Flowers in California

Flowers in California

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

While I Wait for My Coffee to Cool

My coffee's too hot but I feel like if I don't have coffee, I might not be able to go on and I could add milk or even water to cool it down but milk doesn't always taste good in coffee and adding water sounds weird but if adding water enabled me to go on, perhaps it would be worth it but it's so hard to say because I don't have nearly enough coffee in me, just a few searingly hot sips, and I may have spilled some of this hot liquid as I transferred it to the end table over the disproportionately high chesterfield/couch/sofa arm and I'm never sure what I should call this piece of furniture but it probably doesn't matter - the height of its arms are more of an issue - and there could be an inland lake of coffee down there on the table but I'd have to look way, way down to see it and it doesn't matter right now anyways because until I drink some of that coffee, I'm not going to wipe up the coffee spill because I'll be sitting here waiting for the heat to escape that coffee and I think I actually have some notion of that element of physics right - heat escapes - even though physics was not my thing but I went down swinging and Mr. Munro was a nice teacher and he never came right out and said that I should give up - he always seemed to be looking at some far-off point in the future when students like I would finally see the light or at perhaps at the time when he would no longer have to deal with us - and, oh, high school science wasn't good for me but thinking like that doesn't get coffee into me this morning so, it maybe okay now to secure the system of ropes and pulleys to bring my coffee up to me and see if the temperature of it has cooled sufficiently that I can drink some of it and obtain the power I need to be able to go on.


Thursday, November 13, 2014

Thoughts of Hunger and Other Stuff While on A Plane

Last week I flew to Toronto. I jotted down thoughts as the flight progressed. My son contributed some of his thoughts too. I will share them with you now. I was pretty hungry when I wrote them. It did start off as a way for me to try to calm down. The massive security line-up and slow boarding had been unpleasant. No hats were harmed or eaten during the flight (as far as I know.)

I struggle, as I sit here, to find my center, to find my peace. I don't understand how it can take that long to board a plane. The thing I don't get is that these people must do this quite regularly and yet it all seems new. Maybe this (writing) is how I relax. Maybe this is how I center myself. Who knows?

I don't particularly enjoy bumps when I'm in a plane. What are we hitting? It makes all that science stuff a little too real. Contained in the plane and away. The wonder, the joy of flying.

Where's my pretzel bag? I was savagely hungry when I received them. Did I eat the bag? Oh man, I can just imagine when the flight attendant comes for garbage. She'll say "I know I  gave you pretzels - what'd you do with the bag?" And I won't have a good explanation.

I could look at the on-board menu but my experience on planes has led me to believe that those menus are fictional. Is that fiction? There are pictures of real food but it's not food that is available on the plane. A work like that is kind of in its own genre.

Oh, I wonder if that was a mistake. I've put my glass in the seat pocket and now I'm thirsty. I don't want to use that glass again but fear that the flight attendant won't want to give me another one after the pretzel bag incident. I can produce the first glass so it's not that she'll think I ate it too but that whole thing may have turned her against me.

I was hungry in the airport. Oddly, while there were 14,000 people in the security line, the food area beyond security was not busy. And while I had wanted food that could be purchased quickly and would revive me, the service was slow and the food was not good. I didn't feel revived; I felt like I'd eaten bad food. It was quite disappointing.

Dehydration is starting to overtake me. The crew may be willing to serve me coffee as that would require a different type of cup. I hope that one flight attendant is ready to move on from the pretzel bag incident. Some time has passed. Perhaps we can begin again.

With hope I will look at the menu much as a child plays with a toy. I know it not real but briefly, it may bring me joy.

I have found a meal I want. I will retrieve my credit card and dream of the chance that I may receive the food I saw pictured.

The flight is going quickly. This cheers me.

The flight attendants just passed. I could have fought for my turkey and brie sandwich but they made no indication that we could order food. I don't have the moral strength to pursue the matter.

Nourishment still eludes me.

Words that describe the current situation: Shocked, Saddened, Betrayed, Bullied. And hungry. I feel them all.

I look at a member of my family who is sleeping. I resent him for the peace he experiences. But I will not disturb his slumber.

A brief game of "I Spy" with another family member proved confusing and controversial. We now know that this game can be played within a darkened plane. It doesn't make one feel less hungry, however.

I no longer hope that food will be offered despite all of those attractive food options I saw in the menu. Alas, it matters not what sandwich I chose.

Having given up on food service, I look at the backs of people's heads in front of me. I learn very little about them from this activity. I'm okay with that. From this vantage point, at least, they don't look like an interesting or inspiring group.

The seat of the person right in front of me is reclined very far. I could start stroking the man's hair if I felt a need to do that. I do not feel that need. He has nice hair though and I do not feel rage at his invasion of my space. Perhaps my hunger has rendered me too weak to feel strong emotions of any sort at this time.

A sleeping passenger across the aisle has removed his hat. He clings to it though. He should; it's a stylish hat. His appearance is different when he is hatless. I wonder what he looks like when awake. He has spent so much time sleeping I have not had a chance to find this out. Perhaps he is so hungry he cannot stay awake. I would not be surprised to see him munching on his hat soon.

While famished, I enjoy the peace on board right now. No one is in the aisle serving food (obviously) or drink and the flight is smooth.

While I know that flight attendants may have duties of which I am unaware, I notice that this flight seems to have a large number of them when one considers the service that has been provided.

Accepting that food will not be provided, I put my credit card and the menu away. Perhaps the garbled message near the start of the flight was intended to convey some information about the food and some unpleasant fate that had befallen it. Perhaps it is best not to know what happened.

Reaching down to put my credit card in my purse, I find that my foot is caught in one of the purse's handles. While it takes some effort to free it that is visible to other passengers, I am grateful that I learned this before I tried to get out at some point only to fall down in the aisle. I might have disturbed the sleeping man with the hat. I might have reignited the fury of the flight attendant who had tried to retrieve my pretzel bag. Neither of those things happened and that is good.

In my famished state, I glance at the map and believe that we have gotten close to Hudson and/or James Bay. This has not happened nor should it. I sort that out and come closer to figuring out where we are. It's good that we are nearing our destination; I really need to eat.

Beginning our descent, I try to accept the lack of food provided and aim to find food within the airport. A chocolate bar (or wrapper) would do. At this point, eating at least one of those items, oh, it is my biggest dream.


Saturday, November 1, 2014

On Tomatoes, A Toaster and the Potential for Fire in the Morning

"What if the tomatoes catch fire?" That was one of my earliest thoughts after I got up this morning. I'm probably not the only one who dislikes dealing with a tomato-related fire at the start of the day. I was making toast. The tomatoes were in a plastic container near the toaster. We've had problems with the toaster before. There's been smoke. What if the toaster took aim at the tomatoes? I can't be sure its intentions are good. I don't really feel I know that toaster at all. As well, I don't know the chemical compounds that tomatoes and plastic could form. I'm not eager to discover them. The tomatoes wouldn't have have been a loss. They're aging. They're not aging well. The fire would have been a concern. If we were able to extinguish or at least contain it, we'd have to reassure ADT that all was well. I don't know the weekend fire alarm people at ADT well. It would be worse if we were unable to control the fire. I'd have to let ADT send the fire department this time. I'd miss out on my toast. The tomatoes didn't catch fire. That's good. My husband's reaction to the whole issue, when I recounted my concerns later, was "Why didn't you move the tomatoes?" It's likely that man will never be the one responsible for letting a kitchen fire start in our house. I admire that in him. But while he is moving potentially flammable objects away from dangerously hot small appliances, I'll be the one seeing the possibilities in situations and stopping to consider them, even as the threat of fire looms around me. Perhaps there is value in that too. Perhaps there's really not. Safe toasting to all, both the practical and the more contemplative among us! And happy tomatoes too!