Archive for August 2012


Dear Blog

August 8th, 2012 — 2:08pm

Dear Blog,

I do miss you, even though I never write.  It’s busy.  Is that an excuse or a reason?  So I’m writing now just to prove I can.  I have one inch of double latte left in my cup; that’s how much time I have.

August is a hard month.  I’m very grateful to have slept well last night.  So far it’s the best thing about my day.  That and Sallie Dog, as always.  And the espresso–I’m a nicer, happier person with a double shot in me.  So, I have no news, not really.  And a million things have happened, as always.

My yesterday:

5:30 a.m.:  Wake up.  Lay in bed stubbornly, as five hours is not enough sleep.

7:10 a.m.:  Get up.

7:30 a.m.:  Make double latte.  (It takes twenty minutes to warm up the espresso machine, which, by the way, was out of operation for nearly a week, and you can imagine how depressing that was for all of us who work here except for Rick, who remains indifferent to the charms of espresso.  Richard Anderson is our hero for finding the burnt wire and replacing it.  Thank you, Richard.  Thank you, thank you.)

7:35 a.m.:  Start paperwork.

9:10 a.m.:  Eat eggs and toast with Rick and George the produce man.  (Thank you for making us eggs, Rick.  Thanks for limping around the kitchen on your ruined knee two hours before you have to.)

9:15 a.m.:  Back to paperwork.

9:30 a.m.:  Bank.

9:45 a.m.:  Paperwork.

10:30 a.m.:  Start oven.  Need to make muffins, cookies, cinnamon rolls.  The starter’s going on the oven.  Every morning for the last three years it’s sluggish turning on; every morning I wait as the big fan inside turns slow, slow, too slow.  Will this be the time it finally goes and I have to figure out a way to get someone up here to work on a big old beloved Garland?  But, nope, not today.  Finally with a big whir it’s up to speed.   I love you, oven.

11:00 a.m.:  Open.  Run.  Trot all day long trying to keep up.  Tables, tables, tables, pizzas, pizzas, ice cream, tables, put away the food delivery, where are the fries?  No fries.  GRRR.  I ordered fries.  Call Emily for emergency back-up fries to be brought over tomorrow on her way from Marquette.  Where are the chips I was sure were in the shed?  Not there.  Oops.   Call Em again.  Leave message.  Might’ve missed her; oh well.  Back to putting truck up.  Where are 12 inch pizza boxes?  Not there.  GRR.  Ordered them.  Call Em.  Leave message.  Hope for best.  Back to tables.  Tables, tables, pizza, pizza, ice cream, tables, dishes, pizza.  Etc.

3:55 p.m.:  Eat half a philly left from dinner last night.  Hungry.  Woozy, a little.  It’s good.  Sit in sun to do this.  Sun feels incredible.  Miss the sun.

4:05 p.m.:  Remember what I was on my way to do when stopped for philly.  (Get more ice cream out of freezer to put in the case.)  Do it.

4:10 p.m.:  Pizza order.  Pizza, pizza, dishes, clear tables, etc.

9:55 p.m.:  Eat a cheeseburger Rick made and sent back to the bakery for me even though I just ate that philly a minute ago.  Or, oh–six hours ago already?  Hmm.

9:57 p.m.:  Contemplate list of things to do.  Give up on finishing July paperwork, making waffle cones, making more muffins, paying the book and coffee bills (sorry, sorry, will try three times as hard tomorrow, guys.  Thank you for the good coffee!)  Also decide to do lemon glaze and more cookie dough tomorrow.  (Now today.  Uh oh.)

10:00 p.m.:  Close.  Fill big sliver bowl w/:  two big cabbages, an onion, a green pepper, four stalks of celery, three carrots.  Make Cole slaw for tomorrow.  Rachael stops by to say hi while I chop.  Nice.  Laura and Patience work down the clean up list:  do dishes, clean dish room, sweep, collect all garbage, clean bathrooms, bail coolers (they can’t evaporate their condensation fast enough in the summer, and overflow their drip pans on the floors if the pans aren’t bailed every night), make lemonade, wrap bread, fill ketchups and mayos.  Laura ponders the fridge for a moment around 10:40 and says, I’m not filling the mustards.  I say, Okay.  She says, firmly, They’ll be fine.  I can tell she’s thinking of filling the mustards.  I say, I support you one hundred percent in this decision. She closes the fridge and goes on to her next task.

10:50:  Done, or close enough to done for this day.  We all stand around snacking on sweets for a few minutes, gazing at one another tiredly but fondly.   (I really should eat real food.  Do you want a slice of cheese, some bread?  Maybe, I don’t know.  No, I’ll just have pie.)

11:00:  Shower.

11:10:  Drive out to the Blind Sucker Floodings to a campfire with some friends up from Chicago.  This is crazy.  Crazy!!  How does Rick talk me into these things?  But the moon is huge and golden driving out.  The air is cool.  Air.  Fresh air.  It’s amazing.   I’m outside on a picnic table eating a giant roasted marshmallow Kasia offered me.  It’s good.  I haven’t been to a campfire in a couple of years.  There are nine people camping, plus the two of us, Molly the Collie, and Sallie Dog.  There are potatoes baking (burning, oops) on one fire, sweet corn and brats and marshmallows on another. It’s friendly, noisy, relaxed.   After a while I switch to a lawn chair and am soon dozing.  Talk and laughter wash over me.

2:00 a.m.:  Go to bed.

5:30 a.m.:  Wake up.  Lay in bed stubbornly as 3.5 hours is not enough sleep.  GET BACK TO SLEEP!  (This never happens.)

7:30 a.m.:  Get up.  Turn on espresso machine.  Putter around until it’s up to pressure.  Make double latte.  Etc.

I will try and write again soon.  I hope you’re well.

Fondly,

Ellen

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