More Firsts

First of all, happy St. Patrick's Day. My half birthday (and so Susi's too), incidentally.

In no particular order:

It hailed this weekend. I know. Most of my readers will think to themselves, "And? So?" but this is a big deal here near the coast. M, who was driving home through the crazy weather, reported that people were so freaked they had to pull off the highway. Rex ran out into it, barking and biting at the hail pebbles pelting him, it was quite amusing. M scraped the hailball off the Monster Mobile, which so thoughtfully gathered the rounded bits of frozen heaven for our amusement.


You know how supposedly it's impolite to yak on one's cell phone while "interacting" with a cashier or other service person? (I think it's really rude, anyway…) While I was waiting for M's procedure to be completed last Friday, I wandered down to the hospital cafeteria to imbibe some caffeine and get some work done. Amazingly, the lady steaming my latte was the one on the phone! Plenty of people in there, too, wasn't like it was her, me, and the espresso machine. And the latte? The *worst* I'd ever had. Four dollars and far too few sips later, I abandoned it at the bottom of the waste basket in the endoscopy waiting room. (I did have a few beautiful moments, though, thanks to that purchase. The hospital squats by a creek, and as I stood outside the cafeteria door vainly trying to suck down the latte, a bright breeze shook petals from the cherry tree, presaging the hailstorm to come later that weekend…)

On the way to school to study and work on Sunday morning, M and I stopped by our local Vets Memorial Hall. The Lionesses were having a pancake breakfast and classic car show--of course. The usual event pairing. Not many classic autos were there when we arrived, but a fine showing of '57 Tbirds as we departed, a couple of Studebakers, a Cadillac far more vintage than the MM. I don't think I've ever been to a pancake breakfast before. Wasn't much for me to eat besides pancakes, but it was nice sitting at long tables with strangers from the neighborhood, boy scouts roaming the aisles looking a bit untethered and awkward, volunteers hawking raffle tickets for gently worn donations, firefighters cramming in the door in droves soon after we arrived. Like the Santa Rosa I remembered from my youth, I suppose.

*****

Felicia and Andrew are coming for dinner Wednesday night. What shall we serve?