A good day at Panera's with Nancy

Nothing lasts forever

My favorite cup, far right middle row with the gulls, develop a chip, then a crack that looked unsanitary, so it had to go. Probably had 25 years of good service because I bought it here in Lakeside at a now defunct gift store. All the added text had worn off years ago. Now I'm using my Fire King, top row middle that I got in 1961. I'll bring one up from Columbus so I don't have an empty peg. I'm VERY particular about size, so I'll have to choose it.  Each cup sort of has its own story.  The gray with teal is for Central Ohio Watercolor Society (COWS); the navy blue is advertising for Alt Realty in Columbus--Marti Alt and I worked together for many years; the white with black was to commemorate the Abigail Tea room 1933-1991; the yellow mug is from Coffee 'n Cream shop here in Lakeside, but the pottery is in Ohio. The Abigail sold and reopened in 2008 under new ownership, but failed. In 2010 it was auctioned, and now the building is two cottages again, as it was originally.

Monday Memories—saying “I used to. . .”

"Lately I'm saying 'I used to’ a lot," my friend said while we were having coffee to catch up after our trip to Spain.  I'd heard her say it before, but I think it is profound. It made me think.  Yes, I say that frequently. At my age, there are many.

Here are some of my “used to” thoughts in no particular order.

I used to run. I think about that often now—didn’t occur to me before age 40 that someday I wouldn’t.  Oh yes, I knew I wouldn’t run when I was 80, but the need or desire just went away.  As a child I ran all the time, even when I didn’t need to.

I used to skip or take two at a time on the stairs. Sometimes I would run up stairs on all fours.  I know I was an adult because I was doing it on Abington Road where we lived for 34 years. And until December 2013, I would even walk up and down stairs for exercise at our Mill Run church.  Perhaps that’s why I have bursitis now. Even one stair is painful.

I used to go out every morning to a coffee shop. That habit started when I was a teen and ended in early 2014.  I knew I couldn’t have caffeine anymore, and drinking Panera’s decaf was like hot water, so I gave it up and learned to make decaf at home.  I began putting $2/day into the piggy bank for our trip to Spain.  I didn’t always remember to do it, but had about $600 when September 2015 rolled around. Favorite haunts in addition to Panera’s the last decade were Chef-O-Nette, Paul’s Pantry, McDonald’s on Rt. 33, Bob Evans on Sunday, and at Lakeside Coffee ‘n Cream. The regulars at the Chef used to have parties together, attend weddings and funerals. I could hardly start the day without them.

I used to go to work five days a week. From fall 1986 to fall 2000 I was the Veterinary Medicine Librarian at The Ohio State University.  Loved that job. The students were terrific, and the library was located on the far west side of campus, so I never had to fight the bad traffic. The field was fascinating, and I’ve remained interested in medical topics to this day as you can tell from my blog topics. It included research and publication, which I enjoyed. Blogging allows publishing without the middle man. But I’d had many jobs before that because I accepted temporary contracts before a tenured permanent job came along so I could be home with the children in the summers.  I’d worked in agriculture, Latin American studies, user education, and I’d also worked for a library non-profit (Ohio-net) and the State of Ohio (Ohio Steps) before returning to Ohio State, and in both jobs I did research and publishing.

I used to bake pies.  I used to call myself the 2nd best pie baker East of the Mississippi. Mom got first place, of course. When there would be a family event in Indiana or a church pot luck, someone would always suggest I bring dessert, because they knew it would be a pie.  But something happened, maybe 10 or 15 years ago.  The pie crusts just weren’t turning out.  And as far as I’m concerned, no crust no pie. So I’ve passed the family mantle along to my daughter, who not only makes wonderful pies, they are works of art.

My Sugar free apple pie from 2009

Chocolate Peanut Butter,  chocolate peanut butter cream cheese tart, Strawberry rhubarb, flaky pie crust,  apple sour cream, applesauce pie, raisin (sugarless), cheesecake pumpkin, onion pie, apple dumplings, peach fluff pie,    cheeseburger in paradise pie,

My daughter’s artistic pies.

I used to be a dog person.  Since 1976 we’ve always had a cat (Mystery, We Be Three, Lotza Spotza, who is now about 18). When I was a child we always had a dog around. Lassie. Lassie 2. Pretty. Brownie (or was his name Fluffy?). Zero. Jerry. Lady. Polka dot.  Lady and Polka dot were Dalmatians. Lassie, Pretty and Brownie were part collie.  Zero was a mixed hound who “followed” me home one day (with a lot of encouragement). We left Lassie at my grandmother’s when we went to California in 1944—he died in a tractor accident.

I used to be a horse fan. Now I just enjoy looking at them. I would spend my afternoons at the Ranz’ horse/cattle barn near our home, I would ride the horses of friends, and I was fearless.  The Wiggins children  had a blind pony which I would ride bareback along the hi-way. I would draw pictures of horses and write stories.  My brother and I would build snow horses in the yard.  I saved all my babysitting and paper route money and finally when I was 11 years old I bought a horse.  Got over it.

I used to draw and paint, both as a child and an adult. I probably haven’t painted anything in 4 years. Mainly I did watercolor most recently, but back in the 70s I did a lot of paintings using acrylics. When I was a child my mother would get rolls of discontinued wall paper for me to use, and provided stacks of used white newsprint from the printing plant in Mt. Morris. My grandmother gave me a box of oil paints when I was about 10 and gave me her old supplies.  I still have my wood box. Our schools didn’t have art classes, but one year my mother took a typing class in night school in Freeport, and I went along and took an art class.  I didn’t like it because I was the only child in the class and couldn’t draw horses.

Watercolor paintings from several years ago; I think these are studies done in classes I took.

Paintings from the 1970s when I used my children as subjects.

I used to not appear in public in jeans and athletic shoes. After I retired, I was always well dressed when I went to the coffee shop, then would change when I got home. Until about 2010, I always wore high heels with my slacks.  After exercise class I would go home and change clothes rather than appear in the grocery store in my athletic clothes.  Somewhere after 70 I decided that was probably wasted energy.  Now I can look as much a slob as other retired people.

I used to be a Democrat—for 40 years. I voted for George W. Bush in 2000 and haven’t looked back.  I may have been a Conservative for many years before since I am an evangelical Christian, was pro-business, and I was pro-life even as a Democrat. When my husband started his own business in 1994 I really had my eyes open, but it took awhile for that to translate to politics. That said, it still bothers me that Republicans are like bulls in a china closet, and can’t hang together to accomplish something or use a crisis the way the Democrats do.

I used to hate exercise.  Actually, I still do. But I’ve participated in an exercise class at church most years since I retired. For 2015 I’ve been riding my nice Power Spin Gold’s Gym stationery bike, and by doing just a mile at a time about 6 or 7 times a day, I’ve found something that doesn’t hurt my legs and yet is good cardio and burns calories. I’ve ridden 1500 miles since Christmas and lost 35 pounds in 6 months. I could say “I used to weigh 170 lbs.”

I used to sing.  About 9 years ago I decided to join the church choir. I grew up in a home with music and I missed that. I even sang in a little quartet with my siblings. Only one of us had the talent and determination to become a musician and it wasn't me, but I did take piano lessons and play trombone as well as participate in choirs until I graduated from high school.  At UALC in 2006  I just loved it thinking my soprano range would come back.  The director Mike Martin was wonderful. But the voice didn’t come back.  If you don’t use something for 50 years, there are penalties.  So after a year I gave it up.

A poetry prompt from Tweetspeak this week was on games.  So I chose Hide and Seek and worked in the “I used to” theme. I used to write poetry, but hadn’t done it for several years.

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Poetry prompt--games

Hide and seek, 1950 and 2015

I used to run through damp grass at dusk
Hiding behind fat trees--or in the garage,
Excited that the all the kids showed up at our house.

Now I scan the shelves for my car keys
Looking for my purse--it’s not where I put it,
Concerned that the dinner date is in fifteen minutes

Starbucks

I’m a little mixed on this message.  Any business should be responsive to the stockholders.  If the company can’t earn a profit in a black neighborhood, it shouldn’t be there.  However, the CEO should stop being such a hypocrite about race.

A prose poem about a coffee shop and snow

I used to belong to an internet writing group called Poetry Thursday. I was really enjoying it but the owners quit so the group fell apart. On Feb. 15, 2007 we were assigned to write a prose poem. I had no idea what that was, but here is mine about sitting in the coffee shop during an early morning snow.

"Come sit by the fire with me. Sit by the gas flames rising from fake logs. Warm us bright blaze in the dark by the pseudo-bricks as we tip Styrofoam cups with plastic lids, sip black brew browned with cream factory made. Animate brain cells, stir up stiff tongues tropical beans, red and bright when picked by dark hands, traveling on tankers guided by pale hands to bring us warmth and happy thoughts, brown after roasting in mills and bursting to dark beans, trucked by many hands along concrete interstates and asphalt by-ways to loading docks at dark coffee shops. Come sit by the fire with me in the dark, tasting warmth, watching the snow fall on icy lines--pity the bird toes--sending power to heat water piped and purified, dripping hot in the pot held by ethnic hands that fill my cup which warms my nose by the fire where we sit."

Idiots happen

I don't see too many at my age. The most exciting thing that happened today is 4 strangers came to Panera's and sat where some of the regulars usually sit. I left before the fireworks.

No Panera’s this morning

High winds, sleet and snow from Sandy. I'm skipping the coffee shop this morning, but I'm guessing the bakers and clerks will be there.

"It's like a weirdly inverse chart, where the folks with secure government jobs, the ones with SUVs and more affluent addresses, get to stay home, bundle up and wait out the storm. And the folks working the minimum-wage jobs, who frequently rely on public transportation, have to find a way — any way — to make it to work." Washington Post

 

Returning a good deed

A week ago Friday, our first day back from California, I was at my usual spot at Panera's, but a little later since I hadn't quite readjusted to the eastern time zone. Shortly before I got up to leave I noticed a five dollar bill on the floor. I vaguely remembered the woman who had walked past me a few minutes before, but she had already left the parking lot. The following Monday I was early--maybe the 2nd customer, and so was she. So I asked her if she had lost any money on Friday. Yes, she responded, five dollars, because she had gone to lunch with colleagues from work and had to borrow money to pay for her lunch. So I gave her the five dollar bill. She was so shocked; we paused to exchange names and a few details of our lives and I hadn't seen her since, until this morning.

Today she sat down at my table and said something about good deeds being passed along, and gave me a ten dollar gift card to Panera's! Now it was my turn to be surprised. That wasn't at all necessary, but don't ever turn down a kindness on that basis--just pass it along. That's what she was doing. Someday, I'll be in line with someone who has forgotten her wallet or purse, and I'll buy her coffee.

Heading back to Columbus

My last walk along the lakefront and then off to the coffee shop . . .

Where I'm greeted most mornings by Linda. I watch a little Fox morning chatter, make a few notes for the blog, and then walk home.

Drug cartels in all states now

Senator John Cornyn of Texas says, "The time to act is now. These cartels already have a known presence in 48 states and the District of Columbia. Until Washington restores its credibility on border security more states will be forced to act much like Arizona did. Washington needs a sense of urgency, or many American families will lose their sense of security.

Border security isn’t just a border state problem, it’s a United States problem."

Today at the coffee shop I chatted with a woman from a beautiful ocean/lake/river area of Florida. She's lived there about 30 years, but originally came from this area of Ohio. In the last five years, she said, there's been a huge influx of crime from the Mexican drug cartels. She's very sympathetic with the Arizonans and believes there will be more laws like this if the federal government doesn't step up and do its job. Another customer chimed in about his area--Atlanta. It's not just Arizona's problem, folks, and we should thank Governor Brewer for bringing it to our attention.

Read more at the Washington Examiner.

Eating out--we're creatures of habit

It's price. It's taste and freshness (i.e., the menu). It's relationships. It's wait time. So we usually go to the Rusty Bucket on Friday night, about 5 p.m. and meet Joyce and Bill or Wes and Sue or Jack and Sue (a different Sue, of course) or Joan and Jerry or the Visual Arts Ministry from UALC. It's a sports bar and neighborhood hang out--not far from Ohio State with a bazillion TVs and a noisy bar area (we don't sit on that side so we can talk). I also usually stop at Panera's in the morning. I used to visit 3 different coffee spots, but then they made a slight change in their coffee, and it became worth going back on a regular basis, plus there is a fire place, good music, and again, the relationships you build over time. The morning staff. The exterminator. The retiree who's taking care of his invalid wife. The high school students. The Christian author. The friend you met in a Bible study in 1973. The chef/publisher you meet quite by accident who now owns your former home of 34 years.

Panera's is a lovely place for lunch or breakfast meetings, but somehow, a Friday night date? Hmmm. Not so much. Just not the right ambiance. But I did do a little price comparison this morning, since I'm big on price. Panera's has a yummy new sandwich--"Mediterranean salmon salad" with chilled salmon, field greens and romaine, Kalamata olives, red onions, feta cheese, mandarin oranges and sliced almonds for $8.95. Laying down a few pieces of chicken or fish on a bed of lettuce with a little fruit and nuts seems to be all the rage today, and Rusty Bucket has something similar--"Blackened salmon salad" with baby spinach, iceberg and romaine lettuce, fresh strawberries, candied pecans, red onion slices, and blue cheese crumbles for $9.95. Very little difference in price, although you'd need to tip at the Bucket for them serving you at the table. At 5 p.m. there's no wait at the Bucket, but at 6 you might wait 20-30 minutes. At Panera's you might wait to order, and then wait for your name to be called as they prepare it. So for a dollar or two, I think we'll stick with our regular date night spot for 5 p.m. on Friday, and continue paying ridiculous prices to drink coffee away from home at 6 a.m.

Either one of these salads probably has 480-550 calories, depending on what you do with dressing, but last night I had the Philly Cheese sandwich with fries and sour cream dip, which is probably about 2,000 calories and a week's worth of sodium.

A trifecta blog incident

People say how can you have so many blogs? How do you have the time? Bob C. asked me that yesterday (we went to high school together) and he has the same 24 hour days I do, just different hobbies. Anyway, today I have an item for 3 of my 12 blogs--Coffee Spills, about people I meet in coffee shops, In the beginning, about my first issue hobby, and this one, Collecting my thoughts--and maybe 4 if I can rework it for my retirement blog, Growth Industry, or food and health blog, Hugging and Chalking.

I'm in a book group that meets at Panera's and a very sweet school teacher was in our spot by the fireplace (no school because of MLK day). I watched and as he got up to leave I saw a handsome young woman come through the door, and I thought I saw her glance at the coveted seat. I grabbed my books and slammed them down on that table faster than you can say "crazy old lady."

After I'd settled in with my coat, purse, books, etc., I peeked around and saw she was sitting within 4 inches of me where I had been sitting. And then I saw it. "Edible Columbus." "Is that a new magazine?" I asked. "Yes, but it isn't out yet; I'm the publisher." I thought I'd swoon. I'm a first issue collector and here I was about to see a birthing! [No website yet, try this for Edible Brooklyn.]

So we chatted a bit--she's a former New York chef who discovered a "series" of Edible. . [insert name of city or region] magazines and she bought the rights for Columbus. She explained the concept--it will focus on locally grown, sustainable sources with seasonable eatables, great traditions, recipes, related items like gadgets and ingredients, day trips, and events. Some of these events will be held in her mother's newly opened tea room which has room for classes! Right here in Upper Arlington. Swoon twice--a new place to go for coffee or lunch. This will start as a "free-circ" and I suggested she get it in the local public libraries as part of the serial collection to be sure it gets cataloged.

As my group started to arrive and her friend sat down, she asked me my name. When I told her, she said, "We live in your former house!" Small, small world. I don't like what the previous owner (from whom she bought it) did to the kitchen, but it will be great for a chef.

Love stories from my coffee blog

Looking through my old coffee blogs, I see a favorite topic is "love," although I certainly don't write often on that topic, I write so much, it does come up. Here are some favorites.

Boyfriend in the coffee shop (Nov. 27, 2004)

What a surprise when a college boyfriend stepped into the coffee shop that morning. Maybe five or ten pounds heavier, but the goatee and quiet mannerisms were the same--the standing back to assess the situation, about 5 '10", smiling bright gray/blue eyes glancing around, and wispy dishwater blonde hair peeking out from under a baseball cap. Closing my book, I stood up to put on my coat and noticed he was gone.

Carrying my paper coffee cup to the counter to add a little cream before leaving, I realized he was standing next to me at the condiments while waiting for his order. He said to the clerk, "Thanks for your help." That voice. Yes, it was him. Definitely him. I wanted to watch to see if his sports car was in the parking lot.

Of course, it couldn't possibly be him, common sense whispered in my ear. After all, the former sweetheart is older than me and lives in another state. The young man standing there was perhaps twenty five--young enough to be my grandson. But for a moment . . . I wanted to kick him in the knee.

Romancing the coffee bean (Nov. 20, 2004)

She came in the coffee shop today. I hadn't seen her for maybe four or five years. A single mom with the stress of a teen-age daughter with too much mascara and a sullen younger boy. They occasionally were with her on school holidays, pretending they didn't know each other. We spoke briefly and caught up--she's working in a different suburb now, having coffee at another place.

A finish carpenter also stopped by in those days. A fun guy with a twinkle in his eye. We always chatted. Another woman used to call him "the stud muffin" after he left--always a little swagger, full of himself, but oh so in love with his metallic cherry red pick-up truck.

He started chatting up Ms. Lonely Mom. Soon he was walking her to her car, as though it wasn't safe for a woman at 7:45 a.m. in Upper Arlington to walk alone through a coffee shop parking lot. Then one day I saw him kiss her at her car door as he opened it. Oh, so gallant.

That's the last time I saw him. She continued to come in, anxiously watching the door and parking lot. Maybe she was just too needy. Maybe he saw the children. Or maybe he found another coffee shop.

Dump him, Honey (Nov. 15, 2004)

She was the morning, cheery, part-time, counter assistant when I first met her at the coffee shop. An English major. We joked she was going to write the “great American novel.” She was excited about graduating from college, and even took some time off in June 2003 to travel to New York to check into grad school.

I’ve stopped asking her about her plans. She now has an official store name tag. She has a title. And responsibilities. Doesn’t smile as much. She, or her parents, probably spent $70,000 on her education and she is figuring schedules, taking complaints about spilled coffee, ordering supplies, training new college students to take orders and doing quality checks.

Some mornings I see her making furtive phone calls before 6:30 on her cell phone. The smile and bouncy step are gone. I suspect she has settled. She hasn’t settled for marriage instead of career or grad school--the way my generation might have done in the 60s. She’s not even a fiancée. No, I suspect it is “significant-otherhood.” Or maybe just shacking up, with no commitment beyond next week-end.

Dump him, honey. Move on. He doesn’t deserve your talent and sense of humor. Chase your dream. There’s plenty of time later for guys who will waste their lives and yours sleeping in.

And then there was Joey (April 28, 2005)

"The only guy I ever lived with was Mike," she said while sweeping the floor, "and oh yeah, Joey." Her co-worker said, "Joey is Joey." She nodded and said something I couldn't hear. And then the conversation moved on to bowling.

A Poem--Stranger in the Coffee Shop
May 18, 2005

One by one
She whispers to me
mistakes of 1981

leaving college, of course,
and early marriage
with babies, diapers and divorce.

One by one
She outlines for me
her new goals, no fun,

tired and sinking under masses
of expectations,
while taking night classes.

One by one
She arranges her thoughts
because romance has begun,

wearing a skimpy sweater
that would have fit a child
who probably knows better.

One by one
She counts her blessings
eating a cinnamon bun,

while sitting by the fire
with the man who’s joined her
touching her hand with desire.

One by one
she flicks her dreams
in the morning sun

into the fireplace flame
and tosses her head
with no one else to blame

Southwest? (June 14, 2006)

Today I saw a bright pink notice on Panera's bulletin board:

"SW Christian Upper Arlington Mom, 40s and her 2 fabulous sons would like to meet a similar super nice UA Dad."

My mind wasn't in gear, so instead of "single white" I was thinking "southwest." I was trying to figure out where southwest Upper Arlington was.

I hope she finds someone. Probably too old for my advice on how not to marry a jerk.

Former neighbor (June 1, 2006)

We often see each other across the room at the coffee shop and wave. He was our neighbor about 25 years ago--he and his gorgeous third wife. Then they divorced and it was he and his fourth wife--much younger and also quite attractive. They moved after their first baby, who I think is in college now. They too are divorced, and I'm not sure where he lives, but he doesn't look any different. Marriage keeps you young, I suppose. All that adjusting.

Meeting an old friend (Nov. 17, 2006)

He stopped at my table today and spoke. I'd seen him come in with his two young children, but the face didn't ring a bell. Then when he spoke it all came back. We'd gone out to eat together and some parties with others in the building trades before they were married. My husband was his architect, and he'd known the wife professionally also when she worked for an interior designer. We'd attended their fabulous wedding on Lake Erie maybe 10 years ago. He and the kids, who were dressed in scarlet and gray for the big game, sat next to me close to the fireplace and we caught up. Then he leaned over and said, "I'm a single dad now." I looked at those adorable kids--maybe 6 and 3, and just felt sick.

Face time, not Facebook

Today's surprising conversation at the coffee shop at Coffee Spills, where I record that sort of trivia.

Just 24 days

Things have changed since my first child was born in 1961. The thought then was that they needed some time to build up immunity before meeting the world and its bacteria, viruses and contaminants. When I was on my way out of the coffee shop this morning I stopped at a table and asked, "How old is your little one?" "Three and a half weeks," she said. So I looked it up at several web sites thinking perhaps there was new advice. Doesn't seem to be.

"Immediately after birth, the newborn has high levels of the mother's antibodies in the bloodstream. Babies who are breastfed continue to receive antibodies via breast milk. Breast milk contains all five types of antibodies, including immunoglobulin A (IgA), immunoglobulin D (IgD), immunoglobulin E (IgE), IgG, and immunoglobulin M (IgM). This is called passive immunity because the mother is "passing" her antibodies to her child. This helps prevent the baby from developing diseases and infections.

During the next several months, the antibodies passed from the mother to the infant steadily decrease. When healthy babies are about two to three months old, the immune system will start producing its own antibodies. During this time, the baby will experience the body's natural low point of antibodies in the bloodstream. This is because the maternal antibodies have decreased, and young children, who are making antibodies for the first time, produce them at a much slower rate than adults.
Once healthy babies reach six months of age, their antibodies are produced at a normal rate."

Add to that it is flu season; our government is hyping a pandemic; the mother might not be breastfeeding; the table where I sit always needs to be wiped down before I use it; it was noisy and confusing with strangers' voices (like mine) battering her little ears; she couldn't focus yet so was staring at the brilliant can lights above.

Maybe someday someone will investigate the increase in allergies and autism in today's children (peanut butter, gluten, pets, etc.) over those of 40 years ago and find out if they inhaled things in the built environment before their bodies were ready for the insult to their delicate systems.

A generation raised to expect breakfast

The man in front of me at Panera's today (fabulous bakery items, in case you've never been there) was buying a delicious selection of breakfast goodies--dense in calories and nutrition. In jest I said something like

"You must be really hungry today."

"These are for my employees. I love to see their smiles and they work harder."

"How nice," I replied. "All I ever got was a paycheck for working hard."

When we were out of earshot of others, he explained in hushed tones the real reason.

"I'm a contractor and I've learned that most of my mid-20s employees grew up getting breakfast, lunch and snacks provided to them by their schools. They have no idea how to feed themselves and they expect to be fed by whoever is in charge. When I give them a job to do, they say, 'But we haven't eaten yet.' "

Most are on food stamps and they come to me from an agency. If I want them to work, I have to feed them."

I'm still in shock. What have we done?

Shabby chic or forgot to dress?

Ever since I made the mistake a few weeks ago of thinking the woman wearing fuchsia leggings with high heels at the drug store was a fashion aberration I've been reluctant to make observations. I'm so out of the fashion know. However, let me ask you about this one. What am I missing here?

A very attractive young woman (ca. 30), brunette, tasteful make-up, nice figure (what I could see), came in the coffee shop. She was wearing a large, gold color sweatshirt hoodie, khaki colored, above-the-knee baggie shorts, a very long, skinny plaid scarf wrapped once around her neck and draped across her body, below the knee, bare legs, and medium high heels, sort of a wedgie.


It wasn't as bad as this gal, but it did make me wonder if it is this year's look. I'm sure shabby chic went out a few years ago, so does "rolled out of bed" or "missionary barrel" or "pot luck" have a name?

Bag Lady in suburbia

Bag lady you gone hurt your back
Draggin all them bags like that
I guess nobody ever told you
All you must hold on to
Is you, is you, is you

One day all them bags gone get in
You way (x4)

So pack light (x4)
Bag Lady sung by Erykah Badu


I saw a young, slender attractive "bag lady" in the coffee shop--don't know what else to call her. She had 4 or 5 large bags outside next to the window so she could keep and eye on them, and inside she was sorting compulsively through smaller bags, wallets, boxes, etc. She was dressed for cool weather. I remember seeing her about 5 or 6 years ago at Caribou when unemployment in Ohio was under 5%, so I don't think the current Obama economy is the cause of her condition. She's probably eligible for numerous programs, especially if she's disabled because of mental illness, but perhaps in her mind the social workers just want to entrap her. Or maybe she just lives in the neighborhood and enjoys carrying her worldly possessions with her. Over the years, I've seen several mentally ill regulars at local coffee shops. Once I saw one attack the manager, and he was even with his care taker, so when I see him I usually go to a different store.

Celebrating our 20th anniversary

Twenty years ago Roger and Judi were new homeowners in Lakeside, and so were we, although we'd rented for many years. Roger and I met at another coffee site in Lakeside, and this year are claiming a 20 year drinking relationship. We each could blame the other in those early days for President Clinton. I voted for him, and Roger put him over the top by voting for Perot.

Roger and Judi now live in Georgia, but still try to come "home" for a week or two and are big boosters of Lakeside.

Tipping has changed!

This morning I took a Christmas card and a $20 bill into Panera's, addressed to "The morning staff," and included a little note of thanks. It seems like a big chunk when you give it at once, but not amortized. I'm there about 4 days a week, 42 weeks of the year, so that's what, about a 12 cent tip per visit on a $1.69 cup of coffee with several refills, a seat by the fireplace, regulars and friends to chat with and 3 papers to read? Two of the staff members came over to my table later to personally thank me. That was nice--and it gave me a chance to share about "the olden days."

When I worked at Zickuhr's Drug Store in high school and a few weeks between college sessions between Manchester and University of Illinois, a cup of coffee was $.10 and the advice and kidding was free and never ending, as was the Monday Morning Quarter Backing all week long about the local sports teams. But it wasn't unusual to get a quarter tip. Dave Dillehay, the town clerk, was particularly generous. If I got on the honor roll, which was posted in the town paper each 6 weeks, I got a $5 gift certificate. And when I got married, he gave me a silverplate tea service, which now resides at my daughter's home. Yes, those were the days of tipping!

Both Dave Dillehay and Ralph Zickuhr have parks named for them, from a grateful community--they were good leaders and well liked.