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...and a scotch for the gentleman

{mr toad, 10th & howard}

I love surprises, and for my 47th birthday yesterday, Karen planned an overnight in Omaha, and it was just what the doctor ordered.

We ended the day at one of my favorite places in the world for live music. Mr. Toad’s is a small, corner bar in the Old Market with a small jazz combo that performs every Sunday night, and has done so for years. A few cats abide here (and I use that term respectfully, as that is how they refer to themselves) that are as faithful as a church lady, and last night was no different, so I pulled up a chair next to LeRoy, who seems to know everything I wish I knew about jazz. He me gave the back-story on the new guys sitting in with the group this session.

A drink out of the hose

3:52pm

Feeling good about tonight's dinner service. The pork roast is falling apart as it should. The brisket will enjoy the extra time in the low heat. Black raspberry Ice Cream is starting to set. The bartender will be here in a few minutes to go over the new cocktail, The Chinese Bloody Mary, that I've been waiting to unveil. It's a tad spicy, but with the number of people who still order soup on a 95 degree day, this one should go over just fine.

I'm glad to see basil back in season. The aroma is so prevalent in the kitchen. It is sanguine at best, and demands attention like a colicky infant. It and a little tomato and olive oil are sufficient food on their own.

How would you describe your food?

{young tomato forming in my garden}

My wife and I make a good balance as we think very differently about how to approach day to day operations. She is much more practical and action oriented, which I appreciate very much. In her mind, most everything could and should have been done yesterday. I, too, like results, but for some reason, deep in my DNA, appears to be etched a need to answer the “why” questions first. I want to be clear on why I am doing a particular activity before I throw myself into it fully.

How am I supposed to feel?

Watching my wife go through cancer treatment is a little like finding yourself in a movie theater showing a film that you already know you don’t like. You can’t walk out in the middle of it, nor do you know how it’s going to end. You are left to watch scenes that don’t make sense and leave you wondering how this fits into the entire plot.

8am Monday morning found us in the treatment room of the Oncology Center, a spacious area with east facing windows overlooking a small wood with a swift creek from all the overnight rain. The clinic part was obvious from all the IV units next to the reclining chairs, of which Karen, being the first patient of the day, got her pick of the most comfortable. But medicine has taken the emotional element into consideration more now by providing these small comforts while diminishing the sterile environment that once was all we knew when going to see the doctor.

Look before you leap; back with a knack

{feeding the chickens at route 2, box 162, 1965}

My nephew got married last weekend in Springfield, MO, which gave me a chance to be with my mom and sister and her family for a couple of days. We had the usual good time together, sharing stories and laughing. In the midst of it all, I began to take note of how many times we mentioned, "like dad would say..." or "I remember dad always told me..." He had a million little sayings, many of which I use reflexively to this day.