Once upon a time....

Saturday was my last day in Great Falls so we had breakfast at Tracy's, a Montana 24-hour diner that's been serving up distinctly American cuisine for over 50 years. Tracy's is very much old school and proud of it.

For one thing, they don't accept any plastic, neither debit nor credit, only checks and cash. But they do have a website and on it boast about being a "hot spot" at night. Must be true. They have ancient juke boxes in every booth and they still work, kind of.

Ours played music, just not the selections we picked, and nothing modern. Being the last of Montana's old-time diners, Tracy's has appeared in several, as their website says, "old-time movies", including "Holy Matrimony" directed by Leonard Nimoy.

Baby Leo and Mama

Of course Leonard Nimoy has a permanent pass and lifelong honorary hero status but I wasn't surprised to read the following review of  "Holy Matrimony" at IMDB.

Leonard Nimoy directing "Holy Matrimony"

"You sort of find yourself feeling the same way about it that you would about a child's school report read aloud...gently ignoring glaring flaws and nodding encouragingly."

Rumor has it that the cheese at Tracy's is Velveeta but I can not confirm that. I had the white bread French toast which came fried in bacon grease. What other totally '50s things do you notice about this table?

Baby Leo having a story before nap time.
He is a truly sweet little fellow.

I thought it was spring

Montana in April

This morning we woke to snow.

By the way . . . the white jacket?
Other than a few black hairs from Nevada the very black, very shiny Lab
it's still white!

 

Creepy or quirky?

Pierley/Redford Dissociative Affect Diagnostic

Here's a quirky test. I don't know if it's legit but it is interesting if not a bit creepy. Best not to think about your answers. I did and at one point even got a bit paranoid. Anyway, here's what I got.

"You need to help others and to be thought of as a generous and kind individual. Often you are taken advantage of and regarded as simply part of the scenery. You work best when handling the work yourself; you do not appreciate a managerial role and tend to be uncomfortable in that position. Friendship is important to you, but it is generated on a personal basis, rarely a professional one. Consequently, family life is very important to you, and is often the most important aspect. Because of a strong sense of propriety however, you will sometimes consider the eccentric behavior of your friends and family as a personal affront. Often you find it difficult to speak up about personal anguish or pain, feeling instead that it is something an individual should bear in silence. Tradition is important to you, and you feel a sense of belonging when operating within the constraints of a predictable routine."

It's not the full picture by any means but rings true. However, the part about "needing to be thought of as a kind person" is a strange slant. For me kindness is a spiritual practice, an action not a social image. And as for being "taken advantage of" etc., I've have my bouts with that but learn from them. The comment about shunning managerial positions is spot on. Getting tangled up in that kind of thing is not for me. I am an outsider. I prefer autonomy to notoriety or control over others. For me Einstein says it best... "Strive not to be a success but rather to be of value."

Friday outtakes

Thea Bella & Company.

Portland afternoon

Thea Bella is down for a nap. Today that means for the last hour and 19 minutes she has been in her crib cooing, singing and squeaking at her dollie. Oh and just now she commanded my presence. Gah-ma... (wait wait wait) as she (listen listen listens). She really should sleep.

Meanwhile, it's sunny outside. This being Portland (now the cooing has been replaced by a sporadic whine, squeal lament then silence as she listen listen listens)... as I was saying... this being Portland in the midst of what is forecast to be a record breaking wet Spring, a sunny afternoon is a spectacular event.

Owie the dog is here now for another scratch. Poor fellow. Mr. Cone Head. He's still recovering from the second surgery, the one to remove the metal rod in his leg. He's doing great. He's a saint, that dog.

Oh and the phone charger arrived yesterday and the phone today.Yay. Thank you, Mr. Lee. He's the best.

As for the white jacket? It's safely (I think) tucked under my raincoat in an out of the way place.  Mmmmm.... better go hang it up in the closet.

Okay. Mama's home. We're off to the park. Can't waste the sunshine.

Notes from the plane

Just after I got to the Southwest boarding gate yesterday I realized that I'd left my phone at home and muttered "god damn it!" under my breath in an emphatic and more or less fairly loud voice causing an old couple seated nearby to recoil and stiffen like irritated cats. I immediately plopped down, pulled out my laptop, skyped M. Lee and left a very contrite message that went something like "please please mail my phone as soon as possible, like today". Overhearing that, a really nice guy sitting one row over jumped up and offered his phone so I could call mine. That threw the cats off a bit though they managed to continue radiating disapprove. But no phone.

This is getting old. Last weekend I left my phone charger in Tonopah. A replacement is on the way. Now the phone. The worst part is that I tired, I really tried to pack right. I'm experimenting with a smaller bag and everything counts. I checked and rechecked. Two of this, one of that and not much of anything. Then I leave the damn phone.

~Contest with the Gods~

Right after the plane took off and we got the business of oxygen masks and flotations devices out of the way, one of the flight attendants rushed me a cup of coffee before anyone else got served. Perhaps you are thinking, "God! Was she that distraught"? I tell you. No. I trust M. Lee. The phone and charger will come. So why did I get two cups of coffee? Simple. The gods are toying with me. And why? Because I brought the white jacket. 

This jacket has hung in my closet since I got it, two years ago. I've never worn it. I've been afraid. On me, white attracts disaster at every turn. I think about wearing white and tomato sauce foments in the can. My own pen turns on me like an inksaber possessed. Coffee refuses to stay in the cup.

As it did on the plane.

That first cup of coffee, compliments of the gods? It tipped over and spilled toward the pristine white jacket cradled safely, I thought, on my lap. It missed by half a centimeter. And when my daughter picked me up at the airport carrying her barista special? Unlikely globs of coffee sloshed at me through the lid. The score? So far? So good. It's on, bitches.