Late Night Thoughts

Why am I here? I could be anywhere in the world, yet I choose this place to be...right now.

Karoke took the center stage tonight in the campground. Young, old, and in-between sat in chairs and on picnic tables for the potluck and evening entertainment. My friends and neighbors took the golf carts up to the community center with coolers loaded with beverages and watched while grandpas sang with their grandchildren, kids sang with kids, and some truly talented people sang for real.

"Sean from Colorado" was there, along with mullet man, sloppy stucco guy, and other assorted characters.

Here I'm told I speak with a southern accent. Funny, 'cuz down south I'm told I have a North Dakota accent.

Last night I was picked up in a golf cart by a neighbor, and we visited several campfires before we finally finished at 3:30 this morning. We laughed. We talked. We drank...way too much.

Unable to sleep, I got out of bed at 8:30 this morning and made homemade salsa, hearty beans in the crockpot, and coffee. After chopping up jalapenos I got into the shower and rubbed my eyes. Bad idea. I thought I might be blinded for life after rubbing jalapeno oil into both eyes. A few hours later the tips of my fingers still burned, even though I had washed them with soap several times. Note to self: wear gloves next time I chop jalapenos.

Note to self: don't blog late in the evening after karoke and many drinks.

Simple Things

It is that time of the year where the earth is abundant and bursting with food. I finished the last slice of tomato pie at lunch - what would I eat for supper?

Duh. I've been picking tons of cherry tomatoes every day. And my basil is tall and fragrant. So for supper I cooked up some penne pasta and added fresh basil, garlic, mozzarella, and quartered cherry tomatoes. A little salt, pepper and olive oil, and I had a feast on my hands.

Tomorrow I'm off to Milwaukee on business. Then back to my lush, fragrant garden which provides me with most of what I need to make me happy.

Tomato Pie:

1 9-inch deep dish pie crust from the frozen food section
2 to 4 large, ripe tomatoes fresh from the garden, peeled and sliced
1/2 c. fresh basil, chopped
1/2 lb. bacon, cooked and crumbled
3 green onions, sliced thin
1 t. dried oregano, or fresh if you have it (and I do)
1 t. garlic powder or garlic salt
1/2 t. red pepper flakes or cajun seasoning
1/t c. mayo
2 c. shredded cheese, like taco flavored, or tomato basil flavored

Preheat oven to 375.

To peel the tomatoes, cut an X in the bottom of each and dunk into boiling water for a few seconds. Then you can easily peel the skin off. Slice them up as thin or thick as you like.

In the frozen pice crust, layer the tomatoes, basil, green onions, bacon, and spices in alternating layers.

For the topping, mix the mayo and cheese together and spread over the top.

Cover lightly with tin foil and bake for 30 minutes. Uncover and bake for another 30 minutes.

Serve hot or cold.

Pasta with Basil, Mozzarella, Garlic, and Tomatoes
Penne pasta
Basil, chopped
Garlic, chopped
Cherry tomatoes, cut into quarters
Fresh mozzarella, cut into small pieces
Olive oil

Cook the pasta in boiling salted water until done. Toss the hot pasta with the cheese, basil, garlic, tomatoes and basil. Drizzle with olive oil. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

If It Weren't My Life, It Would Be A Sitcom

Today I had to travel to Calgary, Canada for business. I cleared security in Fargo, got on my flight to Denver, and sat back and relaxed for the 2-hour flight. As soon as I turned my phone on on landing in Denver, my niece called. She said "don't you need a passport to go to Canada"? I said "yes, I have it".

"No, you don't", she replied. "United just called and said they found it in Fargo's airport."

Lots of expletives came to mind, but I was still sitting on board an airplane, so I politely thanked her for the information and hung up. When I got off the plane, United confirmed to me, that yes indeed you need a passport to go to Canada, and so rebooked me back to Fargo.

Another trip to United to ask - "could they put the passport on the next flight to Denver, and if so, can I still make it to Calgary tonight"?

Thanks to the good people of Fargo, and United Airlines, I got my passport and got on a later flight to Calgary. Upon arrival in Canada, I cleared customs and immigration and went to the phones to call my hotel shuttle.

"You don't have a reservation with us, and we're sold out", I was told by the Hampton Suites.

"But I do - I'll get the confirmation number and call you back".

So I called the travel agency, and nice man in India told me that yes, I do have a reservation for tonight at the Hampton Suites, and here is the confirmation number.

"Aha", I thought. "I'll show them", calling the Hampton Suites back.

"Aha", said the front desk agent. Your reservation is for the 21st of September, not 21st of August.

(More expletives inserted here).

"Here's the number for the Best Western. Good luck".

So I called the Best Western.

"You're in luck - we have rooms available at a very good rate!" Just give me your credit card number and we'll send the shuttle for you."

So after giving them my info, they sent me a limo desk for the shuttle. The girl behind the desk was maybe 17, not wearing a bra, and was obviously very proud of her endowments, which jiggled with every keystroke she typed. She didn't look at me, ask my name, or anything - just told me to go sit in the chairs and she'd call me.

So a driver came in looking for me. She claimed to know nothing about it. Then she remembered. When he asked where he was to take me, the girl behind the counter said "Airport something, I don't know". I know about this conversation because he related it to me on the way to the hotel. He still didn't know which hotel he was supposed to take me to, but I had told my coworkers to pick me up at the Best Western Port of Call. So he dropped me there...only to find out that I had made the booking at the other Best Western. I was done in, so I called the other Best Western and told them to cancel my reservation.

"But we're completely full, and we've been turning people away just to hold your room for you", they said.

"Bull****", I said, "I only booked it with you 15 minutes ago, and you had plenty of rooms then.

"We'll have to charge you for no-showing", they said. I told them how stupid their person was at the airport, and said I wasn't paying. She wouldn't let me off the damn phone! I finally hung up on her and checked in at the Port of Call.

"Ah, miss", the limo driver said.

"You can go - it's all settled now", I said.

"But the other hotel was going to give me a voucher, so you'll have to pay me for the ride".

Like I said, if it weren't my life, it would be a script for a sitcom.

A Day On the Sandbar

The sandbar is a jutting strip of sand and rock between Pelican and Fish Lake. Every summer weekend as long as I remember boaters beach themselves on the sand and kids, dogs, coolers, frisbees, footballs, and assorted inflatable devices come out. Everyone knows where it is, and cries of "see you on the sandbar" echo throughout the RV park Saturdays around noon.

The Fish Lake side is warm with a sandy bottom, so that's where most people swim. Jet skis are beached here too, and neighbors let neighbors ride them at will. Occasionally a boat will leave temporarily to take someone wake boarding or skiing, and we'll save their place on the sandbar.

Puppies and grown dogs often have their first water experience here. They'll fetch tennis balls for hours on end, and race each other to see who can get to the ball first. I've never seen a dog fight there - instead, there seems to almost be a communal spirit amongst them, big and small, old and young. When one dog gets to the ball first and swims it back in, I've seen them drop it in the shallow water so that the smaller dog can claim victory and bring it back to its owner.

After a couple of hours, the food comes out. Dips, spreads, crackers, cheese, chips, pasta salads, you name it. We often use the front of the pontoon as a buffet line, and our friends line up the dishes for all to sample. It's a good way to meet new people too - we've invited strangers to judge whose dip is better, for example.

Usually around 6 or so, we start the trek back to the public access, haul the boat out, and enjoy our supper. Last night I enjoyed t-bone steak and fresh veggies on the grill at a friend's house. I just wandered over and was invited to eat, so I did.

After supper the campfires are started. Sometimes I spend the whole night at one campfire, sometimes I wander around to see where the party is. I always have to do laundry Sunday or Monday though, because my clothes smell so strongly of wood smoke.

Life is good.

Where's Waldo?

This little guy has obviously mistaken my basil for a lily pad.

The Smells of Summer

Today is a rainy kind of day; the kind that makes me want to curl up with a good book, or take an afternoon nap.

As I sit here listening to the gentle rain on my rubber roof, I smell the lily that I cut from my garden yesterday and put into an old glass pickle jar.

And chives. I harvested a bunch of chives this morning, washed them, and chopped them up. I'm going to freeze them so I can experience summer all winter long. There's nothing better than scrambled eggs with fresh chives in the morning.

The fresh, cool air drifts through my camper. I think we've already hit our high for the day, and tomorrow is only going to be 74. It's a lovely break from the heat of summer.

Summer Palace

I don't usually like to post jokes, but this one really hit my funnybone. It's insulting, but as a frequent flyer, it expresses a lot. The attitude of some airline's cabin crew these days can be downright nasty. On the other hand, I flew Frontier Airlines on this trip, and you could tell that the crew really loved their jobs. They were friendly without being robots, relaxed, and concientious.

So here's the joke currently circulating at work. I used to work for American Airlines, and now I fly them frequently.

A guy is sitting in the bar in departures at a busy airport. A beautiful woman walks in and sits down at the table next to him. He decides because she's got a uniform on, she's probably an off-duty flight attendant. So, he decides to have a go at picking her up by identifying the airline she flies for, thereby impressing her greatly.

He leans across to her and says the Delta Airlines motto: 'We love to fly and it shows.'The woman looks at him blankly.

He sits back and thinks up another line. He leans forward again and delivers the Air France motto: 'Winning the hearts of the world.'

Again she just stares at him with a slightly puzzled look on her face. Undeterred, he tries again, this time saying the Malaysian Airlines motto: 'Going beyond expectations.'

The woman looks at him sternly and says "What the f_ck do you want?""Ah!" he says, sitting back with a smile on his face. "American Airlines!!!"

Summer In the City

My Winter Palace is in Fort Worth, Texas, and I've arrived to the hottest days of the year. Saturday hit 107 degrees, Sunday 105, and yesterday a cool 103. At 8:30 pm last night as I was driving home after dinner with friends, the car thermometer said it was 98. And as I write this at 6:00 am, it's 83 degrees. The cicadas are thrumming loudly, and the sun is only hinting of coming up.

Since my arrival, I've had to have my car jump started four times before I was told that my battery was dead. Saturday I drove around for more than an hour trying to find someone that would replace it. You see, in a PT Cruiser it's not so easy to replace a battery - you have to remove other parts first. And in the heat, nobody was willing to spend an hour on it. So I would go from garage to garage, leave the car running, have the mechanic come out and pop the hood to tell me if they would do the work before I shut my car off. I finally found a wonderful Firestone station that took care of me.

My critters here are healthy, and very happy to see me. It's a good thing my air conditioner works well, because I'm covered in cat most of the night. It'll be hard as always to leave them again on Thursday, but they're in good hands.

Right now at my Summer Palace it's a chilly 58 degrees, with a high of 81. Ah, paradise.

Taxi Cab Confessions

I'm visiting my Winter Palace for a week, and took a taxi home from the airport yesterday afternoon. The taxi driver took a personal phone call during the drive, and when he finished I politely asked him where he was from. I could tell that he was uncomfortable with the question, but finally said "the Middle East".

"Ah", I said. "I thought that was Arabic you were speaking. Where in the Middle East are you from?"

"Cairo, Egypt", the man replied. "I've been in America for one year".

Once he figured out that I wasn't trying to assertain if he was a terrorist, he started talking about himself. He came here mainly for his children, he said. Life for a Christian (Coptic) in Egypt is very difficult, and hard to keep a job. He was a chemist (pharmacist) there, and hadn't yet found the same type of job in the U.S., but he was grateful for being here all the same.

It reminded me of other taxi rides I've taken. Like the old man in Kingston, Jamaica that offered to marry me and bring me to live on his coffee farm in the Blue Mountains. Or the driver in Jordan who, when he heard I was from Texas, told me he was a Palestinian who only wanted peace, and could I tell George Bush that? I told him I would, next time I saw him.

People are very interesting if you take the time to ask who they are.