There are so many reasons to love Pyrex’s food containers: They’re durable, dependable, and dishwasher-safe. They can seamlessly go from freezer or fridge to microwave or preheated-oven, don’t absorb odors or flavors, and come in a range of sizes for all our storage needs. Plus, there’s something about seeing food in clear containers that actually motivates us to finish our leftovers. 

You`ll love this beautifully remodeled home. The updated kitchen includes newer stainless steel appliances. The open floor plan flows nicely from living to dining to kitchen out to the deck. Updated bath with tile shower and 2 bedrooms on the main floor. The spacious 3rd bedroom is in the finished attic. Laundry hook ups on main floor and basement. There is a nice sized family room and 34 bath in the lower level. You`ll also find plenty of storage in the lower level. Roof was new in 2017. Relax in the quiet and private backyard with deck and firepit. All within waking distance of the hospital and schools. Affordably priced, so call today to see for yourself..

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In cocktail shaker, muddle cucumber slices, pepper slices and mint leaves with lime juice and simple syrup. Add genever, aloe juice and ice. Shake well, then double-strain into prepared rocks glass over fresh ice. Garnish with cucumber wheel.

On the day I moved into my new apartment, I remembered a time long before, when I was a child on a field trip from Jefferson Davis Elementary School to the French Quarter, to visit “history.” The yellow bus bumped down Gentilly Boulevard, avoiding the High Rise bridge, and sped down Esplanade Avenue. We parked at the edge of the Quarter, on the rocks by the train tracks and old wharfs, entering the less than a square mile of history through the French Market and onto Royal Street. The French Quarter, we were told back then, was the place where our ancestors—African, German, French, Haitian, Canadian—had converged in this bowl-shaped, below-sea-level spot along the river. It was, our teacher said, the impossible and unfathomable point from which we had all spread—across Canal Street to the Garden District uptown, across Rampart to the back of town, farther away from the river and closer to Lake Pontchartrain. In the more recent past, we learned, we spread across the man-made bridges and the man-made Industrial Canal, down Chef Menteur Highway, which is how we came to be sitting at Jefferson Davis, at broken wooden desks, in a trailer for a classroom, hot and irritated.

If you are shopping for the man in your life, young or old, you cannot possibly go wrong with a Salt And Pepper Grinders. They are inexpensive, thoughtful, and best of all they won’t collect dust or be re-gifted like so many other things you may have considered. Wrap it up with a nice bow and throw in a thoughtful card, and you have the gift of a lifetime!

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It’s not practical to carry a toothbrush around at all times, but you can carry around these pocket-sized teeth wipes. Each mint-flavored wipe slips onto your finger like a tiny glove, allowing you to "brush" your pearly whites with just your finger. And you don’t need water to use them, which means you can freshen up your teeth right there in the car.

My mother’s delight was recognizable. I understood it. It was the same delight that I had my first time to Paris, but here she was in her own home town.

The food-prep island has a Corian surface, stainless-steel double sink, a vegetable sink, the dishwashers, a trash drawer, and storage. Meanwhile, the breakfast island offers pull-up seating, a high-gloss, compressed-glass surface, storage, and toe-kick accent lighting. All of the kitchen and living space overlooks the home’s patios, pool, and summer kitchen, visible through a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows and doors.

What’s behind the pivot? Some is financially driven: In the first year of its pouch, Daisy reported a 69.7 percent increase in sales (despite charging about 25 percent more per ounce than for the traditional tubs).

“Paying attention to being alive” was how the poet Jack Gilbert described what I wanted to do for a year in New Orleans. Whereas before, I reasoned, I had lived my familial life by rote, beneath the carapace of clan, now I would be present, physically at least, more than I had since my first departure from the city, in 1997, fourteen years before, when I was not yet eighteen, riding to college in my brother Eddie’s pickup truck, sitting between two other brothers, Carl and Michael. But that was not all. I wanted to work full time at being what I had never wholly allowed myself to be: a writer. I would observe my family and my city, spend time in the city’s archives and with my mother’s old papers, collecting my family’s stories as a journalist might.