January 13, 2007

• I pulled out of my driveway and noticed the neighbors chatting at her mailbox.  I think they’re both in their early 70s.  He’s single and has lived across the street from her and her husband for years.  I had the jazz station on and it was honkey-tonk piano.  When I realized they were both in their bathrobes, he with no top, I stopped and lowered my window.

  “Hey, you two, pretty sexy.”  I turned up the music, gyrating to the beat.

  It was below freezing but neither acknowledged being half-naked. 

  “Where’r you goin’?” he asked.  His bathrobe was more open than closed and the grey, chest hair almost looked styled.

  “I’m going to pick up a recorder.”  He gave me a blank look so I held up an imaginary one and wiggled my fingers.  She knew what I was talking about.  I drove off and they were still yakking.  Then the Marian McPartland show came on.  Her voice sounds 80 but she plays piano like she’s hot.  I thought what is it with these old people?  Hell, my mother just came back from snorkeling in the Caribbean with her new boyfriend. 

  Even for January, 27 is cold here.  I was bundled up in my snow hat and mittens, driving across town to meet Margie at her shop.  She’s loaning me her tenor.  I was thinking the streets looked pretty bleak when I noticed a brilliant colored tree in someone’s yard.  The last time I saw it, it looked like all the other trees.  But someone had stood out in the freezing cold and tied magenta-colored ribbons all over its bare branches.  The shock of color was beautiful but as I thought of the hours it must have taken, for there were as many ribbons as there would have been leaves on this old tree, I thought they must be insane.  When I wondered if they did it to make the world a happier place, I laughed out loud.  There’s probably another explanation.

  After I picked up the recorder I was hungry and, being in a part of town I rarely get to, I went to a cafe I’ve always wanted to try.  It shares a name with my ex, and that has deterred me until today.  You could sit up at the counter, where it was warm, and watch the cook. She was half my age but twice the cook.  I don’t know how she juggled all those breakfast orders, flipping omelettes, shaking homestyle potatoes.  She’d give them a shake and then a flip.  It was a galley kitchen and she must have had eyes in the back of her head because she did all this while dodging the traffic behind her.  Presentation is everything and they had it down.  She’d put the fruit in a bowl, which would be obscured by a stack of french toast or hefty blueberry pancakes.  On the fruit would go a dollop of Nancy’s Yogurt but what looked like creme anglese would be hidden..  Over that she’d slice bananas and then sprinkle the whole thing with strawberries.  I could imagine people’s surprise, dipping into that sinful delight when they expected more yogurt. 

  I watched her baby some eggs.  I thought they were coddled but she called it “basting.”  Have you ever heard of this?  She heated up the oil and then went over to the hot water and added almost as much.  She’d fry the eggs but wouldn’t flip them.  At the end she wiped the eggs off with a napkin, pouring out the excess liquid.  She was a marvel to watch, using both hands and her stomach or whatever other body part was closest in the maneuver of getting warm plates and hot pans over to the counter.  She had saute pans overhead with someone’s wilted spinach resting on the stack and another pan in the oven with sausage on hold.  The toast was on the grill and the bacon was keeping warm, dripping through a grate at the edge of the grill.  The eggs were cooking on the front burner with another set in back at a lower temp.  She did breakfast for four all at the same time.  As soon as the plates hit the counter they got garnished and were whisked away by a  waiting waitress.  Four people in that tiny kitchen moved together in a dance they do each morning.   

  I’ve been collecting quotes from The Daily Guru, and I went there looking for one which might suit my happy day.  I found a line by John Bunyan, which is close enough:  “Do you sense the peace and contentment that can come from an appreciation of one’s place in the cosmos?”  I know Emily does.
  
  
  

  • 7:06 pm
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