The Middle Aged Travellin' Mack

It's a whole new ballgame travelling for business at my age. Half the hotel room bathroom counter was taken up with all the homey, Walgreen-y purchases that it takes to keep my antique body up and at 'em. You don't want to have to find all that crap out on the road. My fellow Middle-Agers found that out. One guy had to go out about ten a.m. in a strange city and buy Dr. Scholl's insoles for his tired feet, and then was totally bereft of a pair of scissors, in the middle of the meetings, to trim them to fit. Two women got sick (one from bad restaurant choices and one from good old upper-respiratory crud) and both could have kept on going if they had had a little Kaeopectate and a couple of antihistamine pills.

It's very tempting out in The Great Land of Expense Accounts, to pretend you still have the digestion of the Sweet Young Things around you. That you can eat what they eat, scarfing down greasy lunches and big suppers. The great truth is that your stomach is your stomach no matter where you take it, and if you can't do pepperoni anymore at home, it's not going to work a thousand miles away from home.

So here's the travel lessons I learned mostly, believe me, the hard way:

1. If you have to travel Business Casual, go for the most comfortable Business Casual clothes you own. And don't wear dressy-dressy, uncomfortable shoes until you hit the meeting room door. You can wear yourself out in modern airports before you even get on the plane. You're going to walk much, much more than you usually walk, so plan for comfort.

2. Plan for hurry-up-and-wait. Bring along a paperback and quarters for the newspaper vending machine. Carry a bottle of water with you whenever you can (that being before and after airport screening). If you don't want to chat on the plane, buy one of those blow-up neck support pillows and close your eyes. Even a 40 minute flight can be a 40-minute-long, refreshing nap. The worst you could miss is that 2.5 ounces of pop they hand out.

3. Right before I went to Europe, somebody told me to lay out all the clothes I thought I would need and all the money I thought I would need on my bedspread. And then to take half the clothes and twice the money. The point being to (a) underpack—you will thank yourself over and over again, and (b) plan for contingencies, and Laws-A-Mercy, will there be contingencies! I got this trip down to my two smallest rolling suitcases, and I checked both suitcases. Then I went through the airports with a big, silvery, oversized travel purse and a girly-girl carry-all with my reporting orders, my paperback book, my water bottle, and my knitting.

4. Get to know the hotel staff. If you have a concierge, consult that person about restaurants, public transportation, amenities, extra pillows, where the spa treatments are, et al. Our hotel this trip was the big, swanky Marriott in Atlanta, and the amenities were wonderful. Two of my compatriots asked for refrigerators in their rooms and they got 'em. We all had European-style, pillow-top mattresses with duvets and good pillows. We had a big indoor-outdoor rooftop pool and a full-sized Starbucks.

And tip the maids, tip the bellboy, tip the courtesy shuttle driver. Those are the people who have saved my bacon over and over again. I cash out a couple of 20-dollar bills into ones before every trip, and I tip people. I have gotten wonderful, hospitable things done for me for those onesies. You never know what can really make a difference. So spread a little graciousness around.

5. If you regularly can't sleep through the night, plan for it. If you aren't sleeping at home, then it's statistically probable you aren't going to sleep through the night in some strange hotel room. The world won't stop because you're awake at two a.m. One tip is to turn the TV on sleep-timer with the volume down just to a mumble-minimum. It acts like white noise. Or run a little hot water through the coffeemaker and use that chamomile teabag you brought from home.

6. Plan for stress release. On longer trips, I look in the Yellow Pages under "Yoga." If I can't find a yoga studio, then I go to knitting shops or bookstores. The last time I was stuck in Atlanta, I went on a big Grayline bus tour one weekend, and I joined a group going to Stone Mountain the next weekend. I got to see the Phoenix Symphony Orchestra Triple Beethoven season opener and the Science Museum's James Bond traveling exhibit. You got to have balance, good work-play balance, even if you are living out of a suitcase.

7. Celebrate coming back home. I did my favorite little chicken meatballs for my first supper back home. I went over and talked to my favorite clerks at the huge Goodwill store. I got down on the floor and played Catnip Mouse with the cats. It's good to be back home in my little treetop studio apartment.

We are all, Babies, gonna be working a whole lot longer than we figured on. And sooner or later we are all gonna be loping down some skyway with an E-ticket. We are all gonna be told to hike to a business meeting "just six blocks away." I saw big groups of sales teams, all in matching polo shirts and big matching binders, galumping around the hotel and down Peachtree Avenue, and they were not slowing down for the middle-aged ones. We had to hike to a business center every morning, and climb stairs to get to the tower elevator. We had to walk to lunch and run for the Marta trains. And after the meetings, we all wanted to do fun things that involved, yup, walking.

At the very end of my trip, on the big shuttle van home, I met a fellow middle-ager who is working delivering cars. He drives new cars to new owners and then flies back home. He says they pay him just about enough to eat at McDonald's. But he's working. We are all gonna be working. This is not the life we planned, but it's the live we got. Here's to us.

And here's those Chicken Meatballs:

Mince about 3 Tbl. of sweet onion and mix with
1 Tbl. parsley
1 tsp. minced garlic

Crumble in one-half pound of ground chicken
1/4 cup Italian bread crumbs
2 Tbl. grated Parmesan cheese
1/4 tsp. salt
dash pepper
1 egg

Mix well, and shape into eight small meatballs.

Brown in 2 Tbl. oil. Then add 2 Tbl. water and 2 Tbl. red wine
Cover and simmer for 20 minutes.

Take meatballs out of pan and make pan gravy:

Measure juice in pan and add water to make 1 cup liquid
Add a beef boullion cube and a capful of Kitchen Bouquet browning agent

Make a roue of 1 Tbl. flour in 2 Tbl. water. Add to gravy and stir to blend and thicken. Reintroduce meatballs to pan and heat everything through.

Serves two.

And Speaking of Macaroni....

This is a true story. It happened to a friend of my friend Annie.

Annie's friend took her only son up to college. Took him to the bookstore and got his books and a college sweatshirt. Got him unpacked in the dorm room. Went down and bought him a cafeteria card. And then she hugged him and handed him a small amount of cash. She told him, "Now, Daddy and I have talked this over and we can send you this amount of money every month, but no more. So you're gonna have to budget. But you've got your room and your cafeteria pass and you should be OK."

Eight days later, Son called home. He said, "I need more money."

"For what?" his incredulous mother asked.

"Food."

"But you've got your cafeteria pass."

"I sold that. I don't like that food."

"But you have your cash allowance."

"I bought everybody pizza. And restaurants are expensive. It's gone."

"I'll call you back," his mother said. She did better than that. She drove up to the college and she handed Son a big bag of macaroni.

"What's this?"

"Macaroni."

"Why are you giving me macaroni?"

"Because you don't have any more money coming in for 22 more days."

"But what do you want me to do?"

"I want you," his mother told him, "to learn to like macaroni."

What this country needs is about two million more moms like that.

J.

Seven Dollars A Day, My Aunt Fannie!

Ran across a blog called "Eating on Seven Dollars A Day." The author pulled his punches, however, declaring that the main ingredients for supper be seven dollars, for two servings, and then you cart the leftovers to work the next day for lunch. And wherefore art thou, breakfast?

I can do better than that. I eat on about five dollars a day, breakfast, lunch, dinner and snacks. And no, ramen noodles never cross my lips.

It's good, healthy eating, based on good nutrition and the things that got me my Lifetime Key at Weight Watchers. I did Weight Watchers, BTW, because you are never hungry-starving on Weight Watchers. I eat enviably good.

Repeat after me:

A normal, healthy adult only needs five to seven ounces of protein a day.

While it is fun to have a big protein-feed now and then, a diet focused more on vegetables, healthy grains and fruits will keep you spry. And who doesn't want to be spry? I have fruit and whole-grain bread for breakfast, or fruit and cottage cheese. I cook two or three entrees every Sunday (mainly chicken and fish and vegetarian) and I heat up a small serving of one of those entrees for lunch at work. Dinner is a fresh salad, a little more protein and good-quality skim milk.

Snacks are 33 cent mozzarella string cheese sticks, or carrot sticks (from a big 69-cent pack of carrots), or Wheat Thin crackers (bought on sale). My grocery store does a wonderful job of stocking fresh fruit in season, on sale. This week I got strawberries for $1.50 a quart and two tangelos for 50 cents each. I also got a big pink grapefruit, which I eat like an orange. My co-workers are positively fascinated with my snacks and the Sherman Tank Health level of an Old Lady like me.

Americans need to get over their obsession with meat. If your plate was the face of a clock, meat should take up no more than one quarter of the plate, the space from nine to 12 o'clock. It's better still to mix a little meat in with the other ingredients.

My vegetarian entree this week is what my Southern mother always called, "Snap Beans and New Potatoes." Fresh green beans were 69 cents for a two-pound pack this week, and I will cook them with the last of the new baby potatoes from the Hmong farmers at the Minneapolis farmer's market. Serve it up with sliced tomatoes, and it is a meal fit for a King. Or a parsimonious Divorced Lady.

Other dirt cheap feasts include:

Stir-Fried Cabbage, with sweet onion and soy sauce

A good old-fashioned chicken pot pie, (with the meat gleaned from backs-and-necks if money is tight), and a sour cream crust

Oven roasted baked potatoes, with The Brown Derby Restaurant's recipe for creamed spinach over the top.

Macaroni Anything. Macaroni has wonderful mouth feel, and a big bag of any frozen vegetables (my store's house brand is 99 cents) mixed with macaroni will keep you alive till next payday.

"But, hey, lady, I like meat!" you say? Then make friends with the butcher. If you go in early (I do mean early), you can get the markdowns from the day before. My last 6 a.m. foray to the grocery store scored me six pork chops for $1.99 and a four-pack of chicken breasts for about three bucks.

I also watch the sales on meats. I buy up ground chicken, or ground turkey or lean ground beef when it goes on deep sale. I divide it up at home into four-ounce freezer packs. Or I cook down huge turkey wings and use the meat for turkey and noodles. Or I wait for the big bags of Wisconsin cheese to go on sale, and make a big, baked macaroni and cheese.

I don't scrimp on quality skim milk, or yoghurt or cottage cheese or good whole-grain bread. I have a bad jones for Italian pasta. I eat out with friends, when there's coupons. I have been known to go to a bargain matinee and eat enough popcorn that supper is just a snack that evening. I ask for things like Italian expresso powder and Italian tomato-paste-in-a-tube for stocking stuffers.

Tomorrow I will cook my mother's macaroni recipe, with about four ounces of lean ground sirloin, stewed tomatoes, celery and Vidalia onion. Then I will oven-bake the last of a six-pound bag of catfish fillets I found at the grocery store for three bucks. Make a saucepan full of glazed carrots. Make some homemade biscuits for a not-so-sweet strawberry shortcake. And eat like a queen for another week.

Oh, and I also contribute to the food bank. So I feed myself, the cats and the food bank.

Seven dollars a day, my Aunt Fannie! That's for amateurs!