  A disembodied voice from the next aisle over said, “Bless you!”  After a split-second pause, I shouted back, “Thank you!”  

Chivalry is not dead.

A great mosaic

Colors of Autumn

 This post is brought to you jointly by the federal government shutdown and the pre-election low that comes for me every time.

The federal shutdown is doubly painful for many in Pennsylvania because we are also without a state budget, due to the State Senate (majority You Know Who) blocking the budget because they don’t want to fund public transit.  School districts and other organizations are having to take out loans.  As far as I know, there are zero negotiations.  

Certain powerful people are just walking away from governing. 

I’m convinced it’s all intentional.  Pro-(cough)- ject (cough) 2025. 

The ones that hold the federal reins of power could end it today

but they would rather make everyone suffer.

The immediate effect on me personally from the federal shutdown is that, although I am not a federal employee, my work hours are cut in half, because half my projects involve summarizing USDA reports.  This change is not completely painful for me – last week I went door knocking 4 times.  But it has caused a severe change in my ability to concentrate, and even to know in my inner being what day of the week it is.  Is this a harbinger of what retirement will be like?  Do only retirees use the word “harbinger”?

And then there’s pre-election mental churning.  For every election, I become overly anxious about 4-5 days before the election.  The best cure for this is to go door knocking but I haven’t had that opportunity so far this week.  Another cure is to go across the country to a wedding, which we did 3 years ago on the weekend before the election, but that was not an option this year. Maybe I should just crash someone’s wedding.  I could bring campaign lit as a gift.

To keep anxiety at bay, I’ve been forcing myself to get outside with my camera, or to do modest yard work.  Here’s the resulting photo essay on autumn colors.

Shades of brown 

Yesterday I forced myself to rake the leaves
off the deck before the rain sauntered in.

Love me some richly-colored coleus.

After pushing the leaves off the deck
into the yard, I then exerted additional
effort and raked the leaves to the 
edge of the street, awaiting
the Second Coming of the Leaf Truck.

Orange to brighten our skies and our stoves

Tree-lined street seen
while door knocking

Suzanne's Sheet Pan Veggie Shawarma,
before cooking.  Hues of orange and white
because I was too lazy / low
to cut up the zucchini.

Impulse purchase for the 
Veggie Shawarma

Red to warm our hearts

Geranium.
This was actually taken at the end of summer,
on a day when I hauled out the "good" camera
and practiced the bokeh effect.

Yellow to cheer our souls

Mums seen while canvassing

Do it!

Pink and peach for sweetness and delight

Chalk drawing for Diwali,
seen while canvassing.
So delightful to see.

Impatiens, curated by the 
Common Household Husband

White and Black and Grey to keep us grounded

To the left, white flowers.
To the left, black (dead) plant, which we
decided to plant anyway, just to see what
happens in the spring.

Those white flowers were gone as of yesterday.

Wild turkeys in the neighborhood.
They refused to pose for a photo.

Green to represent love and life

At the Pre-Halloween-themed Oct 27th rally. 
The person holding this sign was dressed as Mr. Rogers.

It's always good to remember to look up.
Many of our tree leaves are still green, and those that
have turned colors seem less bright than usual.
Autumn 2025 - late and muted.

Blue for tranquility, depth, and sadness

Brilliant blue sky over the county
satellite voting location on Oct 25th

The Common Household Mom subtly exhorting
voters to vote a certain way.

Sadness for and yet resolve to support
the ones forced to be silent.

And coming full circle to the colors at our front door

At our owl's feet are stones I painted
at a Pride Festival.  

End-times pie

For the moment of this slice of pie,
we are happier than a bird with
a french fry.

Yesterday by the grace of God I made a peach-blueberry pie.  I have had this pie in mind for about a year.  Last year I had purchased canned peaches for such an endeavor but it never happened. Partly because I doubted that a pie made from canned peaches would match the platonic peach pie.

On Friday the Common Household Husband (CHH) and I made a trip in town to Penzey’s Spices, a place I had longed to go to.  I was delighted to replace some spices that had been bought about 10 years ago, just about when the current toddler-tyrant thought of riding the escalator to bring us all down with him.  Penzey’s is a good place to shop in defiance of that descent.  

Penzey’s reminded us that the CHH can’t smell much of anything these days.  He comprehends the stink of approaching fascism, but couldn’t register the heady aroma of garam masala, reminiscent of my Dad’s own delectable garam masala.  I bought a large jar of Penzey’s cinnamon, with current and future pies in mind.  The pie of the realm of God, if you will - already and not yet.

On Saturday I bought 12 not-quite-local peaches at the local farm up north. 

The peaches were from Chambersburg, PA, a spot dear to my heart because

my mother went to college there AND they produce marvelous peaches there.  

In one’s life one can hope to experience at least one delicious peach.  This year may be a calamity, but the peaches are marvelous this summer as we rage against the regime.  Some solace along the way.  On Sunday and Monday I had fresh peaches at breakfast and lunch.

On Tuesday the afternoon stretched before me.  All the ingredients were at hand.  The peaches were ripe.  I set to work.  Just as I finished making the bottom crust, with flour all over the floor,  the CHH arrived home unexpectedly early.  We both jumped with surprise.  Wisely, he beat a hasty retreat from the kitchen.

I defied the directions for this pie.  The recipe assumes there is peach juice, from canned peaches, and said juice is to be cooked on the stove with corn starch and cinnamon.  Nope, not happening.  Lattice crust?  Pfft!  No. I proceeded boldly with a spirit of non-cooperation, something that is required of me far more these days than I had imagined would be.

I asked the family if they thought the filling would fit in the pie pan.  Responses:  Older Daughter: “100%.  Anything extra will disappear.”  CHH:  100%.  The family are good estimators.  It fit just fine, but it was VERY soupy.  A bit did spill over during cooking but most of it was retained inside the pie.  Just as our Pennsylvania judges should be retained when we vote in November.

The juices are very near the top of the crust.
Think of the juices as PA judges.  We want
to retain them in the courts so that we can
continue to have the rule of law,
reproductive rights, fair elections, and
to avoid chaos.

Reader, the pie is fitting for our times.  It doesn’t look perfect, but provides a moment

to glory in the taste.  Things may feel like the end-times are coming, but for a few

minutes let’s forget the troubles of now and sit at the table with pie and steaming-hot tea. 

Stop by for a piece.  I predict it won’t be here for long.

Let us not die in bitterness of soul, never having tasted of good. (Job 21:25, in a chapter

bemoaning that the wicked go unpunished.)  Yes, the wicked go unpunished, but we

can rejoice that we have each other, that the earth continues to turn, and that there’s

a damn good peach crop this year.

The aftermath.
We ask the question: who will clean up this mess we are in?

​​Peach pie

(for peach-blueberry pie, add 1 cup blueberries, and perhaps subtract 1 cup peaches.)

 

Ingredients

1/2 cup sugar

1/4 cup packed brown sugar

4 to 7 cups sliced peeled peaches

Pastry for double-crust pie (9 inches)

3 tablespoons cornstarch

1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg (or leave this out and put in ½ tsp cinnamon)

1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon 

1/8 teaspoon salt

2 teaspoons lemon juice

1 tablespoon butter

 

 

Directions

In a large bowl, combine sugars; add peaches and toss gently. Cover and let

stand for 1 hour (or for as long as it takes you to make the pie crust

and roll out the bottom crust). (In my opinion for a 9 inch pie you

need way more than 4 cups of peaches.)

Line a 9-in. pie plate or cast iron skillet with bottom pastry; trim even

with edge. Set aside.   

Drain peaches, reserving juice.

 

In a small saucepan, combine the cornstarch, nutmeg, cinnamon and salt;

gradually stir in reserved juice. Bring to a boil; cook and stir until

thickened, about 2 minutes (OR LESS). Remove from the heat;

stir in lemon juice and butter. Gently fold in peaches. Pour into crust.

 

Roll out remaining pastry; make a lattice crust.  (OR use cookie

cutter to cut out shapes and place on top of pie, leaving spaces,

just like a lattice crust would have some spaces.)

 

Trim, seal and flute edges. Cover edges loosely with foil.

Bake at 400° until crust is golden brown and filling is bubbly,

50-60 minutes. Remove foil. Cool on a wire rack. If desired,

serve with vanilla ice cream.

Please note: Blogger was behaving horribly for this post. It took me nearly as long to post it as it did to make the pie.  Maybe it's time to look elsewhere for simple blogging software.