Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
He’s wearing running shoes – with dress socks *gasp* – and an active-wear shirt when all he’s doing are the two double-yous – walking and writing. That’s not what a active-wear attire is for. What’s next, white shoes before Memorial Day and cake for breakfast?
The world is in a shocking state of decay.
You ever buy a package of food, and read their claim on the package that it contains two point five servings in it? So you look at it, and think, “No way. That barely has enough in it for me.” You ever do that?
Yeah, what kind of con are they trying to pull on us?
Have you ever been about to eat something when your cat comes up to smell it, so you let them sniff it, and they draw back with a dismayed look, and then seem to look disappointed that you’re still going to eat this food that smells bad to them?
No? Is it just me, then?
You ever think about the genetic connections, moments of thought and experience, and the actions taken and not taken, the words said and heard, that allow you to arrive at the moment that a piece of pie comes, and you sit up with excitement and anticipation, and say, “Oh, boy, pie!”?
Naw, me neither.
I dreamed of my sisters, sisters-in-law, and their daughters. My wife was also present, but ‘off-stage’, in the other room. Sometimes I heard her, but I never saw her. Only one male was in it; he didn’t enter until the end.
I was in someone’s house. I don’t know whose house. Toward the dream’s beginning, one sister-in-law entered. She and I hugged. She said, “How long until December?”
There was a calendar on the wall beside us. Indicating it, I said, “You’re behind. It’s already December. It’s almost the middle of December.”
She and I joined the others by a coffee table. Everyone was happy to see me, and I was happy to see them, but I knew it was a dream, and I was trying to understand why they were there, and what was going on. Bowls of finger-food and plates of sandwiches filled the coffee table. My two youngest sisters were beside it. The youngest was talking and laughing with several nieces, while the next oldest sister talked to me about the food and asked me what I wanted. I saw my older sister and my other sister in another part of the room. Multiple overlapping conversations were taking place, and there was a lot of laughter. I couldn’t hear much of what was being said. My sister-in-law sat close to me, trying to talk to me, but my sister was also talking to me, leaving me unable to answer either.
Taking a break from them, I went into another room. My Dad was in there, doing business. I was trying to understand what his business was, and what was he doing. Although I asked these questions, I couldn’t comprehend his responses. Eventually, I went back into the other room to find something to eat.
Which is where memory of the dream fades.
I’m pleased for my friend, Ron.
Ron’s son and daughter-in-law have started a business. Located in Sherwood, Oregon, it’s called Smockville Brewhouse. Click on the link, and check it out. Go ahead, I’ll wait here.
I’m please for Ron, not because his son is opening a business, but because of the relationship the two of them, and the entire family, demonstrated while the idea germinated, the business plan was created, and the brewhouse established. It was beautiful to see Ron’s happiness, pride, and enthusiasm.
I hope the business flourishes. If it’s dependent on enthusiasm and pride, there’s a damn good chance that it will.
My beautiful little sister – you know, the grandmother and great-grandmother – has her birthday today. Happy birthday, little sister! Naturally, I stream all manner of memories from the time around her birth. One bright, shiny moment was after she was brought home. We lived on McNary Boulevard in Wilkinsburg, PA, then. All my young neighborhood friends wanted to come into the house to see the baby. I don’t know what drove them to want to see her, but Mom obliged, you know, as long as we didn’t wake her. Let sleeping babies lie.
For her special day, my little sister – let’s call her Gina – wants to go to a restaurant where they get to spin the wheel. As I understand it, you spin the wheel, and you win gifts, or free food and drinks. Everyone else in the family did it for their birthday. Gina wants to do it, too. I understand; even I would like to spin the wheel. Alas, though, Ashland doesn’t have a place to spin the wheel.
Ashland doesn’t have fun restaurants like that. Dominated by the Oregon Shakespeare Festival and numerous art galleries, we’re very serious about food, here. We can blame demographics. Professionals dominate our permanent population. We have the theater scene, a forensics lab, university, and grade, middle, and high schools. They, and the city and the restaurants, create the job market, along with professionals to serve the professionals, like lawyers, architects, hair-stylists, and landscapers.
Most of our professionals are retired, with adult children. Food leans toward conservative, adult offerings, with interesting preparation and presentations. Pizza and pub-grub are offered as alternatives. The food is organic and natural, with meat from grass-fed, antibiotic-free animals. Vegetarian offerings are salads, black-bean burgers, or meals fixed with tofu substitutes. Vegan offerings are weak. The pub-grub is served with a helping of television screens to watch sports. We do have terrific breweries and wineries, and chocolatiers. You can drink and have fun, but that’s a pretty limited spectrum.
We also lack a good deli. The delis are embedded in the chain groceries – Safeway, Albertson’s, and Market of Choice. There’s no stand-alone deli to go in and have a sandwich made your way. Two Subways, one Wendy’s, and one Taco Bell represent our fast-food places. There is a Burger King on the Interstate exit, but that’s outside of town. That’s how serious Ashland is about food.
Even our coffee places are serious. Two Starbucks represent the mass consumer trends, but we tend toward places that roast their beans locally, or buy from someone who roasts their beans locally.
Here’s the tricky part. Our retired professionals have grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. They come to visit. Likewise, the theater-goers have children, and more people are moving up from California. These Caligonians have friends who visit, with their children. The thing is, children come. When they do, the most fun is the ice-cream shops, or pizzas. There’s no place to spin the wheel.
Yes, you can mark this up to demographics. Personally, I put it down as lack of imagination. One pub-grub place closes, another one opens in its place. Ditto, with the froo-froo eateries.
So you if you want a hormone-free, grass-fed burger, or an excellent omelet, beer, or wine, we’re your place. Just don’t expect to spin the wheel.
You ever have the good fortune to eat so much that you think, I am never going to eat again?
Yes, I’ve been lucky enough to do that many times in my life. Yesterday was one of those times.
Have you ever ordered a meal, and discovered that it’s terrible, but you ate it all, because your mother taught you to always eat everything on your plate?
Yeah, no, me, neither.
Michael Seidel, writer 