BLITHERING, BUMBLING, AND RAMBLING #4

A FACE IN THE CROWD

My wife and I headed up to Reno to meet with our daughter, who was playing in a softball tournament there. When we strolled through the corridor’s of the Grand Sierra Resort, we couldn’t help noticing that there was a wide variety of fashion styles parading down the hallway.

Some folks were wearing outfits that made me think that somewhere nearby was a skid row motel that was missing it’s shower curtains.    Others walked by in clothes so wrinkly and disheveled I could only imagine how long it had been they had taken them off, or washed them.   Yeah,  eeeeewww.  

 I formed all sorts of opinions, which I wouldn’t share aloud, as to what outpatient facility or rehab clinic had given their inmates a free field trip day at the Grand Sierra.  

To back up a minute, prior to being there, I had been watching my daughters softball game.  It was 111 degrees.  I wore a hat to keep my face from scorching and I had pushed it down low, against my sunglasses to get the most shade on my nose and chin.  By the time the game ended,  I had sweat sticking my shirt to my back.  

When we got to the hotel after the game, and saw the already mentioned folks in the hallway, we grabbed something to eat and headed back to our room to cool off.  It was while we were enroute there my wife mentioned that when I took off my hat after the game my hair had that peculiar squish/fluff/splat/and horn look.  She also pointed out that after we had eaten, (Tater Tots!) I had something stuck in my teeth.  To top it all off, I had specks of tater tot crumble along the left side of my shirt.  Quite the mental image, huh?

As I looked in the mirror after we got back to the hotel, I saw that my left eyebrow had a section all bunched up like a small spike sticking out sideways.  As I stood before the mirror and cleaned up, trying to get back to a more human appearance, I couldn’t help but wonder what the folks I passed in the hotel lobby must have thought.

My mind wandered to a fictional scene in some fleabag hotel or seedy downtown bar, in which a couple of cheap motel/curtain/outfit people were conversing with some unshaven/wrung out/wrinkly/more tattoos than teeth types, about their day at the Grand Sierra Resort.  “Lotta people out there” curtain/outfit guy’s wife says.  “Yeah” replies 5-o-clock-shadow-wrinkly-face-tattooed-3-teeth,  “and that sweaty, gnarly-haired, tater-tot smeared guy kept staring at us!  It made me sooooo uncomfortable”.

Uh huh.  Sometimes you have to put yourself in the other person’s shoes.  Which again means, eeeeeeeewwwwww, my gawwwd!!! What’s in these shoes!!

THE LOOK

We’ve all seen it, that look folks give you when they wonder what planet you’re from.  It’s usually preceded by some clueless statement, some wild fashion display, or a brash act of total ignorance of what constitutes normal behavior. Wellllll…..

A long time ago I was speaking to the wife of a friend about something they were adding to their home, and she said “that’s how we did things back in Mazura”.  I blinked, thought for a second, realized she grew up in the the Midwest, and replied “Ohhh, you mean Missouri “.  And I got THE LOOK.  

Her eyes widened, her teeth clenched, and I felt like the heat from a thousand sunbeams was searing a hole through me.  Nothing further was said in the next 10 seconds.  It seemed better not to take the chance.  I always referred back to that moment for years afterward as “The Missouri Compromise”.  

COOKIE-ISH

My wife and I took a trip to Carmel with our friends, John and Diane.  I told them that there was a bakery there that I remembered from 20 years ago, and if it still exists, I wanted a cookie from there. It’s still there.

John, a retired baker, walked over to the bakery with me, asking me what was so important about a cookie from this bakery.  I responded that it was a memory of the giant one in the window, that I was following up on, after all these years. I pointed to the one in the window I wanted.  “That’s not a cookie” John said.  “Sure is” I replied.  But, John being from New Jersey, (the state famous for its slogan “oh, no you don’t wise guy” )the dispute was ON.  

This cookie/noncookie discussion went on for 15 minutes, because the line to the counter was out the door.  We were still disputing it, when I placed my order, and John asked the clerk, “what is that?”  “A crusty” she replied.  “What’s in it?” John asked. She named several ingredients, including puff pastry dough.  “AhAAA!”  John says.

John went on to emphasize that recipes with pastry dough were pastries, not cookies.  A dough, of itself, doth not a pastry, make( I thought this eloquent statement out in my head, but expressed it more like “it tastes like a cookie to me”) .  

We walked back to the hotel to meet our wives, me munching on my “cookie”.  As we walked in to the parking lot, John’s wife, Diane sees us and immediately says “That’s not a cookie!  “.  

That’s the way the cookie crumbles………..except in Jersey.

Morning dribble

As we awaken to the early morning coolness of the foggy horizon in Carmel, my lovely wife and I sit on the balcony of our hotel and bask in the moment.  We have escaped the valley heat ,  the smoky horizon is gone, and I relax with a cup of coffee in my hand.

It is relaxing, peaceful, downright stress free.  

(Please see photo below, and imagine my positive serenity)

And the moment continued.  The weather was  calm, the coffee perfect, the conversation flowing.  I sipped, I chatted, I thought about all those inner Zen philosophies about peaceful existence and finding one’s nirvana.  I felt a warm sensation softly caressing my lower lip, across my chin, and momentarily, on my shirt.

Oh my, I thought.  I do believe a spot of coffee has dribbled down my chin.  Amused, I inspect the drip.   No problem, my wife says, just dab a little water on it.

(Please see photo, and imagine my amusement)

 Yeah, ok.  Maybe “amused” doesn’t apply.  But for a couple minutes there, we were in complete bliss.  Savor the moment.