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 |   Tales from real life |
| Well, if they're not true, they oughta be! |
I’ll make a little omeletto in a pan, scrambled eggs, scrambled eggs, slice a piece of juicy mango. Toast with jam and coffee whipped with cream so frothy, yum! (Yummy yummy) hungry tummy, ( Yummy yummy) hungry tummy, in my tummy it must go, I love it so! Anyone can make scrambled eggs, even me. I mean, the recipe is right there in the name, like hot dogs or grilled cheese sandwich. If you can say it, then you already know what to do. In my case, I sauté some peppers and onion in olive oil for a few minutes and then stir in the eggs with a dash of garlic powder and some salt. When they're no longer runny, I remove the heat and sprinkle shredded mexican cheese mix on top. I make toast while it's resting, and then serve it to my wife on a warm plate. This comes up because last night I offered to make breakfast and then sort of overslept. Deb was waiting grimly at the kitchen table. She wasn't going to let me weasel out on my promise. The kitchen TV was tuned to an old Jacques Pépin cooking show, and I couldn't help but wonder if that was supposed to be an inspiration or a comment on my lack of culinary skill. For once, it went well and I am happy to report that the state of the union is domestic bliss. |
| My first 'real' job out of college was for a small company that sold digital controls for machine tools. They had just introduced the first machine tool controller based on a microprocessor (the same 6502 chip that was used in the Apple I personal computer). Our specialty was converting manually operated milling machines that required skilled machinists into automated tools that anyone could program to cut complex shapes in metal (even me). The controller and motor drive retrofit package was quite successful, undercutting the competition by thousands of dollars. My title was Applications Engineer, and the job consisted of helping customers to adapt our products to their specific machine tools. Part of the job was to design the electrical and mechanical interfaces, part of it was teaching programming, and part of it was troubleshooting. Business was so good that I soon got a technician named Sam to work with me. Sam was a very laid-back guy who rarely spoke up or pushed his own opinions. He was content to do as he was told and do it well. Sam was a few years older but didn't seem to mind having a younger boss. Sam may not have had a lot of ambition, but he was reliable and worked hard. We got along well, and I was happy to have someone to share the workload. When Sam's 60-day evaluation paperwork arrived, I was surprised to see that his first name was actually Sanford. "Sanford, huh? I didn't catch that when we were introduced. I guess everyone calls you Sam for short?" "Nope, just you." "You mean I've been calling you by the wrong name for two months!? Why didn't you say something?" "Well, you're a good guy and I don't mind Sam. I've been called worse." |
Love Is: (a work in progress) Love is strong, it perseveres, a patient plodding ox. Love is whispered nothings, a promise in a box. Love is private sacrifice, unnoticed, quiet, small. Love is unredacted, a blaring trumpet call. Love is an obsession, an urgent, driving need. Love is abnegation, exchanging you for me. Love looks up to heaven, a vision pure and true. Love keeps us firmly grounded, pushing on and getting through. Love is instant karma, a lightning bolt sublime. Love is carved in granite words, enduring throughout time |
With poesy, prose, and fiction and essays into humor, nostalgia tugs the heartstrings of the wistful baby boomer. In tone or form or function, there’s neither rhyme nor reason, but words keep whirling ‘round, so it’s always writing season. Author's note: ▼ |
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