Not So Much

Today was a quiet day--hot, humid, and still.  I stayed inside most of the day swatting flies that came in every time I went out into the garage.  Evidently my increasingly smelly garbage has attracted them and they sit on the door and fly in when I open it.  Trash night is Tuesday night so Wednesday I'll be cleaning the garbage bin to try to cut down on the flies.  I'm getting real good with the fly swatter.  And, no, I can't move the bin because the city says you can't be able to see it from the street and I have no place like that except the backyard.



Part of the day was spent finishing the play food pizza slice number one.  I really like how it turned out.  It's pepperoni and green pepper, I'll make the second one sausage and green pepper and maybe mushrooms but I suspect that you couldn't tell them and the sausage apart.  Oh, unless I use some variegated yarn I have that might look mushroom-y.  I'll give it a try.  In a few days.


One interesting thing that happened this afternoon was I heard it start to rain, when I looked out the street was wet but the patio wasn't, so it rained in front of the house but not in back of the house.  Crazy.



The second ripening tomato is looking good.  I finished my store-bought tomatoes today at lunch so one of these needs to get on the stick and be ready to be eaten.  Soon.







26 July--Barbara Malcolm, Better Than Mom's.

This was a stupid idea, Fay thought as she pushed through the door of the diner.  It was midafternoon and the place was deserted of customers.  But it was not empty, not by a long shot.  Every corner of the converted gas station was filled with the crashing of crockery and angry voices, both male.  A lovers’ spat? she thought.  Do I want to work for an unhappy gay couple?  It is hard enough working for a straight couple that is having a fight, how would I know which one to side with if it is two men fighting?  She was predisposed to side with the woman in any fight she witnessed, her experience with men not being reliably positive.  But then she heard, “This is the last time you try to sneak lumpy gravy past me, sonny boy.  You are fired.”  Well, guess that solves the problem of a lover’s quarrel.  Fay walked up to the counter and sat down, dropping her purse on the top with a clatter.

 “Be right out,” said the voice that had just fired somebody.

Tempted to crane her neck and try to see into the kitchen through the pass through, instead she swiveled around on her stool and checked out the place.  She could not hold back her grin.  The place was a testament to bad taste.  The walls of the area around the cash register were covered, no, paved with every imaginable shape of faux copper gelatin mold—pineapples and fish and Christmas trees and roses and train engines and hearts jostled plain squares and three-tier ones that reminded her of lunches at her old maid aunt’s house when she was a kid.  Tucked in a corner was a fake Franklin stove with a flickering fake fire inside, surrounded by a huge bower of garish fake flowers, hundreds of them by the looks of it.  I wonder who has to dust all of those, so the Health Department does not close them down.  She turned to look down the length of the dining room and saw a small buffet gondola with room for about four hot courses, six four-top tables, two two-tops, and six, no, seven booths under the windows. 

The windowsills made her giggle.  They were crammed with the most amazing assortment of old-fashioned kitchen utensils, wooden cheese boxes and scary-eyed dolls dressed in brightly colored clothes.  While she was surveying the place deciding if she wanted to ask for a job or not, she was also keeping an ear out for what was going on in the kitchen.  She could hear the older man’s voice urging someone to “get your things and I’ll get your pay.”  Fay knew the hard footsteps she heard stomp across the floor had to belong to the owner.  The scuffing steps had to belong to whoever had made the lumpy gravy.  They moved much slower and were accompanied by a sniffling that Fay could not tell if it came from stifling tears or chronic sinus problems. 

Judging by the mix of exhaust from the nearby interstate and what had to be factory effluent she had noticed that passed for air when she left her motel room that morning she hazarded a guess that anyone who lived in Stinson for any length of time ended up with sinus problems or allergies.  But the diner was clean and if the owner didn’t turn out to be too much of an asshole, she might actually like working there. 

“Help yourself to some coffee,” the voice from the back yelled.  “I will be a few minutes yet.” 

“Okay,” she said back, and slid off her stool. 

Around the corner behind the counter was just as clean and tidy, if not more so, than the public side of the place.  This was a good sign.  She had worked in too many places where the kitchen and work areas were just barely clean enough to pass health inspections.  She noticed that her shoes did not stick to the floor either.  All good.  But the coffee pot was empty.  Damn.  She shrugged, rinsed out the pot, rummaged around under the counter until she found the filters and coffee, dumped out the used grounds, and pushed the button to make a fresh pot.  While she waited for the coffee to brew, she wandered over to the buffet table to investigate what looked like three kinds of soup.  According to the little sign above each one, what she would find under the lids was Vegetable Beef, Cream of Asparagus, and Vegetarian Vegetable.  She lifted each lid and gave the soup a stir with the ladle leaning in the pot.  Looks like the Vegetarians were hungry today.  The Cream of Asparagus was getting a bit pasty, so she looked in the cooler and found a quart jar of chicken broth.  She uncapped the jar and poured a ladleful into the soup and stirred it in.  Better, she thought. 

“Can I help you?” 

Fay whirled guiltily around, the ladle in one hand, the jar of broth in the other.  “Oh, you startled me.”  She replaced the ladle in the soup pot, settled the lid on to keep it warm, recapped the jar of broth, and returned it to the cooler.  “I got up to get coffee but it was out, so I made some.  Then I smelled the soup, so I came over to see what kind and noticed that the Cream of Asparagus was getting a little thick.”  As Fay was talking, she waved her hands around as if she were leading a cheer.  “I have worked in a few restaurants and figured you might have a jar of broth handy to thin it out, looked in the cooler, and there it was.”  She threw her hands up as if she were a magician’s assistant.  “I hope you do not mind.” 

Today's toss was a trio of pottery glasses and a tiny teapot that I've never used.  I bought it on a whim because it looks like a ball of yarn but it's so small I never thought it was worth making tea in.

I roasted a head of cauliflower for supper tonight and had it, well, part of it, with some grilled chicken breast which meant that my supper was white.  I'd planned to cook a butternut squash to have too but didn't manage that.  I'll cook that tomorrow so my plate has a more varied color palette.

The major annoyance of the day was the non-appearance of the newspaper.  I called the carrier and he never called back or brought a paper.  Watch, he'll deliver today's and tomorrow's together in the morning.  Grr.
--Barbara