olivae, olivarum, olivis, olivas…

Something like that. It’s been eons since Mrs. Velde tried to beat Latin into my head, so I only have the foggiest idea about whether wiki-pee’s (as Sam calls it) declension is right or not.

No, this is not my martini. I’m a manhattan kind o’ gal with an occasional G&T thrown in or some red whine. Cab or Shiraz at the moment. Beer? Only on the beach, preferably with npJane. This loverly drink belongs to a friend. We were sitting in the window seat at the Old Town barrroooom.

Grandroobly was a manhattan kind of guy too but he would occasionally have a martini with just the right companion and/or on just the right occasion. The Sherman boys were among those who qualified as suitable companions. Ratio? Gin with a little splash of dry vermouth. Olives, anyone? Yes. As many as possible. In the later years of my old coot’s life, a monthly birthday luncheon was scheduled for everyone in our group of family and friends with a birthday in that month. The luncheon was held in the dining room at the Hotel Ojibway, which overlooks the Sault Ste. Siberia locks. There were a couple of waitresses there that particularly liked Grandroobly and, whenever a birthday luncheon was scheduled, they would soak a bunch of olives in gin overnight the night before, then take great delight in presenting the old coot with a loverly olive-filled martini at lunch.

I live five hours away from Sault Ste. Siberia but I was lucky enough to be in town for a couple of those luncheons. And here I sit wondering where all of those people have gone…

Here? On the planet Ann Arbor? I have been flailing all day. I had so much flailing to do that I didn’t even take my skunk walk this morning. I went to the grokkery store instead. On the way to work. I actually took the afternoon off! I don’t usually take time off unless I need to schlep up the I75 SUV Speedway or something. Although I will chalk it up to vacation time, it wasn’t really much of a vacation. I came home and flailed all afternoon. Cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, wrapping packages, vacuuming running Roooomba, walking to the Plum Market, helping the GG put a huge Christmas tree into a stand. I fergit what else. Holiday party at Goose Mom’s in the late afternoon, then hoofed it downtown for dinner and now I am dead taaarrrrred.


4 Responses to “olivae, olivarum, olivis, olivas…”

  1. Tonya Watkins Says:

    Aside from my mom and her fun lady friends from my ol’ childhood neighborhood (most who are no longer living), you and I are the only folks I know who like Manhattans!

  2. Margaret Says:

    Lots of olives in that drink. I only do beer, so I don’t even know what that is. I’ve been flailing today too–actually for the past two weeks. Ugh.

  3. Pooh Says:

    Does a martini glass full of gin-soaked olives and a splash of vermouth count as a serving of vegetables?
    –Youth wants to know…

  4. jane Says:

    I just can’t do martinis. a cosmopolitan? you bet! make it two! and of course, always up for a beer on the beach. 😉
    and lately I am very partial to a spicy bloody mary at the Roadhouse. they have excellent bartenders there….