"Whining" at Belhurst Castle

As the "Event Coordinator" for my small group of friends...soon to grow smaller, if I have anything to say about it...I laboriously planned a fun-filled, culturally-rich sophisticated evening of dining and music for us last night at Belhurst Castle overlooking Seneca Lake. So it was, that my "friends" (Deb, Joan, and Barb) and I set off on our little excursion to celebrate Deb's birthday. Manning the wheel, or should I say, womaning the wheel, I confidently steered the van in what I imagined was the right direction with Barb's voice from the back quietly correcting me as I made only 2.5 wrong turns along the way; one occurring four feet from the Castle entryway. Deb had insisted that the plans be kept secret from her so we pulled into practically every fast-food chain restaurant between here and Geneva to throw her off the track. Thinking that Belhurst Castle would be much to swanky for billboards, Barb, Joan and I maintained impassive poker faces as Deb read aloud the forty-kazillion roadside advertisements promoting the palace and its features. "A wine-tour would be fun some time," she mused before squealing with delight as we (tried to) pulled into Belhurst.

The "rear view" of Belhurst Castle

I had chosen the more casual of the two restaurants as my ball gown is currently at the cleaners so we put in our name and then wandered the grounds. The only reason that photographic evidence of our friendship exists is because of me; yet I have to wrestle uncooperative people into position in order to record our adventures for posterity. Or in this case, posterior, as my companions thought it would be cute and NOT totally exasperating to offer my camera a "behind-the-scenes" view of the castle.


Having been told that there was an estimated hour wait-time for the table, Barb and Joan plunked themselves down on the elegant furniture in the lobby while I accompanied Deb to the wine store. It's amazing what one can learn about oneself under trying circumstances. For example, who knew that I could occupy myself for twenty minutes sniffing scented candles?

Dim-lighting diminishes the beauty of my asparagus sandwich.

As I made our arrangements last week, I had been so excited to see that a blues band would be playing Saturday night. I was even more excited as we were given the table right next to the band. Then the very-talented band started and I spent the rest of the evening yelling "WHAT?" to my friends and impressing my waiter with my sign language ability, "Orange giraffe boy." I don't know any punctuation in sign language so, depending on the comma placement, my sentence could be interpreted as a description or a rude demand. I cursed my lack of pre-planning, realizing that communication would have been much-improved if all of us had had texting devices with us. Consequently, we smiled at one another a lot and tried not to stare at the couple gyrating in an intimate corner as they REALLY enjoyed the music. They obviously had no trouble communicating. I somehow successfully ordered an appetizer to discover I'm a big fan of Gouda and my asparagus panini was a culinary wonder to behold but challenging to consume politely.

We put dessert in Deb's hands. I love looking at plastic models of dessert...so classy. "Double chocolate raspberry cake, double chocolate raspberry cake..." I chanted in my head, sending mental transmissions to the birthday girl. Apparently, Deb's mental abilities aren't what they should be (maybe it's the age??? ;) so I was initially horrified when she selected something smathered in mushed bananas. I soon stood corrected as I battled three other spoons for my portion of a triple-layered chocolate mousse creation with flavor-heightening caramelized bananas.

The long ride home was the usual nightmare where everyone dog-piled on me. They are a jealous, petty, self-serving bunch and frankly, I deserve MUCH better. Fortunately, I had been deafened by the band so I was able to avoid much of the cruel, hurtful banter. Before we went our separate ways, plans were introduced to perhaps take a mini vacation together to Mackinaw Island. Have they lost their minds? Trapped on an island with this bunch...I'd go bananas!

Bar stools, scalp massagers, food frisbees and Mint-Ting-a-Ling

As we'd previously arranged, my friend Deb picked me up at 9:30 this morning so she could switch our breakfast plans to lunch plans. I thought briefly about the six small fruit gummies I'd guiltily consumed as a pre-breakfast appetizer and congratulated myself on my remarkable foresight as I stoically prepared for this unexpected three hour fast. While occasionally exasperating, shopping with Deb is never boring. We scoured several craft stores for a specific make and model of yarn. Foolishly, I'd thought they just came in different colors...silly me. Looking to replace her current breakfast bar stools, we test-drove several thousands. I felt like I'd inadvertently stumbled into The Three Bears' cottage as I listened to a persnickety Goldilocks critique each selection. "This one is too squishy." "This one is too squatty." "This one leans back too far." As for me...I am the ideal shopping companion. Found my much-sought-after scalp massager and was content for the remainder of the day. Nothing beats rubbing an open-ended whisk over one's head for relaxation.

We ate a delicious Mexican lunch at Arriba Tortilla (http://arribatortilla.com/). Their pineapple salsa is amazing! Deb hosts a migrating German former exchange student who must have some Australian lineage because he boomerangs back every year. When she told him that we would be eating alfresco today, he told her that the term doesn't actually refer to open-air dining. Naturally, I had to investigate. Translated from the Italian, al fresco means "outside, at a fresh temperature." The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines the word as an adjective or adverb that means "taking place or located in the open air." So there you have it folks, our world in harmony as two American women eat at a Mexican restaurant, discussing a German query concerning an Italian term. 

A visit to East Aurora, New York would not be complete without a stop at Vidler's 5 & 10  http://www.vidlers5and10.com/. The largest 5 & 10 store in the world, it is impossible to go there without finding twenty items that you didn't know existed and now cannot possible live without. I don't know where I summoned the will-power, but I did manage to put off buying a butter lamb Christmas ornament. I carefully considered acquiring a specially-designed angel food cake slicer before putting it back on the shelf. The red bell pepper-shaped dachshund really tugged at my heart-strings but I stayed strong. Deb, on the other hand, could not be contained. Fascinated by Vidler's remarkable assortment of silicone storage lids, Deb raced through the many passage ways and narrow corridors that connect the four buildings that comprise the store to find and share this remarkable device with me. When I mistook her discovery for a new-style frisbee, Deb first had to explain this contraption. "It's an alternative to saran wrap," she said, trying to patient. "What do you use saran wrap for," I asked. Exasperated, she snapped, "Just watch." Plunking the food frisbee over a bowl, she magically lifted the bowl up using only the floppy silicone lid. "Ta da-aa!" Wow. Ok, she had my attention. I was impressed. We spent the next half hour test-trying the suction power of the food frisbee on every container in the store. No-stick pans were an epic failure, by the way.

With food frisbee in hand, Deb suggested a quick ice-cream stop. The woman in the store didn't seem particularly thrilled to have us as customers but we persevered nonetheless. While I am especially fond of gelato, I am also especially picky regarding the taste and texture of this delicious frozen treat (ironically...gelato is the Italian word for "ice-cream") so I asked for a sample of their sweet cream before I determined that I didn't want ice-cream at all. Deb sampled the latest greatest ice-cream flavor, "Movie-Time" before settling on her tried-and-true "Mint-Ting-A-Ling." We sat outside (al fresco) on a bench, people-watching while Deb enjoyed her snack. "This isn't "Mint-Ting-A-Ling," she informed me, after a few bites, "It's just mint chocolate chip." I'd confused quite a few common household elements today but I soldiered on to ask, "Aren't they the same thing?" She looked at me in momentary disgust before morphing into sympathy regarding my perpetual ignorance. "No. "Mint-Ting-A-Ling" contains toffee bits." Two potential customers approached the store, pausing to ask about the place. Deb shared her ice-cream conspiracy with them and, not surprisingly, they moved on. Before we left, Deb popped into the shop to inform the indifferent clerk of the problem. I'm guessing that the woman was not a professional ice-cream aficionado as I heard Deb again explaining the difference between "Mint-Ting-A-Ling" and mint chocolate chip.

I learned a lot today. I plan on incorporating pre-breakfast appetizers into the Mosiman menu on a regular basis. I can now differentiate among fifty shades of yarn. I can pinpoint the perfect barstool..."This one is just right...if it were affordable." I have become virtually fluent in Italian. Teamed with Deb, I am inadvertently putting the saran wrap industry out of business with a nifty new product. And we are currently co-authoring a potential best-seller entitled: Toffee It was "mint" to be.

Wyoming County Fair

A county fair is timeless; an event that inspires nostalgia while setting the stage for countless happy reunions admist spinning carousals, cow stalls, and colorful quilts. This past week, I went to the Wyoming County Fair in Pike, New York three times which is a low number of visits compared to true fair fanatics.  I like to see the fuzzy chickens, squeeze sheep and constantly question why some goats have their ears removed. Apparently the answer is either so horrific or so boring that I always forget the answer to my question and I have to ask it again every year. Attending the fair is a chance to get out of the house while feeling like you're still at home.

 The fair has many distinctly separate personalities. When I went on Tuesday morning to watch my friend Evelyn compete with her horse Jazz, the grounds were quiet, blanketed in a soft misty fog. The mid-way was statue-still, vendors were just beginning to open and the smell of breakfast almost diverted my route to the horse arena. Afternoons are busy; packed with waist-high, laughing children willing to risk the most stomach-churning attractions. Evenings are a hodge-podge of families, leashed pups, packs of teen-agers, seniors, and strollers. Nighttime is deafening with the sound of tractor-pulls, a haze of smoke now clouding the jam-packed arena.

It is particularly entertaining to view the fair through the eyes and excitement of my friend Sarah. She had worked with me at Letchworth Central School for five years until lured back to her city roots. "Chili is a suburb, Amy," she repetitively reminds me. Five years of former sixth graders stampeded down the fairway to jubilantly greet her, pushing me ruthlessly out of the way. While Sarah was busy being uplifted by her horde of adoring fans, I was being grilled by a geezer who habitually casts aspersions on my writing skills in a public forum. I tried to restrain my outrage because he's a pastor and because he looked so darn cute in his little newsboy cap. But I tell ya...I can only be pushed so far before I pop him in the nose!

Having extricated ourselves from these delightful social situations, we then ordered delicious pulled pork paninis from Decisions of Silver Springs. We were horrified by the explicit prize posters adorning the wall of the neighboring pop-a-balloon game so we momentarily planted ourselves next to it crying out, "Look away, Citizens!" Well, ok. That might have just been me. Wandering through the exhibit buildings, we pondered the ribbon distribution criteria associated with submitted baked goods, canned fruits and vegetables as well as preserves. One cannot ponder aloud at a county fair because multiple unsolicited responses will immediately be forthcoming. There's no such thing as a reciprocal comment at Wyoming County Fair. We had a very confusing conversation with Evelyn about her ride results. I blame the noise level of our surroundings but as Evelyn was describing the barrel racing game of "Steak-n-Shake," Sarah and I were both picturing Evie pulling a USDA grade beef steak out of a barrel as she swept by on her horse. Turns out, she meant a stake...aka a stick...aka a pole. Ohhhh....I believe we may have been further distracted because Sarah and I had enjoyed one of the best milkshakes of our lives at a "Steak 'n Shake" in Erie, Pennsylvania. I ordered a chocolate-covered strawberry milkshake...yum! Oh. Evie took second place!

The Thursday night talent show is one of the pinnacles of Pike Fair. It is a surreal event. A stage of sawdust. An audience that includes cows that are either being clipped or milked during the performances. The entertainment roster is a thrill-ride of varying abilities. I tend to be a tad chatty..."A tad!" commented my friend Deb, "You talked all the way through the show!" Now, mind you, I stood in line for a half hour to get that woman a special-ordered fried elephant ear coated with cinnamon-sugar on one side and powdered sugar on the other. You'd think she could be a little more gracious. Who could possibly remain silent as little girls clog energetically to the inappropriately lyric-ed "Ain't No Holla Back, Girl"? Who isn't going to sing along with sister act Shelby and Haley's melding melodies as they harmonized on "Collide"?  We cheered for violinists, hula-hoopers, singers and dancers. During intermission, we admired the cellphone images of our former student, Brandon's lawn tractor, outfitted to resemble "The General Lee." Trying to recall Waylon Jenning's lyrics from "The Dukes of Hazzard," I inadvertently created my own mangled mix-tape:

                                                                Just a good ol' boys, 
                                                            Never meanin' no harm, 
                                                            Beats all you've ever saw,

                                       Been in trouble with the law since the day they was born

                                                    Wasting away again in Margaritaville.

You always leave the Wyoming County Fair wanting more. We weren't able to squeeze in time to ride the mechanical bull. We missed a prime opportunity to try and win a goldfish. Sarah refused to have her picture taken with a toad that can grow to the size of a dinner plate. We did learn how to craft our own plates by gluing printed fabric to Corelle ware. We cursed our luck that we hadn't been able to see the Fair Queen parade and talent show. This year, apparently, was particularly memorable as one of the contestants was outfitted with wings to resemble an appropriately-attired, homespun Victoria Secret's model and one of the talents included a demonstration on tree-climbing. Drat our bad luck! Next year, we may just have to spend more time at the fair. Maybe we could sleep among the livestock like so many kids do. Our sad regret is assuaged by the knowledge that Pike Fair is a reliable friend who will reappear next August, giving us another chance to be reacquainted with all the best that Wyoming County has to offer. 

A watermelon shark sculpture

I have a very specific skill-set. A talent for tireless clipart research. The endurance to sing the same line from a song repetitively for hours. An innate ability to tie any lesson plan to dachshunds (this skill happily complements my propensity for clipart inclusion).  I have an extraordinary gift for extorting 6th graders resulting in a packed-with-Pepsi faculty fridge. But it is when I am faced with an incredulous attitude of "Can-Amy-get-it-done?" doubt that I really shine.  Can Amy actually procure a single-prop plane for an Amelia Earhart lesson? Of course she can. Is Amy able to lease a llama (and a camel) to teach students about geography? Slap on your sombrero and turn on the video camera. You need a human-sized donkey suit? Call Amy. Only an act of nature or the resilient will of Brad Mosiman can interfere with my singular focus to get the job done. It was Brad Mosiman who prevented a live donkey from walking down the center aisle during a church service...kill-joy (hence, the human-sized donkey suit) and it was prevailing winds that prevented me from dropping thousands of small stuffed whales from a hot air balloon for what would have been the most remarkable fundraising event EVER...loosely named "The hail of whales."

I falter, however, when the attitude of "Can-Amy-get it-done?" shifts to "Of-course-Amy-can-do-it." I am immediately beset with self-doubt and uncertainty the moment I encounter someone who exhibits an unshakable trust in my abilities. I love to prove people wrong. I am an incompetent baboon (my apologies to competent baboons) when I attempt to live up to other people's expectations. The idea of letting someone down who believes in me is a terrifying prospect.

"Amy," my friend Deb asked (more like ordered), "I have a favor."  Her daughter Evie (renamed Levelyn, Levy, and Ela-van based on my varying states of fatigue or inebriation) graduated this year and the party is Saturday. Apparently, it is imperative to have a fruit sculpture at this event or all of those years learning where to appropriately place commas would have been for naught.  But who...who do we know...who would be able to delicately chisel a lifelike watermelon shark to represent Evie's scholastic achievement?  Naturally, my name came immediately to mind.  I was unceremoniously handed the Taste of Home article detailing how to accomplish this so-called simple task and then Deb launched into a stream of modifications which included replacing cantaloupe with in-season cherries accompanied by the required use of a complicated de-pitting device. Fearful that I wouldn't be able to locate the pineapple preserves in my local grocery store, Deb drew me a map after laughing hysterically when her husband innocently asked if I "put up" my own jams and jellies. While I was wondering where he thought I put them, Deb further insulted my homemaking abilities by telling him that my successfully opening a jar of Smuckers was as close as I was going to get to making marmalade.

http://www.tasteofhome.com/Recipes/Watermelon-Shark

Apparently, all of Evie's hopes and dreams center on the accurate depiction of this fruit-filled shark sculpture. My stomach is in knots as the weight of this watermelon-sized responsibility rests on my slightly-atrophied shoulders. Despite my trepidation, I will step up to the plate (or platter) and make this melon mine.  I am determined to de-pit. I will wield my melon-baller (for the first time) with sacrificial sincerity. I will rise to this occasion, asking not what a melon-baller is for, but what a melon-baller can do (my apologies to JFK).  Amy Mosiman will fulfill this favor of her friend. Amy Mosiman will do what needs to be done, not for the a-ha but for the uh-huh. Just when you thought it was safe to eat a fruit salad, Amy Mosiman makes a man-eating melon.