Nothing like a list to make me do nothing.

As if sensing that Id' be required to do chores, I developed a sudden case of wanderlust. I was driving home from an early morning appointment on Friday and thought, "Why not keep going?" I could be in another state in four hours.

Hubby had been making a list for Home Depot. I didn't even know what was on the list but I figured it could only mean one thing: home work.

As I considered travel as a means of avoiding the list, I remembered Hubby had an appointment that afternoon and I had to be back bright and early on Monday morning. 

I started to consider closer destinations. There were coastal cities only a couple of hours away. Both offered cooler temperatures and a plethora of entertainment and dining options. Only an hour away was a mountain town that promised slightly cooler temperatures and an event that featured beer.

Beer was more motivational than the list so we headed into the hills. The temperatures were not that much cooler and the beers were served in cans. Later, we found a winery with a parking lot turned patio under a parachute tent. The two-person band that played reminded me a little of some of the characters in The Righteous Gemstones. They were earnest but just off the mark.

It wasn't much but it was enough to satisfy my wanderlust and, more importantly, whatever was on the Home Depot list.

The next day, we went to Home Depot where we bought a plunger. 

You can just imagine what was on the to-do list.

Gone to the dogs.

We went to the mall on Sunday, mostly to walk. It was over 100 degrees outside and we were feeling lethargic and lazy. I suppose that's what Sunday's are for but we thought it would be good to get out of the house and get some exercise.

It turns out that teenagers still hang out at malls. The girls walk in packs and dress alike, wearing clothes that seem a tad too scanty to my old eyes. Innocent enough, though. They're trolling for attention - in real life rather than on social media. Were we that different? I don't know. I don't remember hanging out in malls.

What surprised me was the dogs. There were several. All were leashed but none of them wore a Service Dog vest. There was a lot of barking that echoed in the crowded mezzanine.

I get that it was too hot for owners to just let their dogs out in the yard, too hot to take them for a walk. But part of the reason for dogs to go outside is to relieve themselves and it was disgusting to see that at least one dog had done just that in the mall. We made a couple of laps around the mall's second story and each time passed a pile of excrement at the intersection of busy walkways. In that time, the owner hadn't come back to clean up its pet's mess.

I have never been a dog owner so I maybe I can't relate but when owners fail to clean up after their dogs, it sort of ruins it for other dog owners. I suspect there are circumstances when it's difficult or impossible to do the right thing in a given moment. But the more I see of dog poop, whether it's in a mall or in my community, the more I come to believe that this is not the case. Rather, I start to see all dog owners as irresponsible. (I know that's unfair because most of the people I know are dog owners and I see them all as responsible.)

Nevertheless, no amount of bitching will make the poop pick itself up. It's infuriating and yet I don't have the time or energy to be infuriated. Well, maybe enough time, at least, to write this post.

Anyway, maybe next weekend, I'll go for a bike ride instead. 

Black Keys

 I finally wore the old one out. 

When I wore through the printing on the keys, I bought stickers with the letters on them. Then, I wore right through the stickers. Finally, one of the keys gave out completely and it wasn't the one you might think. The letter E is the most common letter used in English (as in the word English itself). However, the keys on a keyboard that are used most often are the spacebar and the backspace key.

It was none of those and I didn't discover the issue until, one day, I couldn't log into one of the programs I use for work. I tried three times until I was forced to "forget my password" and create another one. That's when I figured out that one of the keys involved in my password was no longer working.

I tried cleaning the keyboard with compressed air. I tried removing the key - like lifting the hood and peering inside as if the problem will be obvious to someone who knows nothing about what she is looking at. It would work if I poked at the vacant spot with my pen cap but not when I replaced the key unless I pressed it pretty hard.

I could have made it work. I mean, why not? There's only about eight weeks left in Tax Season, Part II. But I gave in.

Sexy, no?

This one is actually quieter and it feels like the keys are a teeny bit smaller. Plus, I don't need to press the keys quite so hard to make them work. Does that mean they'll last longer? For now, what it means is I'm making quite a few typos so I'm having to use the backspace key a lot.

It's good thing that key doesn't get used in passwords.

Helpful

Hubby complained there was a good amount of hair on the floor of the bathroom. He said he was going to use the Swiffer to clean it up (no doubt wanting to be recognized for being helpful without having been asked). However, he told me, the Swiffer didn't have a pad and he didn't know where I kept them (meaning it wasn't his fault he couldn't be helpful but he deserved the credit for thinking of it).

"So," he said, "I took care of it the old fashioned way."

"You bent down and picked it up?" I asked.

"No. I turned off the bathroom light so I couldn't see it anymore.

Stayin' alive.

You know the people who stand on an airport tarmac with those orange wands? They always look bored. And there are only about two positions I ever see them in: arms over their head with the wands crossed like an X or arms waving the wands in a "come this way" gesture like the guy at the car wash. (Only the guy at the car wash doesn't have orange wands which makes me wonder what if he did have orange wands?)

Upon arriving at my final destination and taxing to the gate, one such tarmac person raised an arm to scratch his nose with the back of his hand. I thought, "What's going to happen now? Will we arrive at the wrong gate? Or, worse yet, crash?"

What if that person broke out in some sort of dance like the dancing traffic cop who inevitably get caught on video and make everyone smile? What if all of them were dancing?

Would all hell break loose? Their jobs would be less boring, that's for sure. Right up to the point when they are arrested. (I suppose the FAA takes these things more seriously than NYC, for example.)

Just once, I would like to see what would happen. I want to see one of those tarmac dudes bust a move. 

Just once.

I put diesel in my car.

Sometimes, Hubby is approached by a gas station attendant or another customer wanting to make sure he knows what he's doing. "Is your car a diesel?" or "Do you know that's diesel you're pumping?" they ask skeptically. 

The car is a 2014 BMW 5 series. And, yes, it takes diesel.

It's quiet, fast, and gets mileage. Not things you might associate with a diesel. Also, I never had to put fuel in it. That was Hubby's job.

That might sound sexist but when we bought the car, I had my own car. I took care of my car and he took care of his. While his was diesel, mine took gas. We figured the chances that we would put the wrong fuel into one of the cars was greatly reduced if I only pumped gas and he only pumped diesel.

Then, about five years ago, I sold my car and we became a one-car household. Most of the time, one car is all we need. I was working from home at the time (long before COVID necessitated working from home.)

But, the tradition carried on. Hubby pumped the diesel and now the only thing I pump is coffee.

Until yesterday. Yesterday, I put diesel in the car and I was a little nervous about it. It had been years since I put any kind of fuel in any kind of car. I did it without incident but when I got home from my errand, I told Hubby: 

"Don't get used to it."

How many days in a week?

 

One Can Hope

Have you ever walked into your home and notice a smell you hadn't noticed when you left? Like, maybe you should have taken the trash out before you left for a week. Or it could smell like you need to open some windows to air things out.

Until recently, when we would come home after some time away, our house had that new smell which was not all that surprising because it was new. The last time we left the house for any period of time, however, the house smelled like fresh baked cookies upon our return. I thought, What lovely surprise! although I couldn't imagine who might have used our kitchen without asking. Maybe one of the grandkids? 

But I found no cookies.

The house continued to smell like cookies for a few days and I was convinced I would either find them somewhere or someone would confess. 

Neither cookies nor a confession materialized and now my house just smells like house.

Maybe if I wish real hard the next time we go away, the cookies will appear.

What's with the rings?

I went for a 22 minute bike ride first thing this morning. Before coffee, even! This was followed by a 10 minute cool down. I figured that would close my exercise ring on my Apple watch but it only registered as 18 minutes. I'm not sure how it arrived at 18 minutes but I figured I could make it up later to get the full 30 minutes needed to close that ring.

Around midday, I went for a second bike ride - in 102 degree heat - for 15 minutes. According to the watch, I only needed 12 but Siri didn't chime in to let me know I had closed my exercise ring. After my ride, I checked my watch. It still said I only had 18 minutes total.

Here's what I'm thinking: the teeny tiny elves who've been busy hammering out all those awesomeness medals the watch keeps awarding me have the day off. Or maybe they went on strike. I have been pretty awesome lately.

Of  note, some of the activities that the watch will count as workouts are:

• curling
• golf 
• ping pong
• fishing
• hunting
• sailing

Housecleaning is not listed. Nor is taking a hot bath which I think should count as some sort of water activity.

Oh, well. I'm still awesome.

Coffee fail

I started the drip coffee maker without any water in it. 

Fortunately, not much time had passed before I figured it out and turned it off.

Nevertheless, I think I'll go take a nap while it cools off and try again later.

Bummer because that's where I left them.

 

A little run down?

 

This is a picture a neighbor took of us. We had just moved to Southern California and it was still a little chilly in late February. The sun was starting to set and we had dragged our chairs onto the edge of the golf course to get a better view.

She snapped this shot as we were enjoying a glass of wine, wearing light jackets. Later, she used this picture to test the new ink cartridge in her printer but there was something wrong. When she picked up the photo, all the ink started to slide towards the bottom of the picture. She had a laugh about it but I thought the effect was pretty cool. I bought a frame for it after the ink had fully dried.

We've moved since then and have been in our new house for a little over a year. We have always been slow to hang things on the wall, wherever we've lived. This is literally the only picture we've hung so far.

Needless to say, I like it.

Do Not Disturb

Hotel equivalent to a sock?

 

During what?

During what?

This is a picture of a little package of tissues. All the packages were labeled similarly. 

During what, I wonder. A zombie apocalypse?

The good news is the package is re-sealable in case it happens again. 

Maybe in Ohio?

I saw an article by Angelina LaRue in my local paper, reprinted from the Lubbock Avalanche-Journal, that began:

" You may recall a popular salad that’s been around for years that contains ranch-style beans, grated cheese, Fritos, and French dressing . . . "

And I thought, No! I definitely do not recall any such thing! (Sounds like something that might be in one of my Ohio cookbooks, however.)

"It's tasty . . ," the article continued.

Pass!

" . . . but I craved a cleaned-up version. . . ."

At this point I was thinking, This recipe needs more than cleaning up.

I glanced at the list of ingredients:

• 1 head heart of Romaine lettuce
• 15-ounce can Pinto beans, drained and rinsed
• 1 Haas avocado, pitted, peeled, and diced
• 3/4 cup whole black olives
• 1/2 cup grape tomato halves
• 1/2 red onion, peeled and diced
• 1/4 cup salted pumpkin seeds
• 1 to 2 radishes, trimmed and thinly sliced
• 2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lime juice
• 2 tablespoons cold water
• 1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper
• 1/4 teaspoon ground cumin
• 1/4 teaspoon chili powder

What? No Fritos? No cheese?

This was a total overhaul!

Now, I'm intrigued. And, with temperatures consistently over 100 degrees in my neck of the woods, this looks like a refreshing and easy dinner. I'm going to try this.

As for the original recipe, it looks like it may be more of a Texas thing.

Sorry, Ohio.

Who asks this?

I don't have my usual assortment of coffee; I only have the French Roast at home. Did you want something else?

I usually serve my guests whatever coffee I have on hand and for many years it was the French Roast from Starbucks. No one ever complained. In fact, some people proclaimed it the best coffee they'd ever had at my house as long as I didn't tell them what it was. (Some people have an aversion to Starbucks as a matter of principal.) 

I prepare it as espresso for Americanos and I think it's something about the aeration of the coffee as the water is added to the espresso that makes the difference. It comes out a little creamy. (Same trick works for whiskey, btw. Try it in a shaker before pouring it into a martini glass. It tastes different after shaking it and, again, I think it's because of the aeration in the shaking process.)

Starbucks ranks number one or two depending on what website you're looking at and the French Roast is one of Starbuck's most popular roasts. So, it stands to reason that most people liked whatever hot cup of joe I put in front of them.

So why mess with it? Because I started experimenting with local coffees. Sometimes, I would have up to three different roasts in the house in addition to 'Bucks French. 

There are only a few people who care much about what's in their cup in the morning. For them, I opened each canister of beans to let them compare aromas before choosing. Sometimes, we'll brew multiple different roasts and compare.

But who does that? 

Of my coffee station in the laundry room, one guest offered that it was like having my own cafe. I reminded her that it was still just an espresso machine in a laundry room. But, if I have a frappuccino blender in there the next time she's here, that's when she should start to get worried about my obsession.

She needn't worry. I like my coffee dark and black. And, now, local.

Where would you go?

After two weeks in quarantine, I decided it was time to leave the house. I showered, put on a dress, and took a COVID test. I dried my hair and put on jewelry. I was ready to face the world.

The test result was negative. I was free!

Where was the first place I went after two weeks of staying at home? Not eating at restaurants? No take out? No carpool, family, friends? After eating whatever was at home because that's all there was? I missed Hawaii, a trip to wine country with friends, a painting class, a wine paring event.

Where did I go? 

Starbucks.

I'm trying to decide if I am disappointed in myself or just unsurprised.

Aloha?

I'm sitting in a recliner for six hours to simulate a flight from Hawaii to California. I'm not wearing a mask and I'm not being served food or drink. That part seems realistic enough. I have a window seat but my view is far more terrestrial than celestial. I also have an aisle seat and don't need to step on anyone's toes if I have to get up to use the bathroom. My seat is ample and I have plenty of legroom which, for purposes of this exercise, is representative of the seat I would have had if I had gone to Hawaii.

However, I have not been in Hawaii for the last two weeks as I had intended. No, that trip was canceled, on the day before our departure, when we were the less-than-joyful recipients of a positive COVID test. Instead of sitting with our toes in the sand, we have been confined to our house. Granted, we do have palm trees in our backyard, and Total Wine would deliver rum to the house if we wanted it. But we don't have a blender or coconuts. Or those little tiny umbrellas that go in tropical drinks. 

It was Hubby that tested positive and we're rather lucky that he did. Rather, all the passengers on the flight that went to Hawaii without us were lucky. He had been feeling unwell but for some inexplicable reason, we never suspected COVID. Maybe we had become complacent but we had escaped it this far, hadn't we? There were plenty of other things it could have been and none of them had seemed serious enough to cancel the trip.

But that morning a friend sent a text saying he had tested positive for COVID. Hubby had just been golfing with him; they shared a golf cart together for hours. We have no idea who gave whom the bug or where it came from (although we have a few guesses). It wasn't until then that Hubby thought to take the test himself.

I was fine for several days but then I tested positive as well and one week stretched to two.

I did - twice - put on a new dress in the last few weeks. I had purchased them for the trip and decided that I could look fabulous even while in quarantine. The thing is, I'm quite comfortable at home and haven't been all that anxious to leave it. Total Wine did in fact deliver wine. We got our groceries delivered. We've been eating good, home-cooked meals, enjoying evenings on the patio or playing gin. Other than feeling various levels of cruddy, it hasn't been all that bad.

And, just like the Great Quarantine of 2020, we've saved a lot of money just by staying at home. We saved by not going to Hawaii, for starters. Plus, we haven't eaten out for weeks which will slash our credit card bill. Friends and neighbors check on us from time to time but we're doing quite well. (Hubby is still feeling cruddy despite testing negative but he should be better soon.)

Even American Express called. With no recent charges, they wanted to make sure we were still alive.

Now that my simulation has come to an end, I suppose it's time to get on with my life and consider going out amongst the living.

Oh, well. At least I don't have to unpack.

Self-relegated

My coffee making station has been relegated to the laundry room. In addition to the washer and dryer, there's some counter space, some cabinets, and a small sink. That room was used mainly for laundry and storage of things that had no where else to go. 

The espresso maker has always been in the kitchen. There's a little alcove there which appears to be the perfect nook for a coffee station but I felt it was too far away from the sink and the garbage so I put it on the counter next to the stove which was closer. The machine is black and silver as is the coffee grinder. It looks neat and modern in almost any location. And, it's not very large so it doesn't take up too much counter space.

But, it's loud. So loud that I can't make coffee if I'm the first one up because it will wake everybody else up in the household which is why I keep a growler full of cold coffee in the fridge. For such emergencies.

I've had my espresso machine since long before my grandson was born. He's used to the noise. As a baby, he was fascinated by it. He used to like to get up on a stool to watch me make my coffee and, before long, to help make it. But when he became old enough to play games on his laptop, the other players in his game would ask "What's that noise?" whenever I started the grinder for a coffee. Now, they're used to it too.

Once, while he was visiting my son, my daughter-in-law apologized for making so much noise with her Keurig coffee maker. He said, "That's not loud. You should hear my Grandma's."

On a whim, I decided to move the coffee apparatus to the laundry room where I can close the door. 

It's a little weird to make coffee in one's laundry room but it does work as a sufficient noise barrier. I can make coffee without waking Hubby or houseguests. Even though I've wiped down all the counters, it doesn't feel as clean - sanitary - as the kitchen. For this reason, I use a small cloth to lay out my instruments - the coffee scoop and tamper, a regular spoon, the portafilter and basket, and a measured shot glass. I ready myself with all the seriousness and precision of a surgeon.

It has taken a while to get the rhythm of making coffee in the laundry room. The flow is off but it works as designed. I get coffee while Hubby gets sleep. Plus, there's one pleasant but unintended consequence: My clothes now have the faint smell of coffee.

I have met my gateway coffee.

I brewed the Sumatra that I purchased from Coachella Valley Coffee and fell in love. This Sumatra may be my gateway into a deeper appreciation for coffee.

I have developed some ability to taste and discern the differences in wines. The same is true for beer. Coffee, on the other hand, has always eluded me. The tasting notes on a bag of coffee do not translate to what I am tasting in my mouth. In fact, I cannot come up with words of any kind to describe what I am tasting. I either like a coffee or I don't and mostly what I like is very darkly roasted coffee. French Roast is my go to.

I once had a coffee it Kafiex Roasters in Vancouver WA where I used the words "tastes like I mixed orange juice and milk" when trying to describe the bitterness of a coffee. This was after the roaster described the coffee as fruity.

I learned something. What is I was tasting might be described as fruity. I was learning what words go with what tastes. But my education ended there. 

Long before that, I tried a coffee tasting flight at Mauigrown Coffee. The place was crowded when I was there so I didn't have a chance of talking with the barista or the roaster about what I was tasting. Plus, the coffees samples were served in miniature paper cups. All I tasted was the paper. I didn't learn a thing.

For this morning's Sumatra, I made an Americano and drank it black. Then I tried to think about what I was tasting. The notes printed on the bag are "smooth dark chocolate & brown spice." A quick internet search provides a description of brown spice as "aromatic associated with cloves, cinnamon, mace and nutmeg."

Well, I don't know if I tasted all that. It tasted warm (as in comforting, which was maybe the "chocolate"?) and not as "burned toast" as a French Roast. There was a flavor that lingered pleasantly. It was smooth and soothing like a tea but warm and inviting like apple pie ("brown spice"?). Even though I would describe it as more sweet than sour, I would use the words "well balanced" which, if course, is only in the eye of the beholder, I suppose.

I look forward to having more of this Sumatra. I could be my new favorite coffee and what I love the most is that it comes from a local roaster.

Mornings never looked so good.