Today's Toss

 Today's toss gets top billing because I had such fun with it.  The other day when I

was sorting out wide-mouth pints for DIL1, I came across a wooden tray with 24 Coke bottles in it.  (well, 21 Cokes, 2 Sprite, and 1 Fanta actually) Three of them had ancient homemade ketchup in them which I poured down the disposal.  My grandma made ketchup, Dad made it every once in a while, and I made it once.  This was the last of that attempt.  It's less all-tomato and more spice-y than store bought, good but I won't make it again.  The fun part was that the bottles are old enough that the city and state of origin is pressed into the bottom.  I looked through a few and found Providence, RI, Toledo, OH, Charlotte, NC, and Indianapolis, IN.  I remember being a kid and once you finished your Coke you looked at the bottom to see whose bottle was from the farthest away.  Simpler times.

I finished Cast Sock 6 this morning.  I told you that I only had six rounds to go and they were the shortest ones so it didn't take long.

Next I cast on a Seamen's Church Institute cowl.  It seems so huge after knitting

up six cast socks in a row but it's exactly double the stitches so it's like making two socks at once.  I keep telling myself that when I feel like the round is endless.

Another of the Stella d'Oro lilies bloomed today and you can see that there's a bud next to it ready for tomorrow.

 

 

29 August--Barbara Malcolm, Better Than Mom's. 

She heard Raymond arguing with one of the policemen that Officer Bates had left outside to keep gawkers away and keep people from stealing things.  “I come here every morning for coffee, young man,” Raymond said.  “I do not understand why I can not just go around to the back if the front door is locked.  I have done it in the past when they were tardy in opening.” 

It was easy to distinguish Raymond’s confident footsteps from the skittering shuffle of the young policeman trying to uphold his superior officer’s commands and still not offend this older gentleman with the commanding presence.  Fay was not surprised to see Raymond appear in the open door looking mulish and out of sorts. 

“Fay, what is going on here?” he said, marching into the kitchen like he must have entered a boardroom when he was running the paper mill.  “Why is this child telling me that the diner is closed?” 

Fay looked at him as if he was speaking a foreign tongue.  “I do not know, Raymond.  Do you think it could be because some jackass tossed the planters through the windows and then came into the diner and wrecked everything?  Maybe because the whole room is filled with dirt and coffee grounds and sour milk so there is not a clean place to sit or an unbroken mug or plate?  It might be because there is broken glass mixed in with all of that mess and the cash register is sitting behind the counter in about sixteen pieces.  What do you think, Raymond?  We are closed just to piss you off?” 

Raymond looked at Fay as if he could not believe what he had just heard from the woman who had flirted with him and teased him and sometimes chastised him, but never been anything but polite to him. 

“Well, there is no cause to be sarcastic, Fay.  I just want a cup of coffee.”  He looked around the kitchen as if expecting someone to walk up to him with a mug on a tray.  

Naomi, who had not looked up from her chopping, kept on chopping.  The only other person in the room was the young policeman he had steamrollered past to get in there.  

“There is no coffee, Raymond,” Fay said.  “At the moment, I am not sure if Better Than Mom’s will be open anytime soon.  There is a lot of cleaning up to be done.  A lot of expensive equipment will need to be replaced.  And to be honest with you, I am not at all sure Brady can afford to start over from scratch.  My guess would be that if the place had caught fire, he would have been covered, but I do not know if you can buy insurance against vandalism.”

 She shook her head. 

“Go home, Raymond.  Learn to make your own coffee for a day or two.  Come back by at the end of the week and maybe we will know more.” 

She bent her head back to neatly lettering her sign, dismissing him. 

“Well, I guess I will go on home if you will not even give a man a cup of coffee.” 

“Try the drive-through at Mickey D’s, sir,” the young officer tried to help. 

“Have you ever tasted that vile brew, young man?” Raymond looked at him as if he had suggested he drink poison. 

“Yes, sir, I drink it every morning.” 

“Then you have never had real coffee.  I pity you.”  Raymond turned away and marched out of the kitchen door. 

The young policeman hesitated at the doorway.  He cleared his throat.  “Is the coffee you make here really better than at the drive-thru?” 

Naomi looked at him.  “Honey, if that is the only coffee you drink, you are in for a treat.”  She wiped her hands on her apron, crossed the room, pulled a mug down from the shelf, and poured him a cup from the pot always on.  “Cream and sugar?” she asked him.

 “No, thank you, ma’am.  I drink it black.”  She handed him the mug.  He dipped his nose into the fragrant steam and took a tentative sip.  Fay and Naomi watched his face as he tasted and swallowed his first taste of real coffee.  

Naomi could not stand the suspense.  “Well?” 

He smiled at her.  “You are right.  That is not real coffee at the drive-thru.  Not if this is what coffee is supposed to taste like.”

It was a lovely day, temps in the 70s and breezy, so nice and not humid that I took a walk.  The only bad thing was that I had the windows open (still do) and the breeze blew from Burger King my way so the tempting aroma of grilling burgers filled my house but I did not cave in.  I had a garden-fresh cucumber and tomato salad for supper.  Mm.

--Barbara