Thank the heavens for this small amount of rain, wets the dirt we like to think of as lawn and knocks a little pollen to earth, to be tracked in by the hounds of course, but thanks anyway.
This time of year we’d be sneaking water into the flowerbeds if the Daisy Dog hadn’t gone to chewing up the hoses, leaving lengths of them coiled and strewn like dead snakes about the yard.
The piece she’s left yet attached to the house is just long enough to be useless, the end ripped away and with puncture marks down the length leaving us leaning like a sailor against the wind, trying to stretch the water an inch more while being soaked from behind.
This after she’d pretty much laid waste to the drip line irrigation system and gnawed the sprinkler heads just so, we anticipate that when the moment comes to reengage the sprinklers we get a show like the Hotel Belagio water dance in Vegas, only on crack.
It’s as if the irrigation guys come here for the pure joy of it.
It was the best damn bakery we’d ever seen when the Gibb’s came to town setting up shop over in the fancy Erickson’s store.
I remember, convections from paradise, blessed boxes of glazed and frosted, holy apple fritters, real German Chocolate cake.
Sure, later there was that little doughnut shop right next to our restaurant, but those guys were dilatants, gone in a flash, but Don Gibbs, now he was the real deal.
He raised a good family; got up, worked each day, battled both the big ones and the newbie’s to a draw.
I’ve never met a man more pleasant.
It was Don that I rushed my first batch of successful puff pastry off to, seemed right, a miracle of leavening, pinwheels dusted with crusty sugar, common stance for him, Immaculate Conception for me.
He seemed proud, made something special of it, which in turn, spurred my curiosity for the Culinary and encouraged my appreciation that wonders in this world abound.
Don Gibbs was such a wonder, so the marvelous Jane Gill who allowed us in her home for a memorable Thai banquet that helped begin our business and the irascible Clyde Moore who taught me an appreciation of music and that I will never be able to play the trumpet.