Check, please!

Our children and friends sometimes comment about "our waiters" - meaning the waitstaff that we know and even ask for when we dine out. And, as you know, we dine out a lot. For most families, dining out is a treat, and the exception. For us, dining in is the exception.

So if we dine out a lot, we become acquainted with a lot of waitstaff. At least those who stick around a place long enough for us to get acquainted. We have seen a lot of waitstaff pass by in our 20-plus years of dining at Chuy's! And it was at Chuy's that we we first began asking for Courtney. "Courtney the colorful, please," to differentiate her from the non-tattooed Courtney who also worked there at the time. Our Courtney was vividly tattooed - really! - and she finally left Chuy's to return to San Antonio, ostensibly to attend Mortuary Sciences school. I suppose if she always wore long sleeves and high collars she could become head-waiter in a mortuary.

Since then we have befriended  others, most recently Tim and Erin. Tim was a pony-tailed middle-aged man of indeterminate sexual persuasions who worried about his mother's failing health, We talked about his weight loss and the dishes he enjoyed preparing at home. And his mother moving to Hospice. Evidently, it became too much for him and one evening he had a melt-down at the restaurant and no longer works there. Erin is our waitress now. More about her later.

And then there's Dee and Beha at Frans - and Freddy, the manager. We hear about kids and family and think enough of them to leave small gifts at Christmas. Of course, when you eat at the same place several times a week, you not only grt to know the waitstaff, you also become acquainted with the other regulars - Mary and Daniel, Dot and Bill, and Coach.

But it's not always because we eat at a given place all the time. There is another Erin working at Suzi's who picked up on the fact that we liked certain dishes after just a few visits. We eat at Suzie's perhaps once every 6 weeks, but this Erin is skillful at her job and remembers our likes. Jorge at Tres Amigos is in the same category; it only took a few visits for him to know our drink is always iced tea with lime and Barb doesn't like spicy dishes. Of course, in both these establishments there is low turnover and a small number of staff. That makes a big difference.


I mentioned poor Julian at Red Lobster and his battle with hiccups. We ask for Julian because he is by far the best waiter we have come across. We have on a couple of occasions sought out his manager to tell her what great service we get. And it is not just us - the manager says three women come in each Sunday, always arriving before Julian's shift starts - and wait for him!

So back to Chuy's Erin. We ask for her because she (usually) gets our preferences for table sauce and drinks (limes, por favor) without being told. She's not as professional as her counterpart at Suzy's but over time we have gotten to know her. She shows us pictures of a wedding she was in, and we show show pictures of  our grand kids (and introduce her to family members when possible. Right Jason?). We know that her soldier husband has been in Afghanistan, and that after he came back he was not the same person he was, and that they separated. Last week she was giddy to tell us that they were trying again with the help of counseling.

I don't think her manager would have been pleased if we gathered around her and prayed for that marriage during the evening rush, so we didn't do that, but we do pray for that couple. And we'll ask how she's doing, and really want to know.

Monday Meanderings - June 28

And US interest in soccer fades into the sunset for another 4 years.

The other day my reverie was interrupted (retired speak for something woke me from my nap) by a "bong" from my nearby iTouch. It caused me to think how suddenly our lives have been filled with a plethora of little electronic beeps, bongs, dings and bings. Of course we have always endured the ringing phone and the chiming doorbell; more recently cell phones added ringtones, message notification chimes and text message trills. Even spookier is to be up late at night and hear a cell phone plead for a battery recharge with a series of plaintive bongs.

iPhone and iTouch and the ilk have added all these plus whatever method your apps use to notify you. E-mail has a distinctive tone. So does Facebook.  Words with Friends has a multi-tone chime. TextNow lets you choose your alert, including such favorites as belching and other bodily noises. I draw the line, there. Use the timer? Choose a barking dog, cricket, siren or a multitude of other signals. Dare I mention my Vuvuzela app? Intentional electronic disharmony!

Even my coffee pot beeps at me when it is through brewing and again when it turns off. No wonder I am growing deaf.

For some reason we have had snails in the garden and yard this year. Not the little slug-like snails, but big, colorful suckers. And I guess that's what they do because I keep finding them up in the Anacacho bush, gnawing on leaves. How they crawled through the tall grass to get there is a mystery yo me.

And on the subject of garden animals, we have been entertained by a little Tufted Titmouse that evidently wants to come in the house. The feeders are hung in front of the bonus room window so we can watch the birds while walking on the treadmill. Well, I watch them while walking; Barb walks in the mall. I don't know if they have birds there or not. But I digress. The Titmouse will come to the window ledge and peck on the glass - or fly up and down, fluttering its wings against the window pane. It doesn't seem to be a case of trying to fly through the window (the Redbirds try that every so often, and go away with terrible headaches). The Titmouse simply wants to come in, I think.

And I leave you with the greatest headline ever written.

Saturday Special

In honor of the World Cup games, here are three brass players from the Berlin Konzerthaus Orchestra rendering the chorale from Brahms's First Symphony and a bit of Ravel's Boléro on vuvuzelas.

Wait for Ravel's Boléro.

Stalking the Wild Artichoke

I have Sarah to thank for setting me off on a nostalgia kick; and Marybeth McCown for providing tonight's  memory.

We had artichokes for dinner this evening; not an unusual occurrence. Steam them, dip the ends of the leaves in melted butter and after finally working your way down to the thistle, spooning out the heart and dunking it in the butter, A bit of work, but the reward is grand and worth it.

We didn't always know about artichokes, and might not to this day if Marybeth had not had Roger stop the Land Rover on a roadside in Guatemala where she purchased some fresh artichokes from a local woman selling fruit and vegetables. She took them home and prepared them for us and introduced us to the art of pulling one leaf at a time off, dipping it and scraping off the meaty portion. Fond memories of that evening in Sacapulas.

We've enjoyed them often since then, and served them to others. A while back, I ran across an old suitor of Julie's who had been in our home years ago when we served artichokes. Mike told me that he had never seen the vegetable prepared before and confessed that he had to watch out of the corner of his eye to see what one did with this strange new dish, and was rather startled at what he saw.

He didn't say whether he still enjoyed a good fresh artichoke now and then, however.

But we do.

Needs no comment

Monday Meanderings - June 21

I'm catching some grief from a certain family member about the paucity of my blogging recently, but let me tell you that it's hard to watch three 90-minute soccer games an evening and have time for anything else! Okay, truth be told, I've cut back on the viewing somewhat. I'm willing to skip the grinders that end up nil/nil, as the announcers would say.There's a trade-off there, however. I have to know the scores and read the news reports of the games I've recorded in order to know which ones to watch. Oh, well.

Outdoor gardening-type trauma this week. Went out one morning and found one of the taller-than-the-house fig trees fallen onto the neighbor's house. There's a history of our trees falling on this neighbor, so I got out quickly with my little chain saw and de-limbed this fallen tree so that I could stack the remains on our side yard. Then all I has to do was to figure out what to do with a couple of truck-loads of branches and logs - and just a short time after our quarterly large brush pickup. I found that the city would come do a pick-up just for you -- for $100, and that's after you saw everything to length and stack it on the curb.

However, in a couple of days my new best friend Sheila, who is in charge of a lawn and tree service that was working across the street knocked on the door and said they would haul everything off for $45. Done. And they would cut back the Pecan tree branches that were scraping on the roof and haul them away for a similar sum. Double done. They even took down a large limb that was hanging high up in the tree, waiting to fall on someone. So all is well tree-wise at the moment.

We enjoyed having Jason with us this weekend (briefly) and last. He got to meet many of our friends who are waitstaff at the various restaurants we frequent. Too bad he wasn't around for Sunday lunch - he could have met Julian, our friend at Red Lobster, and learned, as we did, all about Julian's current bout with chronic hiccups. He's had these attacks before, and usually he ends up in the emergency room because they are so bad. Unfortunately, the current meds have not arrested the hiccups, though they have made him a bit loopy. We really felt sorry for him. "May I (hic) take your order (hic)."

Colt and Rachel's shower was this weekend. I didn't attend the shower, but earlier in the week it was announced that Colt had asked to address the members of the congregation so I was there to provide sound. Actually what Colt said was, "Rachel told me a few days ago that it would be nice for me to say something to ya'll." Glad to see that the relationship is off to a good start.  It was nice; he thanked us for welcoming him, his family and Rachel and he hoped that he was able to be a good example and serve as a role model to the youth of the congregation. He said they would be in Austin during the off-season and that they considered Westover their home congregation.

I don't know why we haven't noticed them in previous years, but the Crepe Myrtles have certainly made a big showing this Spring. They are everywhere you look and really stand out with all the colorful varieties. Makes me want to cut down the remaining fig trees and plant Crepe Myrtles. Maybe I better talk to my gardener, Sheila..

And welcome to Summer.

Monday Meanderings - June 14

Wow. Busy week. Let's see. First I... then I ... and after that... Phew! I get tired just thinking about it.

We had a bulk trash pickup in the neighborhood recently. Counting all the couches out on the curb, we couldn't help but think that the WVU students would have had a field day in our neighborhood. But maybe that's where they get the couches they torch. Who knew?

This was ROT (Republic of Texas) Rally weekend. More than 40,000 bikers in town. Barb and I exercised a lot of discretion and left the Harleys in the garage this week. It was best for all concerned.

The three blooms left on the orchid plant have been in gorgeous bloom since late March - and they show no signs of folding, Now a new stem has sprouted and is growing rapidly. If the plant is true to form, it will be many weeks before I see any blooms from this new stem.

A lot of talk about the Big XII being absorbed in large by the PAC-10; in fact Colorado and Kansas have already bolted. If the rest of the teams go with the PAC-10 and form two divisions, I understand they will be named the "In-N-Out" and the "Whataburger" divisions.

Of course, the big news is that World Cup has begun. The DVR is working overtime, but thus far I have seen all the matches (at least the important parts). We set the DVR and went out Friday morning (when Mexico was playing) and the parking lot at WalMart was empty! I recognize that I'm making an ethnic generality here, but it was so noticeable as to be startling. I will say that I'm not fond of the sound of the vuvuzelas - the angry bee-sounding horns the South Africans are so fond of. It would be a shame to watch the entire Cup with the TV muted, but it may come to that.

And here's a picture that pretty much sums up US - England relations after Saturday:

Monday Meanderings - June 7

Folks, you just can't make up stuff as good as happens for real here in Austin!

It seems that in the aftermath of some loony wandering around with a gun in the State Capitol building, then discharging his weapon on the south steps, the powers-that-be decided metal detectors should be installed and now entering that august building closely resembles trying to get on an airplane.

"Everything out of the pockets." Beep Beep.
 "Take off your belt." Beep Beep.
 "No, sir, you may not take your nail clippers into these hallowed halls." Beep Beep.
 "Sir, please step aside while we perform a strip search."

But there's a way to avoid all this. Carry a gun. Yes, if you are PACKING YOU CAN MARCH RIGHT IN BY WAY OF THE FAST LANE! No search. No Beep Beep. No sir. "I'm on my way to see my Representative carrying my Rick Perry Coyote Special (that's another story) AND YOU CAN'T STOP ME!" Just flash your Concealed Handgun License and sail right through. Yes, it is legal to carry a gun in the Capitol, and No, You don't have to show the actual gun to anyone! That's why they call them concealed hand guns.

The suspect logic behind this is that folks with carry permits have already been vetted; that is, among other things, they don't owe any past-due library fines and they could see over the counter at WalMart. Oh, and they have to be of sound mind. Well, who among us isn't? 

BTY, I have a good friend who teaches CHL classes who reads this blog and I'm sure he will want to counsel me on my egregious mis-characterizations of the requirements here. In my defense, Bill, this is an attempt at a humorous - if not quite entirely factual - blog.

Of course, it didn't take lobbyists and journalists and plain-old lazy citizens any time to catch on to this loophole, so the demand for CHL classes is way up - full of people who never intend to carry, but want the get-out-of-strip-search-free paper. Keep Austin Weird.

I understand that they've invented a car that runs on water! Of course, current models only support water from the Gulf of Mexico.

And for my reader who doesn't follow Facebook, this week Jana posted: "Do we have a future therapist in the house? A few nights ago at dinner, 4 year old Grace clapped her hands together in enthusiasm and said, "Ok, everyone. Tonight let's talk about what everyone is fe-e-e-ling. Let's start with Dad . . ." So we each had a turn to share our feelings--turned out to be the best thing on the menu." That's my girl!

Last week I saw a guy running along Braker Lane with a flaming torch - you know like the one they take around the world before the Olympics.  I checked the papers and there was no mention of any significant torch-carrying event - like London getting in a little practice before 2012. Maybe it was a terrorist in a clever disguise. Fooled me.

Driving up a volcano - in the dark!

This week Rob reminded me of an adventure of my youth. I guess It could be another story for my grandchildren, since no harm came to any of the participants.

In my teenage years my parents (Pops) got the travel bug and we toured the western US, dragging a home-made pop-up camping trailer. I've talked about the trailer before. I regret that I don't have a clear memory of everywhere we went, and when we went there, but I do remember that on this trip Richard and Margie Woods, Steve and Connie were traveling with us. We were homeward bound and somewhere south of Fort Collins when the generator went out on our car. Now at that time you could drive a car on the battery alone for a long time, as long as you didn't operate anything else electrical. That car didn't have A/C, there were no radio stations in that part of the world, and it was daylight, so we were good. I doubt that today's automobiles will continue to function for any period of time - if at all.

Our destination for camp that evening was Mt. Capulin, an extinct volcano that sticks up in the middle of Nowhere, New Mexico. You remember - as you are making that desolate dash across the corner of New Mexico, from Texline to Raton (or vice-versa) in just about the middle of that flat arid stretch  - about 2 miles north of the highway Mt Capulin just sticks up. There was supposed to be a campground there, and that was our goal.

We lost a lot of time along the way - trying to diagnose the problem and then find a replacement generator, so by the time we left Raton, it was getting dark. We came upon an old, slow-moving Ford pickup full of Hispanics going our direction, so Pops tucked in behind it and Richard (who had lights) trailed behind us, so we had a little convoy going. The guys in the back of the pickup were amused at our predicament, but recognized what was going on. This got us to the mid point and the turnoff to Mt Capulin and with the chances of encountering traffic on this road nil, we struck out for the campground.

I don't remember if it was because it was dark that we didn't see the campground at the base of the mountain, or that it wasn't much of a camp ground, or both, but we sailed right past it and followed the road round the mountain to the top, looking for a camp site. I remember Pops being cool with the situation. Not so much, my mother. When we got to the top, all we found was a gravel parking lot, and there was no way that my mother was going to drive down that mountain in the dark, so we popped the top on the camper (Richard & Margie had a pickup with a camper over the bed) and we spent the night in what in camping vernacular is called a "dry camp."

In the morning, we had a spectacular view of some really desolate countryside - and of the little campground at the base, so we rolled off the mountain and reestablished camp long enough for breakfast and then resumed the journey homeward.

Today Mt Capulin is a National Monument, and in addition to the campground, there is a lovely visitors center (you can see it in the foreground of the picture, Trust me, that wasn't there the night we drove up the mountain.) You can walk the rim and trek into the crater, and you might - as Barb and I did on one occasion  - see a bazillion ladybugs. But you can't camp the night up there.

48 Years

Yesterday was our 48th wedding anniversary. I feel I should mark it in some way here, but I honestly don't know how. What do you say about 48 years - except that it was a long time ago, and that it seems like only yesterday, and that we've been married all our lives, and that we're just getting started and that I still don't think I'm this old (except in the mornings when I rise).

Mind you, it pales when placed against my parent's 72 years together. Rob once wrote "Many people do not have a chance to have that many years, much less that many married to someone." But 48 feels significant right now.

We've played "where were we this time 48 years ago?" all this weekend. Barb even called her sister to remind her that after the rehearsal we had to rush to the dinner to rearrange place cards because the sister and her boyfriend  were back together. Until that weekend we had reason to place those two cards as far apart as we could. It worked out. They celebrated 46 years in February.

We celebrated as hard as we could, which for us is hardly noticeable to others. We enjoyed not one but two lovely meals at restaurants we save for special occasions. Heaven help us, a fine meal seems to be the apex of our lives.

And we've thought a lot about the last 48. Good years. Good times. Good companionship. More to come.

Again quoting Rob, from a very early age: "Aren't we glad we've got family?"