We're Havin' a Heat Wave, A Tropical Heat Wave...

Whew!

Here in Minnesota, we’ve just gotten through the worst “heatstorm” - as our television weather people called it – in the last thirteen years or so. Broadcasters tend to want to describe things in extremes, but for the last couple of weeks, no one in these parts would disagree with their nomenclature…fiercely hot, terrifically humid, and altogether unyielding.

Now what is horrific here is probably quite normal for anybody dealing with summer and living in Texas, Alabama, the Carolinas, Mississippi, and similar places, and it seems clear that we do not know how to handle this particular challenge.

For example, I live in an old farmhouse with no air conditioning, except in the bedroom. Normally I close the house up in the morning, and if it gets hot, the house is about 79 degrees when I return in the afternoon. Not too bad, in other words.

During this last bout of heat, the house was 86 degrees upon my return, so I would retreat to the bedroom for much of the evening – reading, going through piles of stuff and organizing them into new piles, and having the occasional evening meal. Well, it was the only part of the house that was 74 degrees.

My solution to the evening meal was two microwaved hot dogs, a similarly prepared ear of corn, potato salad, and raw carrots. Not much heat, not much nutrition -–I guess – but it was enough.

In the second week, people’s temperaments began to express themselves more colorfully – more active facial expressions, more and louder vocal behavior, and plenty of those digital signals which indicate displeasure with the acts of another in a nearby automobile.

And then, mercifully, the heat moved East to destroy people’s sense of equilibrium out there.

So if you live in the American South or someplace equally hot, I don’t expect any sympathy at all from you about our recent profound thermal discomfort.

But come December and January, we’re at our best in the snow and ice and wind. We know how to live in that stuff – why we go outside in t shirts and beat our chests in defiance of Mother Nature, when those of you who get the occasional inch of snow turn up your toes and retreat back to bed.

Do you know what the best part is about living in Minnesota? We can complain ferociously about the weather every darn month of the year…just part of the character of our state.

Cheers,

Nick

Dining Out Requirements For Geezers

Last week, a group of us went off for dinner to one of those “hot new places” in Minneapolis, one of Saint Paul’s many fine suburbs.

This one specializes in fish, and in truth, the setting was handsome, lots of glass, comfortable chairs, and tables far enough apart so the congenital eavesdroppers in our bunch could not practice their artlessness too easily. Very contemporary.

Even better, the food was good and the crème brulée absolutely delish. I suppose that when we have enough money saved up, we’ll go back.

As I looked at all the folk happily chatting and drinking and eating, I wondered how I would define a perfect restaurant, then I realized I was eavesdropping on myself and postponed my defining process until now.

I have reached the point in life where having a good conversation is more important than knowing I am in the latest of an endless series of “hot spots,” so the first requirement of my ideal restaurant is that it be quiet enough that good conversation can sparkle. In other words, less glass, more carpet and soft furnishings, with tables far apart. These days the noise level in these places might convince some that they’re having a wonderful time – and – but the blur of sound makes conversation nearly impossible, but perhaps that’s the design of contemporary gathering places.

Next, there has to be enough light so that one can read the menu unaided, and while we’re at it, how about a menu with a font large enough to allow reading without bifocals? (How on earth can you be romantic as you fumble endlessly for your glasses?)

Another element is a waitstaff which has enough sense to refer to the customers not as folks but as sir and ma’am. I hate being a “folk.” I might dress like one, but I do not think of myself as one. Oh, and they should never interrupt ongoing conversation as they do now with such glittering inquiries as, “Everything alright, folks,” or “Would you like to hear our specials tonight?”
They should wait until the punch line to the joke has been revealed, the proposal made, the toast completed. We are the main event, not them.

Like many others, I have gotten accustomed to the piece of salmon draped like a chiropractor’s patient over a semi-mound of garlic mashed potatoes, while swirls of God-knows-what decorate the plate, with the inevitable artistic dessert to conclude the meal.

In truth, what I would really like is a slab of medium rare roast beef, a baked potato, a salad with good old Rocquefort dressing, and about three popovers, along with a bottle of decent red wine, all finished off with a hot fudge sundae.

So I’m thinking about opening a restaurant called O.F’s. When I suggested the name at our meal, one of us said that Old Folks might be not quite appropriate as a name for a restaurant.

All I could do was smile….

Cheers,

Nick