Long stormy spring-time, wet contentious April, winter chilling the lap of very May; but at length the season of summer does come. — Thomas Carlyle
*sigh* I hope he’s right. I really, really hope he’s right.
Rain, rain, go away…and leave daffodils in your wake.
The view today
And yet, there’s still something valuable about all this rain.
Cherry blossoms, the promise of Spring.
Today’s Theme Thursday is: Season
Quote found at BrainyQuote.
I am publishing this recipe, because I am sure that there are other families who have members who don’t know how or have forgotten how to make ice when the ice tray is empty. — From food.com user name CHRISSYG
After all the snobbery, cruelty and vitriol over the Grand Forks paper’s positive food review of Olive Garden, I was down on the internets and all the bullies.
Really, I was ticked. The sneering is wearying.
Then today, I find this little gem, a Food.com recipe for making ice cubes.
A must click if only to read the comments.
Everyone is in on the joke and at least for the first several pages of comments, no one is mean. This is what makes the internets fun.
Link via Shoebox Blog
For a whole variety of reasons my doctor has me off the java for a while. And by a while, I mean at least a month, probably. Likely I should keep off it all together.
Acid in the tummy and all.
But I love coffee. Adore coffee. Sing songs in ode to coffee.
And I miss it. Oh how I miss it.
While I moan and wail over my loss, I looked through the photos on my iPhone and found this little beauty shot taken a couple weeks ago.
That is The Good Man’s latte with a crispy little Amaretti cookie on the side. The (Italian) guy pulling shots at Cafe Venetia in Palo Alto always makes a charming little design.
Look how pretty. *sigh*
Such sorrow for my lost love…….
Photo copyright 2012, Karen Fayeth
Tomorrow: bad poetry as ode to the fact I also can’t have wine. *whimper*
Photo taken with an iPhone4s using the Camera+ app. Subject to the Creative Commons license, found in the right column of this page.
This morning I was at my local Peet’s waiting on a latte when I noticed the line behind me was getting pretty long. Like out the door. Commuters were starting to get the angry eyes.
The guy behind the counter pulling coffee shots and making drinks was moving slow, and when he noticed the backup, he got a little flustered. The more he eyed the long line of impatient workday people, the more flustered he got.
Suddenly, one of the other people behind the counter went, “whoa! Ok, you work the register” and then she physically pulled the guy away from the espresso machine and shoved him at the register. The young man sighed, dejected, turned to the next customer and said “can I help you?”
The kid was put in the hot spot, the bottleneck, the key role….and he couldn’t handle it.
And I felt bad for the guy. Then I slipped into the Wayback Machine.
The year was 1990. It was summertime. My folks were living in Carlsbad, so I went back home to C’bad to spend my summer between semesters at NMSU.
My salt-o-the earth parents insisted that I couldn’t enjoy the summer break. I was required to get a job.
Times were a little tough in Carlsbad in that year. Many of the potash mines had closed and jobs were a little scarce. Any good summer job had already been snapped up, and that left me with only one place that would hire me.
Taco Bell.
I slipped into my double knit polyester rust colored uniform, pinned my name to my chest, and went to work slinging beans.
I had worked a cashier’s job in high school, and one of my coworkers taught me how to count change and keep my till balanced to the penny. The Taco Bell people loved me. My till always balanced, I was pretty good as customer service, and I kept the place clean.
Inevitably, the manager decided to give me a shot working on the drive thru window.
The hot spot. The bottleneck. The key role.
It started out ok, I guess. I was a little confounded by taking the order but not taking money right away and keeping track of which car owed what amount and which order came next. The line of cars started to back up. It extended out onto Church street.
I managed to give the wrong order to at least three different cars.
Some guy came inside the restaurant all pissed off and complained to the manager. Cuz, you know, his tacos weren’t right. Or something.
Anyhow, I was unceremoniously pulled off drive through and put back on front register.
It was clear that I’d failed, and my failure was Very Bad. My coworkers wouldn’t make eye contact with me. I’d once been a star employee. I was now disgraced.
I was never given another shot at my nemesis the Drive Thru. Never had another chance to prove I could handle it (not that I cared, honestly).
I made it through the rest of that summer working register and of course went back to Las Cruces. Classes began again at NMSU and over the years I graduated, got a job and lived my life.
Twenty years later, the embarrassment is still fresh. Another minimum wage employee has learned the humiliation of not being quite good enough to handle the hot spot.
I hope he gets over it quicker than I did.
.
.
.
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Tangentially related, two years later, a F2 tornado ripped through town, injuring 6 people at the Taco Bell and ripping the bell off the top of the building.
The tornados in Carlsbad are the stuff of nightmares. My personal tornado story is well documented here.
A short Google search, and lo and behold, a photo of the 1992 tornado. The Internet is a weird thing.
Image from Southeastern New Mexico Weather Web Page.
The scene: The Good Man and me, at the furniture store. He’s on one end of a really nice couch. I’m at the other.
We both have our feet up on a fabulously cool ottoman/bench.
He digs the couch. A lot. I like it, but I am a little hesitant. It’s absolutely unlike anything we’ve looked at all day. The color and the fabric are exactly what he said he didn’t want.
Also, the style is very modern and I’m generally a more traditional sort of gal.
I’m wavering. It’s cool. Very cool. But it’s out of my zone.
Here’s where we pick up the conversation.
The Good Man: “So. Let me ask you this question: Would your dad buy this couch?”
Me: “Oh hell no. He’d say it’s impractical.”
The Good Man: “Right! Now let me ask you this question. Would *my* dad buy this couch?”
Me: “Oh hell no. Same reason.”
The Good Man: “There you have it.”
And there he had me. Snared me in his blend of logic and emotion. Mixed to perfection like a spousal apothecary.
Damn the man who knows which levers to pull in my brain. Damn him, I say!!
And I mumbled something similar under my breath as I got out a credit card and handed it over to the salesguy.
It is a pretty chula couch with two matching chairs and the bench/ottoman for resting toesies.
I just hope I’m cool enough to own it.
Damn it! I can’t believe I bought a couch without knowing THIS masterpiece was on the market! GAH!
Photo from I Can Haz Cheeseburger.