Eight-year-old Businessman

I make oyster dressing by my mother's recipe every year for Thanksgiving, and today was my day to cook.  I stopped at a local oyster bar on Monday to order for Wednesday my raw oysters for the dressing, and they told me to call Wednesday morning to place my order. This morning I thought a girl had answered, and I thought she was rather obtuse.

I told the answerer that I wanted three pints of raw oysters with the oyster water intact, and I asked if they wanted my name and a credit card number.  They said no, and we hung up.  I thought that was strange, and I didn't really expect my order to be ready when I got there.

When I got to Gandy's Oyster Bar at 11:30, there were two little boys sitting at the bar rolling silverware.  The younger one kept holding up what he called "butter knives," (which were actually dinner knives) for his brother to pass judgement on.  "Is this for a grownup or a baby?" the younger one kept asking.  The older one kept trying to explain to his little brother that they were all the same, even though some were smaller than others.  Both of those boys were incredibly cute. 

I told the counterman what I wanted, and the older boy heard me.  "Yeah, I took that call.  You want three pints of raw oysters, and you don't want us to drain off the oyster water," he said.

"That's right.  How old are you?" I asked. 

"I'm eight years old, and I took seven or eight orders before we opened today," he said.

"You're only eight years old, and you're already a businessman?" I asked.

"That's right," he said.

Whoa!  Liza immediately flashed before my eyes.  She's only four, but in four years I'll just bet she'll insist on helping her parents in their restaurant.  Those two boys were out of school all this week, so their parents had them at the restaurant instead of hiring a babysitter.  Liza will always be able to spend school holidays with us, if that's what her parents want, but I pretty much know that Liza will want to work in the restaurant, even if it's only to roll silverware.

ED

Mid-Week Spend the Night

Catherine called early this morning somewhat distraught.  They had an ox in the ditch, and she wondered if there was anyway possible for Liza to spend the night at our house tonight.  I told Catherine that I was 99.9% sure Liza could spend the night with us, but I got Beth on the phone to make sure.  Beth said that of course Liza could spend the night.  "Catherine, if you remember, this is why you and Mike moved back home after Liza was born."

Liza was a little confused.  She usually only spends Friday nights with us (occasionally whole weekends), and she and I alway go to breakfast at a local diner called Flapjacks on Saturday morning.  She asked me tonight if she and I are going to go to Flapjacks when she wakes up, and I had to tell her we aren't.  She has to go to school tomorrow, I told her.  She was fine with that verdict, but I could tell she really wanted to go to Flapjacks.

The thing that's so great about grandchildren that you have a lot of contact with is you get to savor their process of growing up.  When my children were little, I was working full time, writing a Ph.D. dissertation, and then working a second job as a textbook writer.  I barely had time to breathe, much less play with them like Beth and I play with Liza.  We did lots of family things with our kids, of course, but I can honestly say we didn't enjoy them the way we're enjoying her.  There's a huge irony in that, and, as Beth said this morning, "Catherine, if you remember, this is why you and Mike moved back home after Liza was born."  And thank God they did.

ED

Handicapped Salt Shaker?

I usually try to write about things that actually happen to me, but tonight I'm making an exception because what happened to my wife today is eminently blog-worthy.

Beth and her mother had lunch today at a Red Lobster.  Whatever they were eating required salt and pepper, but the only salt and pepper on the table were in mills.  You've seen those things.  They require you to grind the sea salt and the pepper corns, and sometimes it's kind of difficult.  At 91 years old, Beth's mother barely has the strength to retrieve a Kleenex from a box, and she had a lot of trouble with the salt and pepper mills.  A salt mill or a pepper mill requires two hands, and Beth only has one hand at the moment because of the cast on her left wrist.  They couldn't operate those things.

The waitress stopped by and asked if they needed anything, and Beth said they needed salt and pepper.  The girl pointed out the mills to them.

"But we can't operate those," Beth said.  "Have you got a regular salt shaker?"

The girl was baffled by what Beth said, and she pointed out the salt and pepper mills again.  Beth asked to see the manager.  She explained to the manager what the problem was, and the manager said they can't get salt any other way than the way it was on the table.  Beth offered to give her $5 to buy a box of salt, and the manager said they can't really do cash transactions with their vendors.  Beth pointed out that you can buy a whole case of regular salt and pepper shakers for next to nothing at a restaurant supply house, and apparently the girl was befuddled by that.

Beth pointed out that people like her, or people with severe arthritis or amputees or others with impaired hands might appreciate having regular salt and pepper shakers.  The manager didn't really seem to comprehend the nature of the complaint.

This country prides itself (I think) on making accommodations for people with disabilities, and it seems strange to me that a company as large as Red Lobster hasn't figured out that salt mills and pepper mills--while probably delivering superior products for their "gourmet fare"--are simply inaccessible to some of their customers.  Ironically, there were probably ten empty disabled parking spaces in their parking lot, but two customers at the same table couldn't salt and pepper their food.  Isn't irony great?

ED

Dear Santa...

...This is what I want for Christmas:

This will help a good boy (me) be even better.

ED

Chili

I got a craving for chili this morning.  I make a big pot of it two or three times a year, and today was the day.

Welll, I screwed it up by putting too much salt in.  I called my friend, Addie, to see what to do, and she said to put a raw potato in it to absorb the salt.  I did that.

Then I called my son-in-law, Chef Mike, and he said the only way to get rid of a too-salty dish is to dilute it.  Following Mike's instructions, I added another can of beans, another can of tomato sauce, and a can of crushed tomatoes.  That diluted the salt, but it made the chili so tomatoy.  I wasn't the good chili I usually make.

The irony?  Beth had chili for lunch, and she brought home the leftovers for me.

ED