Gonna need more pickles.

And this is when you know I really don’t have too flippin’ much to talk about.  I’ve just about run out of blog titles,  and I’m mostly just waiting around for Saturday morning. 
Well,  truth be told,  if it were somehow possible to be put into some sort of semi-comatose state, and be SHIPPED home,  I’d be willing to try it.  Air travel offers very little in the way of enjoyment for us these days.  I don’t think I’m alone on that one.  To make it even more “fun”,  we’re heading for Toronto airport where,  we’re pretty sure the motto is,  “We’re not happy,  until you’re not happy”.  
A quick shout out to my sister-in-law for that one.  Thanks.
You might have to say that one out loud a couple times to let it sink in. 
Even in large airports like Amsterdam,  Newark,  and Düsseldorf where there is a certain amount of hiking involved after you get off the plane,  at least there’s some sort of diversion,  even if it’s just shops and signage.  In Toronto,  you’re herded like sheep down endless corridors,  reminiscent of a scene out of Outbreak. 


It wouldn’t surprise me in the least to look down to the terminal floor and see everyone else in Hazmat suits.   Not only that,  but Canada Custom’s,  or whatever the hell they call themselves,  have this thing about checking everyone’s passport immediately when you get off the plane.   It’s OK, I’m used to it,  and since I always keep my passport within quick and easy reach in my front shirt pocket and Travelling Companion is pretty quick on the draw as well,  it’s not really a challenge.  The challenge it seems is, for those who have nicely squirreled away their documents in anticipation of the long trek to the actual Customs inquisition. 
Wrong.  Best to step around those people.
I can only guess that these geniuses are checking all passengers coming from Europe,  but judging by their track record for actually keeping bad guys out of the country, they’d be more useful if they’d just offer to help with my luggage.   Or maybe have one of those nifty golf cart things handy. 
Now, I’ll readily admit that not all of the 41000 illegal immigrants mentioned in that newspaper article are “bad guys”, (unless you stretch that definition to being “illegal”)  but you can bet your bottom dollar that anyone who has immigrated to Canada following all the proper procedures,  or even good ole boys like me who were born and raised there,  aren’t too happy with these very bright people living off our tax dollars that call themselves “Canada Border Services Agency”.   They need to get a clue.
Oh wait!  Stop the presses!  Turns out it’s only 39,999.   They managed to nab somebody.  Good thing the “public” are willing to help.  But,  is that it?  That’s all you have to report?  What, are we back in Elementary School?

Not sure how we got off on that little rant there,  but I’m glad I got it out of my system.   I’m also quite aware that this “problem” is a mere whiff of stale air compared to the stench of illegal immigration south of the 49th.   Those Americans!  They like those big numbers!  We’re talking millions of bodies in that case,  but it’s not my place to comment.  I’ll keep my opinions geared towards any shortcomings on the home front.  Canader, eh?

So,  why pickles?

Well,  as the day for the departure draws near,  it becomes increasingly difficult to figure out what to put on the table,  all the while trying to pare down the contents of the fridge. 
It got a good cleaning on Sunday,  so at least that’s out of the way.
*ahem*
Last night’s paltry offering was grilled cheese sandwiches,  along with some potato salad and fries.   It’s kind of one of those “go to meals” that I sometimes fall back on in a pinch.  Since I had to plan on the stores being closed for the two days over the long weekend,  I figured I had better have some toast sized bread and cheese slices at the ready, just as a back up plan.   I thought our pickle situation was in need of improvement.  I don’t think we’ll need any committee involvement to determine if I should buy any more.  They’ll keep while we’re away.  For those not “in the know”,  grilled cheese sandwiches are not only nicely complemented by Heinz ketchup,  but pickles as well.  Just thought I should point that out.
My hidden agenda is to pare down the contents of the freezer as well as the fridge.  The bread goes in the freezer of course,  since the bread here in Wienerland never has any preservatives in it,  and will go stale like nobody’s business.  The fries are the freezer variety too,  and I’ve almost used them up.  It’s usually best to be mindful of just how much I put on our plates.  If it’s in front of me,  I’ll quite often eat it all,  so I couldn’t quite use up all the fries.  (And no,  we don’t just throw things out!  Certainly not food.)  The somewhat amusing thing about the fries is,  they’re from McCain.    Yes,  those guys.  I first saw McCain products in the Netherlands,  so seeing McCain fries here in Wienerland wasn’t such a big shocker.   They’re not New Brunswick potatoes though,  that would be just silly.  Besides,  Austria’s potato industry is as huge as their forest products industry.  
I gave up looking for the pictures I had taken of the potato storage situation, but instead found the post I had written about it.  That works.  It’s here if you give a rat’s tiny behind.  You’ll need to scroll down to the bottom.

So,  in more or less keeping with the “pitiful” theme,  that would be it for today’s offering.


Three more sleeps!


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