Out To Lunch

Hello World, I declare! Independence Day has already come and gone on Monday, and I do hope that everyone out there in the fruited plains, from sea to shining sea, was able to enjoy a long holiday weekend, with plenty of baseball, Mom, and apple pie to put just the right Uncle Sam spin on the occasion. Of course, nitpickers on the quest for pinpoint accuracy (and you know who you are) will tell you that, technically, American independence was declared on July 2nd, although the actual document wasn't signed until the 4th - and personally I think the 4th of July sounds more grandiose than the 2nd anyway. It goes without saying that The Flag Brigade was hot on the case, giving the star-spangled banner its place of honor upstairs and downstairs, and lending the necessary patriotic hue to the neighborhood. (And much to its improvement, if I do say so myself.) Monday turned out to be a lovely day but extremely windy, and it must be said that the poor overworked Flag Brigade spent an inordinate amount of time unwinding the flags from their poles, all the livelong day, than is usually required. But at least it didn't rain, and Old Glory was brought back inside at the proper time, so it was definitely a red, white, and true blue holiday all around, and that's not just Francis Scott Key talking, believe me. Now here's a bit of a tasty morsel that needs a heaping helping of background information to make any sense, so here goes. Back in March was my birthday (Sweet 16 again, almost for the 4th time!) and the irrepressible Greg, the young maintenance fellow at work, gave me a lottery scratch-off ticket for luck, and many happy returns of the day, and thanks ever so. At the time, I admit that I was not feeling particularly lucky in so many ways (it had gotten to the point - at home, at church, and at work - where everything I touched broke, anything I picked up turned into a problem, and whatever I looked at was doomed to failure) that I put my scratch-off ticket aside for another time, rather than jinx it with all the bad luck that was my constant companion on every side, thanks not. Well, sure enough, time went by, as it does, and things seemed to turn a corner, so I didn't feel as much like the hapless Joe Btfsplk from the Li'l Abner comics, under a perpetual rain cloud, so I figured I would pull out my ticket and give it a chance. I had never tried one before, so the results were somewhat confusing to me, and I called Greg over to explain what all the circles and squares and arrows were trying to tell me. He needed no more than a cursory glance before shouting: "You won $50!" (!!!) Well, this was certainly a welcome turn-around in the luck department indeed, especially the way things had been going previously, I dare say. Greg volunteered to redeem the ticket at the pharmacy where he bought it, and I was going to split it with him, but by the time he came back, I had a better idea - there are only 2 maintenance men and me at the real estate management office, and with $50 in my hands, I declared: "Let's all go out for lunch!" So the three of us marched into the Grassy Sprain Diner (one of our tenants, and please feel free to go right ahead and visit their web site at www.grassyspraindiner.com and see for yourself) where the proprietor was delighted to see us as customers for a change, and not just representatives of the Landlord, doing our jobs. He assured us that we could count on the "family discount," but I waved the thought away by telling him that the New York State Lottery would be paying for lunch, and they had famously deep pockets, so no worries on that score. Now anyone who knows me can tell you that if I eat a big lunch, I will spend the rest of the afternoon snoring at my desk, so I was on the lookout for some of their lighter fare that would keep the Rip Van Winkle effect at bay at least until quitting time. My original plan to have cheese blintzes came a cropper when I saw that they had none on the menu, which surprised me since blintzes are a staple of diners everywhere, and a particular favorite of mine. (Although I did notice that they had something they described as a "Monte Crisco," which I'm thinking is probably somehow related to the Count of Monte Cristo, but with a lot more fat.) In the end, I settled on French Toast, which was excellent, while the boys tucked into huge plates of assorted victuals, and made them disappear in record time. We also ordered desserts and extra side dishes to go - plus some appetizers that our host threw in on the house - and with the promised family discount, still came in within our prize money budget, with a little to spare. So that was my lucky lottery lunch story, and all it took was a dollar and a dream, as they say. Last week I also mentioned Greg from work as an energetic young man who had never heard of the iconic pop duo of Simon & Garfunkel. That was no old musty cultural reference pulled out of thin air - I explained to the work crew having lottery lunch at the diner that my husband and his traveling companions were making tracks to see Paul Simon in concert at Forest Hills Tennis Center, where they had seen him 50 years earlier, in what may be his final New York appearance before riding off into the sunset and hanging up his spurs for good. It was one of the reasons that I was taking home extra food to go, since I was on my own for dinner - and their yummy egg salad did not disappoint, I can tell you that. Meanwhile, Bill was braving the wilds of Flushing Meadows, and what turned out to be a very wild and woolly night of thunder and lightning, with torrential downpours that would have sent lesser fans scurrying for the exits, and glad of it. But Paul Simon inspires the sort of rabid loyalty among his fans to the point that they will spare no expense, endure any hardship, go to any lengths, and scale every obstacle to see their hero in person - and certainly not let the slings and arrows of outrageous weather stand in their way, that's for sure. In the true spirit of "the show must go on," Paul and the stalwart band gave the legion of soggy fans something to cheer about, and did not cut corners in either quantity or quality at any point along the way. Bill didn't get home until the wee small hours of the morning, and ready to give the whole experience a thumbs-up in spite of it all (although his poor phone was definitely the worse for wear as a result) and that's not just a lot of parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme, by golly. The week started off with a literal bang, owing to the fireworks for July 4th on Monday, and we all know how those short weeks at work usually turn out to be the longest weeks after all, thanks not. This one perhaps even more so, since there was so much pressure to get everything wrapped up and ship-shape before my vacation, plus all the packing, and there just didn't seem to be enough hours in the day somehow. Starting tomorrow, I'll be off on my annual romp in the park, and anyone looking for me will be on a fool's errand - or, in those immortal words from "I'm Still Standing," by Elton John and Bernie Taupin, "If our love was just a circus, you'd be a clown by now." Anyway, that's my story and I'm sticking to it, because after all, my name is - Not Joe Btfsplk