LOCK 50: A Review

I have wanted to try this restaurant for over 4 years. I don’t remember where I found it listed, but it was just before the Pandemic, and they were the first restaurant I discovered that offered outdoor dining in an igloo. Ed also found it on his own and reserved a table for us for brunch for Date Day on Saturday, April 29.

The igloos were already down for the season (or for good), so we dined inside. We were the first patrons in for the day at 10AM. We were seated by a window and even with a dreary, chilly morning outside the ambient light was just right for the first meal of the day.

The ambiance pleads for nightlife and a crowd. The décor is simple, with a mild jazz flare. There are three large paintings on one wall in bright red, black and white colors. The bar is small. The tables are spaced far enough apart to allow for free movement and casual conversation that doesn’t overlap with anyone dining nearby.

The menu was not your traditional breakfast or brunch menu. There was no buffet, and the listing was not three pages of sticky, laminated declarations of eggs made every way possible. It was a one-page menu with very specific dishes, some more breakfast than others, and some more lunch than others. This is clearly a casual, but up-scale restaurant that serves brunch, versus a breakfast joint that serves lunch or dinner.

At first, I was a little frustrated, and longed for a more traditional breakfast menu. I decided to try the Croque Madam:  French Toast, Ham, Swiss, Mustard Maple, Fried Egg. I am usually not an all-on-your-plate and all-in-one-place kind of gal when it comes to food. I like my foods separate, even if “they’re all going to the same place,” as my uncle Bobby used to say. Our server explained that it was indeed a layered dish. Ed ordered the steak and eggs.

While we waited for our food, we ordered coffee and mimosas. There was nothing special there except the beautiful, inverted-triangle shaped glasses, instead of the traditional rounded flute. The second round of mimosas livened things up! We opted for the Butterfly Pea that changes the color of the drink, but doesn’t add flavor, so they say. (If you’re going to drink something with the word “pee,” a butterfly seems the most appropriate to stomach!) The pomegranate mimosa that was once cranberry colored became the most beautiful, vivid shade of purple!

When our food arrived, I was a little suspect of the dish I had ordered. The visual of the fried egg on top of ham and cheese, on top of French Toast, with mustard seeds rolling off the whole thing in a maple drizzle, did not look appetizing to me. I know I squinted up my nose as I cut my first bite.

It was literally, the BEST breakfast I have ever had! The savory and the sweet paired perfectly. The bread was soft, yet firm, and not dry. The ham was tender, and the mustard maple was delicious. If I had one complaint, the fried egg was just a little on the rare side for me. I like the yoke runny, but the albumen just a bit firmer than it was. The white of the egg was cooked more like a poached egg.

Ed took one bite of his steak and couldn’t stop raving about its tenderness and flavor! It was a small piece of meat, about the size of his palm, and only about 3/8” thickness, but they had still managed to cook it to perfect medium temperature. He, like I, ate every bite!

We left Lock 50 with full bellies and an earnest desire to return for a meal at another time. The restaurant serves dinner and offers live music on many nights. We are eager to try it for another Date and experience other aspects of the menu and atmosphere.

Elm Draught House Cinema: A Review

Bring a cushion from home. If they would let you, I’d even suggest you bring your own chair. Because the seats there are that old, that broken down, and borderline nasty to sit on. That is the harshest part of my review, right up front and now out of the way.

Ed and I went to the Elm Draught House Cinema on Saturday, March 4, 2023 as part of our weekly Date Day/Night. My friend Laurel had told me about the venue when we met for coffee a few weeks back. She and her husband Ed had gone to the movies there and enjoyed the simplicity of the site, as well as the wallet-friendly prices. Outside of both of our husband’s being named Ed, Laurel and I have a lot in common, so I was eager to follow her lead and give Elm a try.

From the moment Ed and I walked in, we could both tell that it was a special place. There is a feeling inside that transcends the draftiness of the end-of-winter chill that settles into the large theatre hours before it fills up with both people and the smell of fresh popcorn. The old posters of black and white, and early color movies, begins your walk down memory lane, leading you down two long aisles with rows of hard-loved seats doing their best to sit up-right for the next batch of people to face front. Be sure to glance around the room and take in the memorabilia of near-life-sized iconic characters, from Wonder Woman to Darth Vader. The small stage below the large screen holds a couch and a few chairs. There are comedy shows here on some nights. The big screen is not the only attraction, just usually the main attraction on most nights.

Jim, the owner, is friendly, exuberant, and clearly loves his job! He greets each customer with a genuine welcome that makes you want to plan your next trip even before the lights go down for the previews. While pointing out the emergency exits, he announces to his guests a few simple guidelines:  Say please and thank you, cover your mouth when you cough or sneeze, and be kind, because you never know what someone else is going through. There is no political agenda, no admonition, and no judgement. Just simple advice that may not seem like it has anything to do with a movie showing, but certainly carries beyond the setting.

He doesn’t accept credit cards, only cash and checks (Checks? Really?! REALLY!), yet have no fear. This is a night out when the cash will linger and you will go home with more than just the lint deep in the corner of your pocket. Admission is $6.00 per person. We ordered two beers each, two medium popcorns, and a large popcorn to take home to the kids. (I ate all the popcorn. The kids were not fast enough. It is the most like home-made popcorn that I have experienced in a public place.) Even with tip, I spent $48.00 for our entire experience. This is a movie theater you can take the kids to and they can all have their own drinks and a snack. No need for sharing to conserve funds!

We chose to sit in seats along the left side of the theatre, about half-way down the aisle. There was no one in front of us or behind us. Each row on that side, and I assume it is the same on the right side, had a low wooden counter attached to the backside of each row of seats. That meant we had a small table in front of us upon which to sit our beers and popcorn. I was also able to leave my purse there, instead of having to sit it in the seat with me or put it in the seat next to me. This saved me from fishing it out of the crack or off the floor when the movie was over. The center section did not appear to have this feature. I did notice a small table at the end of each row, but that would only be helpful for the person sitting on the end. I highly recommend the seats with a bar!

Ed and I switched our seats twice after sitting for a few minutes, until we found the best choice of seats, along with our cushion. Once settled in, we were able to thoroughly enjoy the movie and were not uncomfortable for four previews and the feature film that ran for two hours and six minutes.

During the film, Jim keeps the popcorn popping and you can return back to the concession stand to “belly up to the bar” (his words!) and order drinks, snacks and pizza. He has a rather large wine and beer selection, including beers on tap, as well as in bottles. There were literally so many things to choose from, I had my McDonald’s menu gaze going as my head continued to span the menu, hoping something would jump out at me. There is no shortage of options at the Elm!

The spirit of the old-time movie theater as the center of your evening out will stay with you long after you leave the Elm and return to times more hurried, modern and expensive. Ed & I could not stop talking about the beauty of the place and what Jim is giving people who choose to be entertained there. There was a hominess, a genuineness and a peacefulness that you don’t feel in IMAX. It may be old, it may be run-down, and it may not have first-run shows, but it is certainly worth every cash penny you spend there. We will be sure to return!

Future Me

I am not smarter than a fifth grader. I do not have a Doctorate or a master’s degree. I have a Bachelor’s degree in English and on most days I cannot help my eleventh grader with her math homework because “New” math kicked me off the learning curve over twenty years ago. I find myself feeling ignorant of the ever-changing economic structure of our country and I am at a complete loss for an understanding of why people on social media feel the need to gripe, complain and criticize someone else’s content that they were not invited to review. It seems simple to me:  do not like what you see? Unfollow. Scroll on. A fifth grader probably understands all the reasons that people need to share, and all the reasons why the creators read, listen to and respond to the people that hate them for what they share. In contrast, I have gotten some positive feedback for the things I have shared openly.

In recent years I started telling people to expect a few things from me as I age:

      1.)  I do not remember things well unless I write them down. So please don’t be offended if I ask for an explanation or a plan more than once.

2.    2.)  PLEASE stop me from buying shit off Instagram. Definitely look out for me when I start talking about the princess in Egypt who is being held against her will and can only get out alive if I buy large amounts of gift cards and ship them out of the country to her.

3.    3.)  Put on your big-kid pants, plant your feet and cover your ears because this girl is going to become Maxine from the Shoe box greeting cards. In the famous words of my dad, “Nuff said.”

The fact that I know I will be a forgetful, gullible, cranky old lady is partly a true acceptance of the anxiety and neurosis that have plagued me my whole life, as well as an understanding of the road that they were destined to lead me. You do not have pads of paper in every room, a “Car Can” for each new driver in the family or a family and friend reputation as the bitch that never has enough time for anyone, without having travelled well-paved roads to those destinations. If the hardest part of solving any problem is first admitting that there is a problem, then assuredly the above roads will be paved in diamonds. Very bumpy diamonds that I will forget to pick up along the way because I didn’t write it down before I headed that way.

I may not be able to name every country in South America or name any of the presidents between Van Buren and Lincoln, but I have learned over the years who I am and mostly how I function, and more importantly, why. It would take a book and not a blog to cover all my discoveries, and that may be part of the road I am destined to travel at some point as well. For now, I am comfortable admitting that I do not know it all. I Google the things I don’t know or understand. And I am thankful every day that I can accept who I am, where I have come from and where I am headed.

What Once Was, Is Now Gone

{The irony of the title of this piece compared with the title and post of my last entry is not lost on me! Please read the post prior to this one ("Forgotten, But Not Gone" - published earlier today, 4/5/2022) to understand the pertinence of me posting this piece at this time.

This piece was originally written 9/7/2016, revisited 5/32019 and still did not get published until now.}

What once was, is now gone. I am not talking about the hair on my husband’s head, the pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey ice cream in the garage freezer or my excitement to read Harper Lee’s Go Set a Watchman. I am also not talking about 3AM feedings, diaper changes or the struggles to teach a 7-year-old to ride a bike without training wheels. Nor am I referencing the piles of paper on my desk and credenza that need action or filing; the endless loads of dirty laundry; or my enthusiasm for all things Fast & Furious, Star Trek, or Transformers. My husband lost his hair more than a halftime of a life ago; the Ben & Jerry’s only lasts as long as two episodes of The Blacklist and Harper Lee should have left well enough alone with To Kill a Mockingbird. My youngest child is already double-digits and I now have three kids in three separate schools. I feel time slipping away exponentially each day. All of these things that once were, are now gone. On the other hand, the piles on my desk and credenza are like the dirty laundry in my house and my excitement for Vin Diesel, Chris Pine and Optimus Prime:  they are constants in my life and clearly not going anywhere, anytime soon.

However, I am talking about my girlish figure, my youthful glow and the expectations I have of a 47-year-old body that has given birth to three children.

For many years, I put off working out each year well after the New Year’s Resolution phase of the rest of the world because I “knew” my body and I could whip it into shape in a short matter of time. A few sporadic weeks of spring workouts were always enough to bring my body back to an acceptable toned nature in time for my June birthday and the donning of shorts and summer dresses. I never had to work hard at it. Except for pregnancy, I have weighed the same amount, within 3 pounds in either direction, since I weighed in for cheerleading practices in the fall of my junior year of college. Weight and body image have never been an issue for me.

That is not to say that I have a perfect body. I am short and not full-bodied in most feminine-preferred areas, but I have a muscular figure that has maintained most of its presence, at least in my arms and legs. I have never had a flat stomach. (Unless you count the miraculous benefits of breast-feeding for the first 6 months of all three of my children’s lives. Alas, it was fleeting. Stop the breast-feeding and the familiar “pooch” returned.)

I noticed slowly over the years that I felt “squishier” and more weighed down at the end of the winter, regardless of what the scale said. I started backing up my workouts earlier in the year to accommodate a schedule that would still get me “swimsuit ready.” I continued to take the fall and early winter off from working out.

So, imagine my surprise 2 years ago when I was not at all happy with the results of my diligent 5-weeks of a Sean T super-fitness routine. I put in the focus, I got it done, and I looked the same when it was over. A year later, I tried 21 Day Fix…Extreme. I did not need to lose weight, but I wanted to “get shredded!” Year 2 of disappointments. There was a lot of sweating, plenty of grunting, and even a bit of swearing at the TV, but this body did not get shredded. I even (mostly) followed the eating plan. I lost a total of 5 pounds and 3.5 inches, and as soon as I stopped eating her way, I gained it all back.

Last year, a few back-to-back fall/winter business trips with my husband to warm-weather climates predicated the necessity for carrying the workout routine into the fall and winter. Suddenly I realized that I had been working out for nearly a year. A look at my weight and measurements in March showed no real change from the year before. I had more or less continued to work out year-round and yet hadn’t transformed my body back to its 20-something days. Or even my 30-something days. Not even my just-turned-40 days. I was maintaining a figure that I woke up with somewhere around age 45.

Gone are the days of being able to eat whatever I want and not have it affect me. (It’s a whole other article about what food does to my body now!) No longer can I sit around for 9 months out of the year and expect to look great in a tight pair of jeans. My shirts all need to be long enough to partially cover my dropping rear-end. (My husband used to love watching me walk away across a room.) I am saddened and disgusted to know what a muffin-top is. I prefer the banana/cranberry nut kind that The Sturbridge Coffee House sells, rather than the one at my waistline.

We all know and expect that our bodies will change as we get older. We anticipate being winded from doing simpler and simpler activities. We prepare for the aches and pains of first morning light and trying to walk across the floor to the bathroom without reaching out to hold onto something to steady ourselves. We accept that we will find ourselves saying, “What did you say? I didn’t hear you,” and “Can you read that? I can’t see it without my glasses.”

So, it should come as no surprise that a workout regimen changes from a transformative hobby into a maintenance routine. Yet, it does take us by surprise. We refuse to accept it at first, going for a heavier weight, a double-session, dietary changes and more swearing. We do not want to believe that our body will never be the same again. It was hard enough to accept the changes after pregnancy and childbirth.

A mid-life crisis seemed imminent, until I realized that I am actually already past mid-life. Statistically an American woman can expect to live to 78.9 years. I passed the halfway point nearly 8 years ago. When I look at it that way, I guess I should be thankful that I did not notice bigger changes sooner and that in the last half of my life, I am still holding tight to 120 pounds. The second half of my life is sure to be marked by more losses in my physical world:  less mobility and less activity, as well as the loss of loved ones. Age defines who we are at nearly every stage of our life, and yet most times we are unaware of the meaning until we have already passed out of a particular stage and entered into another.

My once pain-free, voluntary, semi-active lifestyle is now a slightly painful required dose of activity that will help to keep my body moving and my mind as tarp as a shack.

Forgotten, But Not Gone

 All too often I frustrate myself by actually making the time to put my "arse in chair" and following an idea out of my head and onto the screen of my laptop, only to leave it sitting in the depths of x's and o's and never publishing it here or doing anything else with it. The idea theoretically and physically is still just an idea if it doesn't get "printed" with the potential for views.

After I have had a hiatus of writing, I usually find myself revisiting pieces that I started and didn't finish, or pieces that I did finish, but I then neglected. As frequently as I think, "That needs work," I also find myself thinking, "That was pretty good! Why didn't I put that on my blog?"

So I am going to give some old pieces the chance to see the light of day and grace the electronic pages of my blog! In the past I have hesitated to do this because certain pieces usually referenced a time of my life that was not only past, they were archaic to where my life was currently. I see it differently now. Although these pieces may not represent my thoughts or lifestyle today, they are still representative of a time in my life and some ideas that were important enough for me to take the time to write a few hundred words about them. Old or new, I believe they deserve to get their chance in the sun.

I always hope that a trip down my own memory lane of writing will inspire me to get back into it and get the ideas still swirling in my head and scratched onto scraps of paper on my desk out into full-blown posts for my blog. Today I have found a piece that was originally written 5.5 years ago. The concept still totally applies today. And yes, it has helped motivate and inspire me to get my fingers tapping and start again addressing my writing. It's a win-win for me and my blog.

Let's Call It What It Is

The other day I saw a Twitter repost on my cousin’s story on Instagram:

“They let Magic Johnson play basketball with FULL BLOWN HIV but won’t let Kyrie Irving play because he won’t get a COVID shot.” – Laverne Spicer

Let’s break this down:

FACT:  You cannot transmit HIV through a cough or a sneeze.

FACT:  HIV is NOT an airborne virus.

FACT:  HIV cannot be passed person to person through breath.

FACT:  COVID-19 is an airborne virus that can be transmitted through air vapors from person to person.

FACT:  A person with COVID-19 can infect someone else through a cough or a sneeze.

This means that there was virtually no way that Magic Johnson was going to infect anyone with HIV on the basketball court. The person most at risk of a health concern was Magic Johnson himself, with his compromised immune system.

Now let’s focus on the real issue here. Although I disagree with his choice, I respect Kyrie Irving’s right to not want to get vaccinated against COVID-19.  But the COVID virus, the vaccine and his rights and or choices are not the issue here. The issue is that once again, Kyrie Irving is not willing to do the job that he is paid millions of dollars to do:  play basketball! This is another season of Kyrie Irving coming out to show us that he really doesn’t want to play basketball anymore. It’s time that Kyrie just stopped playing the one game he does engage in with his team, his coaches, the owners and the fans:  pretending he still wants to play professional basketball.

Last season he behaved like a fifth grader on a new travel team. And that is a clear insult to fifth graders, because both of my daughters played travel basketball in the fifth grade and they were never allowed to just not show up at a game. He chose not to play a game last year, and didn’t even call his coach. He informed his fellow players, but not his coach. I’m sure the “Hey, don’t pass me the ball tonight, ‘cause…I won’t be there,” might have felt like the responsible thing he could do for his teammates at the time, but what grown-ass adult doesn’t tell their boss they’re not showing up for work?

This came after a disappointing season with the Celtics where he was unable to be a team player, both on and off the court. He walked off the court before the game against the Milwaukee Bucks was officially over. Before the season began he declined to be photographed for the cover of Sports Illustrated with Gordon Hayward and Al Horford, citing his indifference to not single out individual players as more important than the total team. Guess what Kyrie, you managed to single yourself out on that one anyway.

So let’s not pretend this latest controversy is about the COVID virus and his right to not get the shot. This is just another Kyrie Irving tactic to draw attention to himself that he wants us to believe is about something else other than what it is about. Even after his Instagram Live video, where he stated that he does want to continue to play basketball, I have my doubts. Outside of injuries – which he has had many, as a lot of players do – Kyrie has still managed to make his time off the court more memorable than his time on the court. We don’t keep talking about the number of points Kyrie can put up, or how many assists he racked up. His skills were once admirable, but his spirit is what has waned. And unfortunately for Kyrie, he is less entertaining and lovable as Kyrie being Kyrie, than Manny was being Manny.

If Kyrie wants to paint, or make music, climb Mount Everest, learn carpentry, volunteer for a food pantry or Habitat for Humanity, or play video games, sleep in late, travel the world, or go work in a mine, coach, teach or anything else, then he should do so. Life is too short to be doing something that doesn’t bring you joy. He should be man enough to stand up and say, “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

I hope that Kyrie finds his way in one direction or the other. I won’t fault him either way. When he was on the court and playing as a team player, he was fun to watch. Now I would much rather say goodbye to Kyrie and wish him well in his next endeavor than continue to be frustrated by his lack of enthusiasm for the game he claims he wants to keep playing. His attitude is disappointing. His refusal to play is irritating.

Learning More About 9/11

Tomorrow is the 20^th anniversary of the September 11^th terrorist attack on the US. I’m sure there will be stories all over the news today and tomorrow, reminding us of what happened in 2001. We will hear over and over again, “We will never forget.” Right now I’m more interested in what we don’t know.

Yesterday I read an email that addressed this very issue. The CEO of a life-coaching school put out her newsletter with two stories from 9/11 that I never heard before. The largest marine evacuation in history took place that day after the US Coast Guard put out an open alert to all water vessels to help move people out of New York City and into New Jersey, to safety. Ferries and personal boats answered the call. For the remainder of the day they transported people out of the city. The estimate is that half a million people were assisted that day after the bridges and tunnels were shut down and the city became locked in panic, fear, and destruction.

In the small town of 10,000 in Gander, Canada, a community came together to host 6,759 strangers. The passengers and crews of 38 jumbo jets and 4 military flights were diverted to Gander to land when the airways into the United States were shut down. For security reasons, most of the people on those planes sat on the aircrafts for 24 hours waiting for information and approval to exit. Then, for the next five days, the residents of Gander put them up in hotels and in their homes, providing shelter, food and clothes for the stranded, before they could re-board their flights and continue on their journeys.

I am positive that there are other stories out there like these. There was s/heroism that day in New York, Washington DC, Virginia and Pennsylvania. Now we know there were acts of selflessness, empathy, and kindness in areas where the tragedy was not actually happening, but people were being affected. It had never occurred to me until yesterday to think about the other ways in which this country and our neighbors came together on that day. You don’t know what you don’t know.

I remember where I was and what I was doing on September 11, 2001. I was scheduled to go in to work later that day at Framingham State (College) University for a training session of my student tour guides. As I enjoyed the morning at home with my one year old son, I was literally doing airplane rides with him on the family room floor as I watched The Today Show. I already knew that the first plane had crashed into the North Tower of the World Trade Center in Manhattan. As Jake’s belly balanced on the soles of my feet, his tiny hands in mine, I turned my head towards the TV just in time to see the second airplane crash into the South Tower. I remember hearing Matt Lauer get flustered as he tried to explain to the viewers what we were all seeing live. It was still being assumed that there was an error or issue with air traffic control. Within the next several minutes the whole country would know that we were indeed, under attack.

I know I will never forget. But this year I am going to do a little research and see if I can find some other stories about 9/11. I know what I know, and I also want to know what I don’t know. And then I want to remember that, too.