random thoughts – Day 1,489 – (Sunday) –burnt stuff

As Sundays go, this was a really nice one. Mom and I met at 10:00 to update our little booth at the Antiques Co-op. We tried to do so last week after I got out of dance, but the lot was packed and we couldn’t even park. This week, we met before I went to dance. 

Once the door was unlocked and the outdoor display was being set up in the parking lot we pounced, signed in, and got busy. We’ve had a fairly steady stream of small sales since February. We try to keep restocking, and each time we go, we rearrange and straighten things. Some of the things we thought would move quickly haven’t and others have surprised us by selling almost instantly. 

There are still boxes of stuff that I haven’t touched in several moves that will be instrumental in the clearing of the guest room. There are soft-focus romantic memories of magical stuff that will cover our monthly rent threefold. There is almost always ambition for the box-tackling chore when I’m not at home, and then when I am home, a dozen other things pop up instead that are infinitely more interesting than cleaning out the junk room.

From Jeffrey’s Co-op it was dance group practice, then home, where, once again, the junk room was avoided. The Aldi visit on Saturday had eliminated the need for a Market Basket stop today, but did nothing to prevent a stop at St. Vincent de Paul. The week’s discount tickets, blue at half-off, green at 99 cents, were scarce, but it didn’t mean I left empty-handed. Two blouses were bought, one for 99 cents, the other for $2.50.

Hello, old friend.

Back at home, the pizza delivery of Saturday’s supper meant that late lunch-early supper was set. Two loads of laundry were done, and then in a blast from the past, the ironing board was hauled out to press some pants and the freshly laundered “new” blouses. 

Back when nearly all the work clothes needed ironing, it was my favorite household task. I found it relaxing. When I was in college, Mom was working as an accountant at a major computer company, and paid me to iron her work clothes every week. I would set up the ironing board in our dining room, put on Meatloaf’s Bat Out of Hell album, and go to town. Then I would take my easily-earned ironing money to The Buttercup Lounge for Happy Hour with DJ Sullivan. 

The newer fabrics that don’t need ironing have deprived me of the one household chore I enjoyed. In its place, there is now an appreciation for cooking from scratch, which is a healthy counterbalance to my ramen and pizza loving tendencies. And sweets.

Burnt Caramel.

Today’s sweet was one bought at Aldi. The name, “Burnt Caramel Sea Salt” caught my eye on the chocolate bar display at the register. Usually when “burnt” is used in reference to something cooked at The BungaLowell, it’s best to toss it, right after the smoke detector stops screeching. The curiosity of whether and how “burnt caramel” could be tasty led to the purchase. 

The candy bar’s caramel and brown colored outer paper wrapper was opened, followed by the matte gold foil paper wrapper inside. Would this become the new gold standard of grocery store register candy bars against which all other grocery store register bars would be measured?

The verdict? The milk chocolate was smooth and definitely better than the lower-cost milk chocolate of the Market Basket register chocolate bars. The burnt caramel sea salt filling, flaunted on the wrapper, didn’t seem any different than any of the many caramel sea salt fillings tasted before. Nice, but not remarkable. I would eat it again, but I wouldn’t go out of my way to get it.

Overall, the day had everything. Meet-up with Mom, dancing, thrifting, ironing, chocolate. There was a bonus, too. Kiki let me stroke her head and cheeks, and so what if I had to hang over the back of the couch to do so. The armpit bruises should be gone before my annual physical. I hope. It could be hard to explain.