Author: magrilless

Ah, I love the Fourth of July. Not really for any reason, or at least not for any patriotic reason. But I like the associations: parades and smiles, apple pie and grilling out, checked table cloths and friends.

This year, Eliza and I went to the parade. It was a beautiful 75 degrees and we snagged a prime grassy spot at the very beginning of the route, right next to the mayors. And we even made it through a couple floats and a marching band before she went terrifyingly panicky at honking horns and we had to walk the 2 miles home without any free, thrown-from-a-car candy. (When she was denied sitting on my lap — not normal for Ms. Eliza Q. to try — she settled for burrowing under the chair of the lady behind us. I figured this wouldn’t be appreciated for any period of time. So off we went to see what people do if they don’t go to the parade. The answer is, not really anything.)

We did walk through at least half the parade floats and fire trucks as they were staged before the event. Thus I feel justified in giving out a few awards:

The Bravest Parade Participant Award goes to the man from the dog rescue with three full-grown St. Bernards on one leash. Now that takes guts!

And there was a tie for the Most Self-Restraint at the Parade Award: to Eliza, for not devouring the small child who charged her and gave her a huge hug while holding an open bag of Cheetos; and to the 8ish-year-old boy of Cub Scout Troop #9, for not dousing a panting dog and sweaty dog-handler with his super soaker, even while our backs were turned and the adult supervision was distracted and it was really boring just sitting there waiting for the parade to start.

This is what it looked like when I got to work this morning.

What is it? A surprise eclipse? Being sucked into a black hole? Sudden blindness?

No. The power was out. This was unexpected, seeing as how all the streetlights in the area were working and other businesses were up and running. But not us. We are apparently in a mystery pocket where the power goes out without any reason. The power company recording nicely informed us that the problem would be fixed by 2 this afternoon.

Conscientious as I am about not offending coworkers and trust as I do the power company’s expediency, I took my bike light into the bathroom and went through my morning changing/freshening up ritual. As the bosses tried in vain to talk with an actual human, all us employess milled around by the open door musing over life, work, and pregnancy (a lot of people know a lot of people–and sheep–about to have babies, I guess).

Half an hour later, no further information could be acquired from the power company, and the big boss told us to go home and call for an update around 11. So I took my bike light back into the bathroom and changed back into my damp riding clothes and headed back for home, dreams of freshly baked cookies and knitting progress at the fore of my mind.

About a mile down the road, a coworker pulls up next to me and shouts that the power is back on. She was told to go drive around and find me so I wouldn’t have to bike all the way home before having to turn around and come back. She did say that she would play dumb if I wanted to pretend we never met, but I knew a phone message would await me, and then I’d just drive across town again.

So back to work, back to the bathroom (without bike light), back in work clothes, and back to the grindstone. Three cheers for a bona-fide, no backsies, really gonna happen holiday approaching!

Thank you thank you thank you, Moosewood Restaurant, for coming into being. A proud lineage of delicious cookbooks owes its existence to you. Although, once you came up with this recipe, you could call it quits, cuz nothing else is ever gonna taste as good as this:

Cilantro Pesto

2 c loosely packed cilantro leaves
1/3 c roasted whole almonds
2 garlic cloves
1 fresh (or dried) jalapeño
2 Tbs fresh lime juice
1/4 c olive oil
salt and freshly ground pepper

In a food processor, combine cliantro, almonds, garlic, jalapeño, and lime juice until finely minced. Add oil in a thin stream until a paste is formed. Season with salt and pepper. Yield: 1 cup

The last instruction of the recipe should be to die and go to heaven, cuz that’s how you’ll feel after you taste this. Mmm-mm-m-m-mmmmm.

Some shots of the garden:

People say the #1 advantage of bicycle commuting is that you get to notice things more. Scenery rolls by, not flashes away in a blur; people waiting at bus stops come to recognize you and wave; smells like grass and honeysuckle, swimming pools, and grazing cows and horses materialize.

Take yesterday morning, while riding through a park with a “lake” in the middle, on the shore stood a heron. Just out for a morning fishing trip in the middle of the city. Totally unperturbed by the neighboring apartments and traffic noise. What a send-off for a work day!

And then in the afternoon, a car fire. Not such a tranquil sight; rather, exciting to witness (although that may be because I’ve spent the past year and a half editing fire reference materials). Here was a car in a parking lot sprouting flames from the hood, black smoke belching upward, a policeman calmly diverting customers to park on the other side of the blacktop. A group of employess stood around, smoking on their bonus break, chatting, as if this is something that regularly happens at the bank. The approaching fire truck seemed to be the only one taking the incident seriously.

Which brings me to my #1 good thing about riding a bicycle: It will never catch fire in a parking lot.