From the Way Back

 Today's toss took me on a trip through the way-back machine.  I pulled a box out from under

the counter next to the dryer and found old, solidified powder detergent sample boxes, some ammonia, some early camping towels (you know the kind swimmers use that you wring out and dry off again), a stack of Workbench magazines, and an envelope with "Save" written on it.  I filled a trash bag with the old detergent and the rest of the trash and carried the envelope upstairs.  In it were the old transfer patterns that I used when I embroidered designs on chambray shirts for my brothers and a few other people.  Shades of the 1970s and the prices are shocking--eighty-five cents for the patterns and a dollar-fifty for the booklets.  Those days are long gone.  I love the pictures on the booklets.  Groovy.  A friend embroiders so I emailed her asking if she'd like them.  I won't throw them away, I promise.  Maybe DD would like them, she embroiders.

The Stella d'Oro lilies are still representing.  Today there were four of them blooming.

I don't know what this is.  I'm certain that it's just some weed (not that kind of "weed" but A weed) but I thought it looked interesting.

The purple salvia has sent up new blooms...

and the tomatoes continue to ripen.  I had one for supper tonight so there's one left before I'll be pestering these tomatoes on the vine to get a move on.  It looks like at least one of them is almost ready to be picked.

 

I found this micro preemie hat in my knitting bag today.  This hat is so small it'd fit on a peach; that's one tiny baby.

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

Fay bustled over to greet them and led them to a booth halfway down the diner.  “Coffee?” she asked and received two nods in answer as they had their noses buried in menus.  “I’ll give you a minute.” 

She delivered two mugs of coffee to them and then went behind the counter and straightened every napkin holder, salt and pepper shaker, sugar dispenser, fake sweetener holder, and everything she could find to take her mind off what might be happening in the kitchen.  She cocked her head so her right ear, her “good” ear, was aimed in that direction, but could only hear murmurs coming from the back.  Keeping an eye on the couple in the booth with the menus, she went down the counter refilling mugs again and trading jibes with the regulars. 

When the husband (she assumed) half of the couple raised his head, she walked over to them, pulling her order pad from her pocket and retrieving her pen from behind her ear. 

“What can I get you folks?” she said as she stopped at their side. 

“I will have sausage biscuits and gravy,” said the man, “provided someone in your kitchen knows how to make them.  I hate mediocre sausage and canned biscuits.” 

“Our cook makes fresh biscuits daily,” Fay said.  She turned to look at the woman.  “And for you, ma’am?” 

The man spoke up instead.  “She will have one scrambled egg, with toast, and orange juice.” 

“White, whole wheat, or rye toast?”  He never looked at the woman to check which one she would like. 

“Wheat.” 

“Regular or homemade?” 

Again he answered without checking.  “Regular.” 

Man, and I thought Butch was a controlling shit of a husband, Fay thought. 

“Small, regular, or large orange juice?” 

“Small.” 

Fay saw the woman’s hands reflexively clench the menu at the sound of the man’s voice.  She made a point of making eye contact with the woman as she took the menu from her and gave the lady a little wink, which earned her the ghost of a smile. 

“I will just get your order in and come back to freshen your coffee.” 

As she turned away the “waitress” smile slid from her lips and she felt a frown start to drag her eyebrows together. 

When she leaned up to clip the ticket in the carousel, Brady said, “Anything wrong?” 

She shook her head.  “Not really, the husband of the couple in number six is a real a-hole.  Make sure his biscuits and gravy are exactly right; he is the kind of customer who would find something wrong in the best gourmet place.” 

Brady and Naomi exchanged smiles that brought a sigh from Fay.  They must have hit it off, she thought.  I have never seen Brady so relaxed. 

In no time at all the fragrance of baking biscuits wafted out into the diner. 

“Hey, Fay,” Raymond called, “I think I might be talked into having a biscuit with a little jam over here.” 

“Me too,” said Leo, “they smell too good to pass up.”  

Fay had to laugh.  It was almost as though everyone in the place was on their best behavior all of a sudden, but she could not decide if it was because Naomi was cooking for a job or because the guy in the booth was being so rude to his companion.  

In a very short time, the bell to tell her she had an order to pick up dinged. 

As she retrieved the plates she said, “Slap a couple of those biscuits on plates for Raymond and Leo too, please.  The smell got to them.” 

She turned and crossed the diner to serve the food.  As she laid the plate in front of the woman she saw the man’s head come up and swivel. 

Before he had a chance to open his mouth, she said to the woman, “I will get your orange juice now.  I like to wait to serve it until the food is ready so it is not lukewarm when you drink it.  I will be right back.” 

Foxed you, you old snot, she thought as she poured a glass of juice.  She could see that the man was disappointed that she had thwarted his opportunity to point out something negative.  She watched him carefully cut into his breakfast, spear a bite on his fork, and slowly raise it to his mouth, scrutinizing it as he did. 

Fay could tell by the smell and look of the plate of food that it would be the best sausage gravy and biscuits he had ever eaten.  What she did not know was whether he was man enough to say so.  Judging by the way he treated the woman with him, she thought he would rather cut out his tongue than hand out a compliment.  When she judged that they were about halfway through their meal, she picked up the coffee pot and went over to the booth. 

“How is everything?”  Her waitress timing was perfect; both of them had just taken a bite, their mouths were full, and speaking would have been rude.  He frowned but nodded, so she assumed his food was acceptable. 

“And yours, ma’am?”  The woman had swallowed. 

Fay barely heard her say, “fine.” 

“That is great.” She held up the pot, “Would anyone like more coffee?” and refilled his when he jerked his head toward his empty mug; the woman held her hand over hers in the universal “no more” gesture. 

Today was a much better day.  Even though it was terribly humid, I felt much more energetic and happy.  Thank goodness.

--Barbara