Eating Out, Part 3

Betty's Coke had a cockroach sort of floating in it, tucked in among the ice cubes.

"How big?" I asked, not that it matters. I mean, is a huge cockroach worse than a big one? They're all too big to make you happy about finding one in your drink.

"About medium size," she answered, "and it was dead." Not sure that matters either.

She had taken the lid off. "It was a mall food court," she said. "And it was Texas, so you kind of have to do that." She and Michelle dumped their lunch in the trash and escaped without eating.

I've eaten out in Texas. And maybe because of Betty, I checked my food at the Austin Chili's and discovered that the salad I ordered--dressing on the side--was sitting in about 1/2 cup of water. . . . I guess it was water. I hope it was water.

Complaining got me an apology from the manager and a gift certificate for another go at it. I wasn't satisfied, although I'm not sure what more I wanted.

But it isn't just Texas, and I know it's not just Chili's. But this was Chili's. In Boise.

There was this big group of flies that had congregated in a certain corner of that restaurant, where several pots of plants sat in the windows. Inside the windows, you know. My sister Janeen was visiting, a rare thing, and I took her to lunch. Our seat was with the fly congregation. I mean a lot of flies. The restaurant was crowded, so we just stayed there, but it was clear we were intruders, and the flies did not like us.

We spoke to the server and then the manager about it. He explained they aren't allowed to have fly swatters or sticky fly strips in the restaurant and are not allowed to kill the flies--Public Health regulations. Apparently, they are allowed let the flies land on customers' appetizers and entrées.

We didn't know if Public Health regulations allowed patrons to use menus, napkins, knives, or open hands to swat flies, or, in our case, swat at them, but that is what we did until we finally spied an empty table, grabbed our plates, and moved. It's a cinch the flies weren't about to move.

Yes, yes, I know. We should have walked out.

Eating Out, Part 1

There was this earwig, dead, on Lola's Hawaiian pizza at the Nampa Pizza Hut. She didn't eat it. We didn't pay for it. And we didn't go back, ever. Someone in the family, and it is rumored that it was Alyce, went back into the kitchen area and told those people they should not put dead earwigs in their pizza. Alyce was very young at the time, but that does not mean she didn't do it. Somebody had to.

Then there was this large, very strange-looking flying insect that I watched from across a restaurant dining room. And you know how it is sometimes. You just know that thing is going to fly into your food. You try to deny it. I mean, what are the chances? You're not alone in the place. But you can't really eat. All you can do is watch and wait and hope it won't happen, but when it does, you're just kind of resigned to it.

So this big bug lands in my salad--and stays there. I sent the salad back. Yes, even the server could see the bug, and the people at the next table saw it, too. They seemed quite amused by the whole thing. I was not, and I like to think I walked out on the rest of the meal, but I don't remember. This was also in Nampa, JB's.

When Richard found a bloody vein in his taco meat at Los Hermanos in Provo, he may have gagged. The blob of bread in his salsa at a Boise IHOP just made him mad. That kind of stuff always happens to him.

Patrick wanted a personal pizza at Perkins'. He got it, complete with a fish fin attached to the underside of the crust, which was explainable, I suppose, since their special that night was trout. He could not eat. Neither could his brother, Shane, because the long dark hair wrapped around his French toast--same place, same night--was not explainable.

Talk About Doing A Hard Thing

Today=Historical.

Here's why.
I finally threw away the white sweater, the one Paul brought to me from Korea 23 years ago. The one I have worn around the house nearly every day of every winter for those 23 years, because it kept me warm. (Duh.) The one some of my children grew sick of seeing many years ago and would occasionally mention that it didn't look so good. Others, I think, stopped noticing it. You know, like, it was like my skin.

The one I painted in, laundered with a piece of gum in the pocket--hence, gum on it. The one I often apologized for when folks came to the door and saw me in it, and I think some had a hard time understanding how it could be my favorite sweater. The one that over the last few years has developed holes, small at first, but they got bigger, and last night I realized that I was cold in the sweater because so much of it was no longer there.

The one I have thrown away five other times and then resurrected. Like last year.

But today there is no resurrecting. It's in a bag with other garbage, tied securely, at the bottom of the garbage can in the garage. I couldn't get it if I wanted to. I don't think.

I called Paul and told him, like a confession, I guess. He seemed only slightly moved. I thought to call Lola, but it was too early in the day for Nevada people. So she may never know.

I called Alyce and told her. She said, "What are you going to do now, Mom?" Which is, of course, the very question I'm asking myself.

Tsunami

I saw my friend Jan today. That's twice in about 20 years. We visited for about five minutes and did not speak of the very recent destruction in Tonga. I didn't know of it; perhaps she didn't either. Her husband is Tongan, Pulia Tuha. I don't know where he comes from exactly, but I have seen the photographs of two Tongan towns that used to be until today.

American Samoa, Sumatra, Tonga. I don't know where else. Newscasts show the destruction, and it is utter, unbelievable ruin. People working to make some kind of order, others walking aimlessly because they have no place to go and perhaps do not recognize what were once familiar scenes. Survivors telling of their escape and the loss experienced by those not so fortunate. One woman telling she has her children, and that is all she cares about. Another witnessed a mother racing the water to save her children and failing, losing all three of them.

In the background of these newscasts, always, a very calm sea. Very calm. Belying the power it exhibited not so many hours before. Hard, in fact, to believe the ocean was ever anything but the way it looks today. But it was.

My Brother Bill

Today is his birthday, 75. I wish him a happy day and many more to come, not that he'll ever know that.

The Case Against Leftovers

Thin people need read no further.

For the rest of us, here's my opinion. Saving leftovers encourages you to eat today the way you ate yesterday. Not just what you ate but the way you ate. For those wanting to lose weight, that's not always a good thing to do. Primarily, I'm thinking of restaurant food here.

Here's my goal: Today is a new day. Eat well and eat smart.

Note, speaking of food: I have added a new blog to my link list. It's Luke Eastman's blog, MakeTasteSmile.

Check it out, particularly Alex's turkey/strawberry jam/bleu cheese sandwich. Come on, people, open your minds.

In the What Have You Category

I climbed up on my bed this afternoon and turned on the TV--source of drama, instruction, entertainment, and, always, truth. I sometimes use television to put me to sleep. There it is, my confession. Today I heard this.

"I just couldn't survive without advice from my Go-to People."

That's Brook Shields, and you see her quite close to the floor, in push-up position, holding weights in one hand. Remarkable, I'm thinking. I'm also thinking her go-to people advised her to work out, keep fit.

But no. It's a commercial for Colgate toothpaste, the toothpaste recommended by her go-to person for teeth, her dentist. She said it, I didn't.

I see a dentist when I have to. I wouldn't call him one of my go-to people.

Wait. Do I have go-to people?