Unwilling Participant

I was trolling the aisles of the discount clothing and home store, looking for Heidi, when a woman stepped in front of me, blocking me in. "Excuse me," she said. "Is this too much color?" She gestured at the top she was wearing as she surveyed herself in the mirror on the endcap.

Without pushing past her, I was stuck, so I took a look. The blouse had an orange, brown, and black botanical pattern on a backdrop of ivory. The colors were more muted than loud, and I shrugged and shook my head. "It has kind of an autumn palette," I told her as she fidgeted with the buttons and the waist tie at the bottom. "It's not really that bright."

"What can I wear it with?" she asked me. "Is this white?" she pointed to the background. "Can I wear it with white?"

She was wearing it over her own clothes, a reddish T-shirt and very light, cream-colored pants. It went well enough with them that if she hadn't pointed it out, I wouldn't have known it was not part of her outfit. "You can wear it with those," I said, pointing to her pants.

She poked out her bottom lip and tilted her head, considering my feedback. "But what else will it go with?"

"Maybe black?" I suggested. "In the fall?"

"Does it fit me?" she continued, "because I don't have to buy it if it doesn't look good." She scowled, and I took a step back.

"I think so," I answered. "The seam of the shoulder matches your shoulder." I pointed. "It's kind of flowy, but it's not unflattering."

"Thank you," she said, stepping aside, but never taking her eyes off herself in the mirror.

"You're welcome," I told her, and spotting Heidi not too far away, hurried in that direction. 

I have no idea what she decided.

Ooh, Shiny!

I needed the salad spinner out of the closet to dry the greens we bought at the farmer's market, but I had to move the extra AC filters to reach it off the shelf. Since I had the filters in my hand, I decided to go ahead and change the old one; after all, the air handler was right there. However, when I removed the used filter, the vent cover was also pretty dirty, so I retrieved the lambswool duster and cleaned that grate as well. During that job, some cat hair wafted to the floor, and I took a moment to open the app and send the Roomba out for duty. 

Once the closet was closed, I decided to take the kitchen trash, along with the used filter, to the rubbish enclosure up the hill. On the way back, I made a quick detour into the woods to snag the memory card from the wildlife camera I got for my birthday, and I was just about to sit down and see if we got any pictures when I noticed the greens on the counter, still in need of a salad spinner.

And don't even ask what I did once I got back into the kitchen! It may have involved roasting carrots, making chicken stock, and peeling tomatoes from our garden for salsa, but that's a story for another day. 

Unless I get distracted.

Documentary, My Dear Watson

When the summer TV doldrums hit, which they still do, despite the kazillion shows we could watch, we turn to Heidi's favorite genre, documentaries. In the last week, we've spent some time back in 1984 and 85, learning about the genesis and unintended complications of Live Aid, and in 1988 and 89, sharing the sorrow and confusion of the people who lost loved ones when Pan Am flight 103 exploded over Lockerbie, Scotland. We also watched a series about the kids who were murdered at Idaho State University in 2022. The last two are not our usual fare, but somehow we got caught up in those sad stories. 

Maybe tonight? Something a little lighter and a lot more upbeat. It is Christmas in July over at the Hallmark Channel. 🤔

Movie Magic

A friend invited us to see the new Superman movie this afternoon, and given that temperatures were predicted to be in the 90s all day, we agreed. As the lights dimmed for the preview reel, that thrill of anticipation stirred, as it has all my life when I'm at the movies. 

There were actually a few things that looked promising as the teasers played, too, especially Project Hail Mary, based on the riveting book by Andy Weir (who also wrote The Martian) and starring Ryan Gosling. Christopher Nolan's take on The Odyssey, to be released in July 2026, looked pretty good, too, and so did part 2 of Wicked.

The feature itself was generally underwhelming. Despite generally positive reviews, I found it to be a cartoonish and campy version of the Superman origin story and his rivalry with Lex Luthor. The rest of the patrons in the full theater seemed to enjoy it, though, and when all was said and done, I didn't need to love it. It was a perfectly diverting way to spend a couple of hours on a July afternoon.

And? It was the movies!

Well, I Guess So

I've been reading a lot about summer coffee drinks, and I decided to pull the trigger and try the espresso lemonade I've seen in several articles. Everyone says pretty much the same thing: it sounds awful, but it tastes great-- complex and refreshing. When I thought about it, lemon and espresso wasn't really that big of a stretch, especially considering that the tiny cup of strong coffee is often accompanied by a lemon twist on the saucer when served in Italy.

The recipes I consulted offered several variations, which was helpful, since I don't own an espresso machine. Most agreed that cold brew, or Japanese iced coffee, made a bit stronger than usual, would be good substitutes. So, yesterday I made a pour-over using a decaf Kenyan coffee, and iced it. Then I added a splash of simply lemonde and finished it with cold seltzer.

It was pretty good! The coffee and lemon were surprisingly complementary, and the seltzer gave the drink a little buzz. At any rate, I liked it enough to play around with the recipe some more.

Bella Ciao

"Oh my gosh, I know this song!" I interrupted Heid and Mary at breakfast yesterday. I had been enjoying the eclectic playlist as we sat in the sunny dining room, identifying the Gypsy Kings and James Taylor playing quietly over the clink of tableware and the murmur of conversations at the tables around us.

The summer I was 18, I worked as a counselor at a summer school in England. A few programs were going on that summer: a high school drama camp, a couple of sports camps, and an intensive language program for English learners in grades 3-12. As the youngest member of the staff, I was the utility person, filling in and supporting other counselors and teachers as needed. I was also a dorm resident for the 10 high-school-aged girls. 

We were only in session for five weeks, but like any intense, residential situation when you're that age, we shared a lot of memorable experiences. The song that I heard playing at breakfast transported me to the center bench seat of a VW van on its way to Wales. We were going to hike Mt. Snowden, and one of the girls, Manuela, was telling us the story of her grandfather, who was a partisan in Italy during WWII. "There is a song we always sing when we hike with him," she said, "that was the song of the partisans."

And she began to sing the very catchy folksong, Bella Ciao. We all learned the first two verses, and we sang them at the top of our lungs up and down the mountain, as well as at dinner, and any other time it occurred to one of us to start for the rest of the summer. The version I heard yesterday was by the American cross-genre orchestra, Pink Martini, and the Italian lyrics came flooding back to me, so I sang along. 

Una mattina mi son svegliato
O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao
Una mattina mi son svegliato
Eo ho trovato l'invasor 

One morning I woke up
O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao
One morning I woke up
And I found the invader

O partigiano porta mi via
O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao
O partigiano porta mi via
Che mi sento di morir

Oh partisan, carry me away,
O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao
Oh partisan, carry me away,
For I feel I'm dying

Influencers

"Oh my gosh! Jack's is closed today!" I reported in dismay. Mary had just settled in the back seat, and the three of us, wearing our matching breakfast club t-shirts, were about to embark on our latest adventure. (Regular readers may recall that after a Denny's disappointment last summer, Mary, Heidi, and I went out to breakfast once a week or so to compare local restaurants.) This year, we decided to focus on breakfast sandwiches, after a great one at Metro 29 Diner.

I tapped the map app on my phone and searched for "breakfast near me." The first place it listed was Del Ray Cafe, not two miles from where we were, and off we went. The restaurant was welcoming from the start: located in a converted home just off the main thoroughfare, we climbed wide wooden steps to the front porch and pulled open the screen door. Inside, we were greeted by friendly staff and led upstairs to a bright dining room with farmhouse tables and a natural wood ceiling open to a skylight at the peak. Red and white gingham napkins and porcelain coffee cups were at each place setting.

And it only got better from there. Our waiter was charming and efficient, and the French-inspired menu with house-baked pastries and locally sourced ingredients was interesting and inviting. We all quickly settled on our orders, and as we sat there, another patron stopped by the table on her way out. "This place is fantastic," she told us. "If you've never been here, you'll love it. I eat here about once a week." Then she told us she loved our Breakfast Club t-shirts and asked how to join.

Our food did not disappoint, and we had all agreed on our first-ever straight five-star rating, based on food, service, and ambiance, when our waiter offered us a complimentary dessert. A short while later, he brought us six mini profiteroles, dusted with powdered sugar and served with house-made raspberry sauce, chocolate sauce, and whipped cream. 

We wondered if it was the t-shirts, the other diner, or the pictures that Mary took and posted of our food that may have led him to believe we were more important than we might be, but it didn't matter. The dessert was delicious, and we will definitely return to Del Ray Cafe! 

And you should, too!