make it a double

today i look a bit like a 50's housewife. except i'm not at home; i'm at work. and i'm typing on a computer- not a typewriter. my outfit consists of a blue and white polka dotted cotton shirt, with cloth covered buttons down the front, beaded pleats in the back, and stitched ripples on the sides (to accentuate my curves of course). on bottom, i'm sporting a just-below-the-knee denim skirt, with red ruby flats on tow (no pun).

over the navy blue dots is a bright, cobalt blue acrylic sweater (i know because i actually took time to iron it). maybe made in 1967. it has this funny little drawstring woven throughout, down by the waist, and today i tied it in a bow. i suppose the whole getup, to me, feels 1950's housewifish.

i helped jump start the cleaners car today. just before linda discovered that her car was dead, she told me that her daughter had been expelled from school for ten days. her daughter maddie had borrowed her son ben's ford explorer, and just her luck, that day they called a lock down at school, brought out the dogs, and the dogs just happened to sniff out something in that emerald green (not sure if that's the color but i like to think so) explorer.

and so, the dogs and their good noses, let the cops with their bad mouths, in that old beat up ford explorer, and they found not only a butterfly knife (with a four inch blade) but also a good size bundle of fireworks. now come on, i can see accidentally having a knife stashed in one of the vinyl backseat pockets of that explorer, that maybe ben uses to scale some fish when he's out fishin', but to lend your little, high school, sister your car with some firecrackers tossed around on the back seat and covering the floor...come on!

so yeah, maddie got ten days out. i actually was kinda mad that linda, the cleaner, was telling me all this stuff- and that her daughter, maddie, got ten days out. it didn't seem to phase linda, but it sure phased me. maybe that is where our society is heading. not a care with the whereabouts, whatabouts, or whoabouts of our children. but like i said, it sure phased me.

so, now my stomach is gurgling, like usual, and i am sitting here at my desk (in front of my computer i wish were a typewriter) and i'm waiting for this pretty lady, marlene, to join me. she was just hired by patrick, my boss, to do marketing for the inne and restaurant.

marlene has skin the color of almonds. shes got that golden glow that surely wasn't made the natural way. no sun to blame for those wrinkles. we're talking tanning beds, folks. or perhaps those new spray booths. her boobs looked re-done and her hair dyed, but like i said, she's a pretty woman. this reminds me of something i heard the other night. i was over at my friend justin's house and he shared a story about a funny incident that had been exchanged between he and two of his co-workers that day in the office.

across from his cubicle, he noticed that this one girl co-worker was behind the other girl co-worker (who was seated in front of her) helping her to tie up her hair in a pony tail. he made some funny comment about the whole sight, and the girl who was having her hair tied up, said something to justin like, "oh, well i had surgery, so i can't do it myself." justin, being a guy and all, probed further, made some assumptions, and stated, "oh, like rotators cuff surgery?" and the girl, after an awkward pause, replied, while glancing down at her breasts swaying her head back and forth, from the left one to the right, said "um...no...i had cosmetic surgery."

yeah, since when is that something that's shared and discussed with the general public? since when is that something that is talked about, like getting your wisdom teeth out. it just baffles me. i guess the girl is getting married in a few months and wants to look her breast, i mean best, for her new man. society.

okay, enough with my complaining. i am the one who is judging my sister and my brother...so raca. father, forgive me. I was reading this morning from a great book- The Imitation of Christ by Thomas a Kempis. for your pleasure, here is a small excerpt:

"There's no great hardship in doing without human comfort, so long as we have the comfort of God behind us; what is difficult- immensely so- is the ability to do without both, God's comfort and man's, the will to endure cheerfully having one's heart an outcast from happiness, to seek in nothing one's own profit and to have no regard for one's own merit. What is there to boast about if you feel happy and devout when grace touches you? Times like that are what everyone longs for. The man who is carried by the grace of God rides pleasantly along; no wonder he feels no weariness, seeing he is carried by the Almighty and led by the chief Leader of all.

We gladly hold on to anything that brings us comfort; it goes against the grain for a man to strip himself of his attachment to self. May you learn to give up, for the love of God, those who are closet to you, the dearest of friends. You must not take it too much to heart when a friend deserts you; one day, you know, we must all be parted from one another at last."

indeed we are but a breath. cheers.

ganache

a sunny friday afternoon here at the inn. i went to bed pretty early last night due to the previous nights sleep consisting of only three hours. i do feel revived, though- in more ways than one. so as i was saying, i was in the sack around 10pm and finally crawled from bed around 7:23am this morning. because i crawled out later than i should have, no shower was taken. (i later took one at the inn). heave-hoed my red ruby bag, full of a change of clothes for the inn and then another for after the inn, and was down the flight of mossy green stairs, blueberry coffee in tow, and was settled into the drivers seat of my car in no time. (running 4 minutes late).

i nearly missed my turn to the bakery, but thankfully snapped out of my daydreaming and pulled into the lot just in time. (the last time i missed the turn, it cost me a good 17 minutes! the traffic traveling east bound on rt. 30 is just horrific in the mornings!) through the door, put on my lovely brown apron and pastry chef hat, and went on to take my first orders for the day. today i baked again in my sea foam green, three-quartered length, 80's sweatshirt. with that under my chocolate brown apron, i feel like a giant bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream. it's quite a nice feeling.

heather informed me that first on the to-do was to make a double batch (with quadruple the carrots) of carrot cake muffins. or would it just be carrot muffins? any way, i made enough to fill two trays of mini's and eight regulars. next, i made a batter for the most delicious smelling, milk chocolate peanut butter cupcakes. man, i could have bathed in the stuff. seriously. it smelled even better than a human size reese's peanut butter cup would have smelled- had a reese's man come to the bakery this morning. the color of the batter alone was just gorgeous.

susan, the other baker this morning, was making a double dark chocolate batter behind me, and i had to seriously work at focusing on my batch, as opposed to hers. the beautiful dark cocoa she was mixing into her dark chocolate batter was just a sight to behold. the color of the batter, so dark and so thick, nearly resembling mud (from some exotic land) just couldn't be passed by without a submersion of the finger. but it's okay to taste the batter. indeed we must know what we are serving up to our customers. you know...quality control.

after scooping the chocolate peanut butter batter into their trays, i was onto the vanilla butter cream, cream cheese frosting. again, very tasty. it's a wonder i haven't already gained a good inch or two with all the, quite necessary, taste testing i've done over the course of the last two weeks.

and with the last whip of the butter cream frosting, it was 11:30am, time to hang my chocolate brown apron and head up the road to the inn. i took with me three cupcakes. (amazingly, i've only had one and a half). i feel it's partly my job to know all the different flavors we make, simply so i can know the product i am helping to sell. again, it's all about quality control, better serving the customer, etc...

and now it feels like i have been at the inn a good 24 hours, even though i only got here just over six hours ago. friday's tend to kick my butt a bit, and i've yet to figure out why- considering i have off on thursday's. it could be because i do tend to squeeze as much in as i can on my days off. the highlight of yesterdays day off? getting pricked in the arm thirteen times by my new italian doctor, dr. columbo.

so, i bathed when i arrived to work- actually it was more like a psychotic speed shower (being that i only had about eight minutes before it was time to officially 'clock-in' as innkeeper). thankfully i found the underwear and socks that i thought i had left at home, in my boot, and that started (or continued) my day on a swell note. and that has been about it. i did the usual fluffing of the pillows, straightening of the shams and triangling of the toilet paper, and now i sit...and i wait...for the last two stinky check in's to arrive. i pray that they get their booties here before dark. i am craving the outdoors...been in too, way too long today. spring i will dance with you soon!

A Little Bit of Black

Yesterday I decided to go for a short walk. Over an hour and a half later, I was on my seventh mile. And to think, I got funny looks from the people I passed. Yes, I was running. Yes, in funny runners attire. Yes, in jeans, in knee high black leather boots, in fancy blouse, in faded blue sweater tied round my neck, (just like I was rich and famous). But I simply couldn't help myself. The sky, wind, sun, breeze, all that was in the air, declared, evoked, even demanded my attention. But I sure was at ease, trotting along that path, lined with moss the color of undercooked peas.

Perhaps I looked silly, perhaps a bit gay, but no holds were barred in echoing that Day. Twists and wide turns, weaves and bent wreathes, summoned and wooed, my walk to a breeze. My amble became a bit of a run, was done without plan, and thought of but one.

You know what I mean, the drawing of God, the whisper, the call, the altar from sod. That held up the tree, that tore down the curtain, that danced upon Mary, her visiting vision. Winged men I once saw, hovering way overhead, had come to bring solace, to His great, now dead. The choirs sang glory, ther'll be no more mourning, and the trees scattered round, retold his great story.

And where was I now in retelling my story, of a funny young girl, looking more like a bunny. So she answered the trees with their yet to be leaves, and danced right along in those jeans by the peas. Each stride and each draw, each glance and each stance, she soon became lost and drunken in chance. Strands whipping, cutting, the lows of her back, sun light breaking round, a nimbus of Might.

Whipping back, whipping forth, the people did stare, but what shall I profit? What shall I care? Black ones and white, yellow with brown, passing me by and panting aloud. Tangled down deep, the roots of despair, crowding the family and shrouding the hare. White as pure gold, with whiskers like sin, she should have just done as her Good Father did. Thy Good book will tell, a tale saved from hell, salvages beasts and summons the least.

Passing the trees, cocooning the plea's, the blood of the Lamb, slaughtered for peace. Doorposts above, priests down below, daughters of fishers, rigmarole. Like loosing your vision in blinding white sun, an old comfort inn, filled with poor souls and mine. "Hosanna, Hosanna!" The girls then did scream, in hovering presence, he answered their plea. The young ones, the old, the seasoned and stale, they transformed to beauty, with wind in their sail. "To glory, to glory!" with arms like great wings, they soared to his footstool, with mercy and ease.

And bowing to speak, or muster a peek, his greatness so gentle, drew even the weak. Like morning and daybreak, the dance after night, he's conquered with splendor and risen with might. And mile number seven, the horsemen and heaven, she'd finished her stint, revering her bout. Echoes within and screams without, he loved her, he loved her, this was no doubt.

Dianne

Today I met Dianne, security personnel, employed by the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Her generously sized bottom was hanging off the base of this giant marble sculpture, in the Early American Art wing, under a portico and next to a water fountain. I sure did learn a lot about her in those eight minutes we shared.

Her husband had a black father and a white mother. She had leftover meatloaf from the previous nights dinner for lunch that afternoon, and she gets a 30 minute lunch break each day (and uses every minute of it). She smokes a pack of cigarettes a day, and for a while she was pretty generous with her cigarettes, but then people started taking advantage of her and her cigarettes. So, she started saying no, to the people she didn't like (and she told them off too), and to the people she liked, she charged them a quarter.

She is bipolar. The previous Saturday she had to leave work (her 12 hour shift) early, because she started having an anxiety attack- thinking about her son that had just gotten locked up. She was in the emergency room two hours (and has the papers to prove it).

Her husband makes her dinner every night. Last night he made her fried chicken, and tonight he was making pork chops and rice, and she thought that was just alright. She said I was skinny and said she used to be skinny too. She weighed 110lbs- then she got the job at the art museum, just standing around all day (not sittin'- that's how she introduced herself, "...psst...don't tell my boss I'm sittin'") and ballooned to 210lbs. She said she's tried all kinds of diets. One diet she ate all healthy, went on walks after dinner, and after several long months, lost only two pounds. 2lbs! So she went back on the fried chicken, meatloaf and pork chops. Next, she told me, she wanted to try the cookie diet. "Have you heard of the cookie diet?" she asked me. I told her yes, but didn't know what it consisted of. She went on to tell me you eat only cookies- but not just any cookie, they were expensive, healthy type cookies.

She had light skin- looked half black, half Hispanic. She had beautiful, toffee almond colored freckles, all over her pale, fair skinned face. Her hair looked a bit frizzy (the type of frizzy you get when you brush out your curls and it's humid out) and was dyed a lighter shade of her natural brown color. The textured lines created by her brushed out curls had become thicker with the days rain and heat and seemed to want out from the elastic that kept them bound in ponytail.

On top she wore a light blue cotton uniformed shirt, which was tucked into her navy blue polyester trousers, letting just the tips of her black boots show. She was short in stature and round in form. Her left front tooth was a gold one and because it sparkled so much, I caught myself noticing it quite often as we spoke. The tooth wasn't solid gold- just the outline of the tooth, the rectangular perimeter, but you sure couldn't miss it. Like I said, she had a pale, fair skinned face, so that shiny tooth sure drew attention. She had a slight lisp and even a slight accent- not so much a regional accent but more a lazy one, slurring her words and letters. But it was nice and refreshing, even down to earth.

She said her feet were on fire (this is before I knew her name, that she was bipolar, that she had fried chicken last night or that she had her husband's meatloaf for lunch earlier). I was filling up my water bottle, just to the right of where she was doing the unimaginable for an art museum security guard- sitting, and that's where we first met. I guess I looked like the type of person who would tell on her, a tattletale type, because this is how she introduced herself; "Don't tell no one you saw me sittin'." Then that's when she told me her feet were on fire.

I liked meeting Dianne. I liked that she was so sociable, so honest. I could see myself having a good time with her at a barbecue. Sitting back at a picnic table, sippin' some sweet tea, listening to her talk about her son that was locked up. And I'd listen, just like I did for those eight minutes we shared under that portico and next to the well, just listen.

bright as yellow

It all began with some salted nuts. I fastened my safety belt, stowed my tray and tucked my ruby pleather bag underneath the seat in front of me, just as I was instructed. The flight attendants took their places, strapped like dynamite to their jump seats on the reverse of the pilots cabin, and so we began our taxi, leaving behind the Columbus International Airport.

Sometimes I say hello to the people I find myself next to, but on this evenings' flight, my seat neighbor didn't seem too warm nor bubbly, not like the guy behind me on the flight out, who'd slurped down three Jack Daniels just before meeting his wife and kids. And since I didn't have my usual window seat, I tried to make best of the new scenery. Lots of legs, shoes and a carpet lined aisle. Not that exciting. Now I'm remembering why I like the window seats best, but the lady doing Sudoku beat me to it. At least, I tell myself, I'm not the guy in the middle. And he had long legs too.

I said my usual "dear Lord, please guide the pilots, keep us safe" prayer, realising this prayer could be my last, and by 'amen' the plane was bumping along, leaving behind the men with orange batons and Velcro vests, so that they resembled Lite-Brite pegs on a runway box.

Opening my eyes from grace, fixed on the long center aisle, suddenly I felt like I was at a carnival or playing Plinko on the Price is Right. It was amazing. We were now airborne, and as our height and incline increased, so did all the stuff that came gushing down the aisle. Being a regular to the egg shaped, plexi-coated, body smudged window seat, I'd never before had this grand avalanche view- or the opportunity to fish for free bees. That's what it seemed like to me, like bobbing for apples. If you reached down with an open hand (or mouth) at just the right time, you might walk away with, say, a penny, a stick of gum, or maybe even a pen filled with ink. It was like reverse Skee-Ball.

Well tonight the grand prize was a pack of shiny blue peanuts. And I failed to win. (I'm still remorse over it all). And so it unfolded that since the peanut pack was indeed shiny like a rocket, and came crashing past me with such ferocious speed, it called out to me like an itch needing scratched. It was food, and I was hungry. The sky waitresses only pass out two blue packs of peanuts per person, and there are but 12, maybe 13, peanuts per pack. So this flights dinner, consisting of 26 peanuts, was looking scamp, and I welcomed any extra rations.

And so the peanut pack came to a stop catercorner across the aisle from me, under the seat of a boy wearing a baseball cap. And there it sat, next to the sole of his shoe, like it was camped out for the night- ready to toast marshmallows and join in the kumbayas. Since the peanuts were now officially the boy's, (since they were touching his shoes), it seemed wrong to reach across the aisle (so that everyone behind me could see) and take the peanuts from the sole they'd just befriended. Sadly all I could do was glance in their direction, and convince myself that they were perhaps already eaten. It was surely an empty pack of peanuts that had answered gravities call.

But right when I thought the fun house was over, the games all played and prizes passed out, out of nowhere, this canary-yellow Mentos looking thing came cruising down the aisle at optimum speed- right in my direction. I saw it coming from about seat 7B and I was all the way back at 13C. The whole thing, mainly my imagination, was too much to handle, and at this point I let out an audible laugh. I suppose I imagined that the small yellow pod was indeed a miniature space craft, space rider inside, and had just tumbled in from a far away galaxy, and into our own, and for whatever reason this was real funny to me. (I think the guy in the middle was thinking I was rather odd at this point-that I was staring blankly to the aisle, giggling to myself). But I tried not to draw attention to the fun that was undoing itself in the aisle, and instead told myself that the other passengers would think I was just a funny gal with a funny laugh.

Perhaps what made the whole Mentos spaceship thing so hilarious, was that it seemed that no one else on the plane even noticed. Here, this small yellow mint had reached such velocity, such impeccable speed, (and even dodged carry-ons, stowed underneath) and tumbled all the way, light years away, to six-seats-from-home. And landed at the base of my booted right heel. But no one else was laughing, nor was a soul cheering, so this made me, the lone cheerer, audience of one, laugh even harder.

And like the shiny blue pack and the boy with the cap, the mint nestled to my sole, as if it waned to take a nap! But what fun is that? So, with a tilt of my heel, or a click like Dorothy, I set the pod free and it soared all the way to 33B. And there it sits, a cage bird freed, and I just can't stop laughing here at 13C.

Betty

At Dino's in Yellow Springs. It's a lovely spring day out and hopefully the caffeine in this breve will boost my spirits all the more. A glorious breeze just came in from the outside. Every time a great gust covers me I am brought back to Turrialba, Costa Rica, on that rickety old beat up bus. Sitting next to my friend, Betty, who said when the wind blew, God was present. Of course I believed her. I thought so too...

We all stood atop that cypress hill and overlooked the city of San Jose. The cars beneath us resembled a swarm of fireflies and lighted the night sky like the fourth of July. Crooning one another to praise, we stood in a circle, like a family reunion on holiday. God came and whistled through our hair and whipped across our skin while slowly we made peace with the drunken drivers below.

In unison, we too drank our fill, and nestled deep into one another like a lifeboat saving us from hell. The melodies ceased and the air became crisp. Soon, the time would come to file on that old rickety bus. And next to Betty, we'd talk about God and his presence among the fireflies that night.

Coming down off that mountain, I saw the stars fall. Green, red, blue and silver too. They dropped from above with a whirling speed and looked like a farmer was planting his seed. And the moon overhead, a giant thumb clipping, told I'd find love, as the boy kept fishing. And I turned to Betty, who'd nodded to sleep, her hands were still clasped just sitting there wishing.

And back to the camp we made our way home. Into our bunk we settled forlorn. Sleeping it off, and rising next morn, we climbed the green mountain, and sounded the horn. The fog still was dancing, sunlight all around, into the forest and onto the ground. The lilies and ladies the creatures of night had roused from their sleeping to welcome our plight. And joining in song we echoed out loud, with joy and elation, forsaking our shroud.

The chalice passed round and the bread cleaved in two, his body was broken for me and for you. Dripping in goodness and glazed in his care, we tilted our heads and our chins to the air. And down from the mountain a glorious breeze, a gust of forgiveness and a wind of his ease. Settled upon us his powerful peace, we all felt his presence, his whispering plea.

And God was then near, his wind and his breath, had covered us over 'twoud hold us till death.

Faded Blue

Feels good just to sit here with a double tall cappuccino and ease into this Sabbath. My eyes are still heavy from last nights sleep and my body is worn from a week of running errands. The guy at the table across from me is wearing his Obama '08 pin, as usual, and the other bachelor, at his regular table, has no lady friend today. And guy number three, who gave a friendly "hello" as he sat to join me, is on his laptop- enough said. There's a pair of young girls to my right, but they might be older than I think, because they seem to be carrying a mature conversation. Which reminds me, my company and I had a great conversation last night. Very candidly, one of my guests shared about the first time he saw a naked woman. A mere recollection of the memory, and his eyes became wide, while a sheepish grin and rosy cheeks dressed his face beneath. He went on with his story...

He and his parents were over at a friends' house from church (something like a Sunday afternoon brunch), and he, being the lone kid, was quite ready to excuse himself from the awfully boring and mediocre conversation that had accompanied the roasted pork and applesauce. Besides, he assured himself, the lemonade he slurped down just minutes before, was calling for release. Dismissing himself from the table, he rounded the corner, leaving the dining room, and followed the faded blue carpet down the hall and into the guest bathroom. Flicked on the light switch, dropped his pants and made himself comfortable on the padded pink toiled seat. It wasn't long before he discovered the stack of periodicals and dated magazines on a dusty old shelf above the wastebasket in front of him. Stretching forward, and leaning down at the same time, he slowly pulled one out, from the very bottom of the stack.

Wow.

Perhaps an hour later, there was a knock on the bathroom door. "Sweetie, you okay?" asked the boy's mother. CRAP! How much time had passed? Was everyone waiting on him to go home? Had someone been waiting to use the bathroom? Tossing the magazine to the floor, he quick stood up, tucked in his shirt and fastened his pants. Jamming the magazine back onto the shelf, between all the Good Housekeeping’s and National Geographic’s, he reached for the sink counter to steady his stance. Remembering that his Mother was outside the bathroom door, waiting for a reply, he managed to get out “I’m okay, Mom. Be out in a sec’.” His mind, though still in a fog, was racing, and his body couldn’t seem to make any sense either, of what had just happened in that powdered blue and pink bathroom. He glanced at the overflowing shelf of magazines, checked himself in the vanity mirror and turned the doorknob. Flicking off the light, he rounded the corner, leaving the bathroom and strode down that faded blue carpet. Life was good. Immensely good.

20,000 and crooning

between the sheets, warmth sustained. she hoped, she prayed, almost lame. possessed he called, the pigs did flee. rocks cried out as did the trees. and traipsing down the bloodied trail, joy emerged, she did set sail. on the waters, calling out. there'd be no more, this sinful bout. sopping wet, naked, proud. she rose up on that earthen plow. stacks of harvest, golden rod. blinding sun, caused all to bow. piercing cries, a sobbing child. all in white, meek and mild. she rose out from the holy lake, gasping, flailing, he'd made her quake. the heavens shone and with a sigh, sang, "lullaby, my lullaby."

Leftovers

Friday morning I went to the farmers market in Strafford, as Kirk corrected me, and I'm so glad I did. What a great find. I got tons of beautifully fresh fruits and veggies all for $18.50. From the harvest I made a delicious stew- with portabellas, artichokes, snapped green beans, stewed tomatoes, red potatoes, onions, fresh basil and thyme. Next time I will add many more artichokes and portabellas. They cooked so wonderfully. May also try beets. I really enjoy root vegetables. Sweet potatoes would have been a nice addition, but I didn't add them because JK doesn't like them. The focaccia was tasty too. It truly makes a difference when you use fresh herbs in the dough. Delish.

After the farmers market I went to Kitchen Kapers for an instant read thermometer. Once home, I unloaded everything into the fridge, then got ready for work. Long day at work. I think mostly because I was trying to figure out how in the world I was going to get everything done by Saturday, 4pm. Stopped by the liquor store after work and settled on a tasty white wine for the risotto, instead of a dry one, and got two bottles of a cheap, but good, red I'd had before.

Got home around 8:30pm and began all the cooking. It took about an hour to make the crepe batter and pastry cream. Then I started on all the veggies. It was almost 11pm by the time I was washing the last of the dishes. I headed back to work for my sleepover shift and collapsed up in the Paoli Suite just after midnight.

Did breakfast Saturday morning, said the usual 'hello' to Jim and his masseuse lady, and had a relatively easy shift. Rick, the valet, was there with his family, celebrating his in laws 50th wedding anniversary. They were German and very cute. Once Jacque came to relieve me, I was off to buy a blowtorch. Got the torch and was back in my apartment undertaking the crepes. Made all 20 and folded the whipped cream into the thick, very thick, pastry cream. (I actually made the 20 layer crepe cake and everyone raved about it. I served it with fresh, deep red strawberries from the farmers market and a creamy hazelnut sauce). Made the focaccia next, then the parmesan risotto, and finished up with slicing the strawberries.

Justin, Emily and Olivia came around 5:00 and Olga, Chris, JK and Damka shortly after 5:30. The apartment smelled sweet and savory, but best of all was simply having company. We chatted a bit- I finished up in the kitchen, Justin assembled the blowtorch, and after pulling the table out and setting it for six, we all sat down to a warm, comforting meal. We said a prayer together, broke bread and drank in the wine. How wonderful to share a meal in the presence of those you love. It was a good night. A great night. It was nearly 2am by the time the sleepiness was like drunkenness, and it came time to say goodbye. Of course, I wished they all would stay- that my company would not part, but life goes on and tomorrow's another day. At least I'll have the leftovers.