Engineer or Architect

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20 Minutes Out

            I could feel the plane slowly losing altitude and then I heard the ding.  The fasten seat-belt signs came on.  The pilot made the announcement that we were 20 minutes out and had been cleared for landing.

            The flight attendants came through and made sure our tray tables were up and that our seat backs were all the way forward.

            From this point on we were to stay in our seats.

            I remember the moment the pilot said 20 minutes out because it was the exact same time I knew I had to go to the bathroom.  I began mentally calculating the 20 minutes needed to land the plane, then whatever taxi time was needed to get too the gate.  After the plane came to a complete stop we would hear everyone unbuckle their seat-belts.

            The aisle people would stand first and get their carry-on from the overhead compartment.  Then they would just stand there.  Everyone would have to wait until the outside worker maneuvered the rolling gateway up to the plane and then he would open the door. 

            Eventually I would be able to see heads at the front of the line file out, but each row would wait for the middle and window seat people to scoot over, stand up and then retrieve their carry on.

            This was going to be a very long process and that’s if nothing went wrong anywhere along the line.

            Assuming I made it that long I still had to go single-file off the plane, traveling only as fast as the slowest person in front of me, and then I would have to scurry to locate the closest restroom to that particular gate in the airport.

            All of this was running through my head when I felt the plane touch down.  I closed my eyes and held on to my armrests as the pilot gave it full flaps and applied the brakes.  Just for a second I felt a glimmer of hope knowing that 20 minutes had ticked off the clock, although the moment I closed my eyes a vision popped into my head. 

It was a short, yellow, self-standing sign that read,

 Closed for Cleaning.

           

A Chink in the Armor

          For those of you following these posts I will tell you that we are now on our third new toaster within a one-week period.  When our toaster of several years finally gave up and died we went out and bought a new one.  The toaster itself weighed less than half of our original toaster, and when we tried it we discovered it only toasted one side of the bread, and even at that it was not an even toasting.  It was a gradual toasting, going from not quite warm to a dark burnt.  We packaged it up and returned it.

          The second toaster, also weighing just a little more than the toast itself had the same flaw, burnt to almost warm, and only on one side.  We gave this toaster a second chance, taking into consideration that we could have a faulty loaf of bread.  The second trial ended with the same result.  We repackaged it and returned it to the store.

          I understand that for those of you who may not be morning people, breakfast food is hardly worth this blurb, however, consider this:  The global manufacturing industry, in its most competitive mode, has turned our cast iron Buicks into lightweight, energy efficient, ecologically friendly, mostly plastic vehicles, which is a good thing.

       The problem, as I see it, is that toaster manufacturers have done the same thing but shouldn’t have.  It is a TOASTER - HELLO.  Make it from steel; give it the quality it deserves.  Test it while it is still at the factory.  Run it through its paces.   I do not care if there are crumbs in the crumb tray when I take it out of the box; at least I will know it has been tested and that it works. 

          I recall the movie, A Knight’s Tale.  At one point in the movie, the hero was given armor that was a thinner gauge steel, much lighter and yet just as strong as the armor worn by his opponents.   

          In today’s manufacturing environment, Knights would have a life expectancy of four minutes.  With the competition between armor makers to cut costs, conserve resources and keep prices low, Knights would not only be killed quickly in battle, but die hungry as well, for the Royal toasters would burst into flames at first use.

          I have avoided identifying the various makes of these useless toasters, as I have also not mentioned the stores in which they were purchased.  I do not want to sway your future purchase decisions, as your particular experience may be all together different.  I only wish to voice my concern that technological issues in one industry may not necessarily be issues in another.

        I can tell you that the price range we found in today’s toaster market ranged from $19.00 to over $300.00.    Needless to say, we did not test the $300.00 model.   

     No one should be that much of a morning person. 

The Dean's List

I attempted to make a casserole yesterday following a Paula Dean recipe I found on the Net.  After making sure I had all of the necessary ingredients, I did all of the prep work and then started adding, stirring, measuring, pinching, sprinkling and cooking.

The aromas in the kitchen were great and I started to feel like I was actually going to pull it off.  It was going to come out perfect and taste amazing.  I double checked the times and temperatures and everything was right on.

OK, here’s where the Dean’s list comes in.  If you are not one of those people who made the Dean’s list when you were going to school then I would hazard a guess that the wine you have on hand is much like the wine I have - purchased according to price and not vineyard, year or location. 

Before Paula says to add a cup of white wine she should sprinkle a few more fresh adjective over her sentence and let it simmer a bit.

Example:  Add one cup of good white wine.

Or

Example:  Add one cup of expensive white wine.

Or maybe in a cooking for dummies book she might just come out and say,

“If you purchased this book then don’t add your wine because it will ruin the entire thing.”

In an attempt to look at this experience in a positive light –

I made enough for an entire week. 

On the down side,  I made enough for an entire week.

The Pantry

I built me a pantry with shelves to the sky

Eleven feet deep and 20 feet wide –

Protected from moisture, I sealed it from bugs

I added some lights but no carpets or rugs –

With mighty supports every shelf could withstand

Whatever the farmers could squeeze in a can –

I had twice filtered venting to circulate air

And natural earth-tones to keep down the glare –

On the back of the door a colorful chart

Showing organizationally where to start –

There were rotation schedules to weed out the dates

So when it was time, it wasn’t too late –

The tallest and biggest were put to the back

And never precariously were they stacked –

Medium sizes in carefully went

Labels face front and never a dent –

Finally the little guys with no long term leases

Things that had caps and of course stems & pieces –

I had spinach and chili and all sorts of beans

Brown breads and carrots, red things and green –

There were things that I hadn’t a clue of their uses

And stuff that came sealed up and packed in their juices –

There was Asian, Italian, Armenian, and Greek

With occasional sensors should one spring a leak –

Asparagus spears and pumpkin for pies

Olives and cherries and fish with their eyes –

Potatoes, tomatoes, diced and pureed

And some kind of coating designed to be sprayed –

French style green beans, small franks in a row

Artichoke hearts with beets don’t you know –

Pineapple rings and soup of the day

Liver from gooses, some say its pate’ –

I had filled up my pantry, packed in left to right

The only thing missing was a good appetite -

And a can opener.

Squeezing Out One Last Story

For this post I have disconnected my keyboard and I have wired up my old typewriter directly to the computer.

See, right off you think I’m kidding, but look at these letters.  This is it.  It is actually working.  It may be an antique but I love the sound it makes as I type.  It reminds me of some old newspaper reporter banging away to get the story out on time.  It isn’t at all like that clickity, clickity sound of the plastic keyboard.  This sounds substantial.

Anyway, now that I’ve got it working… What to type?

It was a dark and stormy night.

No, too tedious.

I was taking a shower and had to once again turn the knob to adjust the temperature to be not quite so hot when suddenly someone knocked on the bathroom door.  You can imagine how startled I was.  I live alone and my apartment door was locked and chained.

Someone was not out in the hall ringing my doorbell; they were already inside my apartment and knocking on my bathroom door.

I didn’t know what to do.  Do I call out and ask who it is?  Do I ignore them, grab a towel and try to climb out of the window before they just come barging in?

Was I going to need a weapon?  I looked at the counter.  There was a comb, a can of deodorant, toothpaste and a rather substa

 Sorry. It looks like my connection to the typewriter either came loose or something.  

Oh well, maybe it was a dumb thing to try.

 

To Everything…

We need not worry about falling stars or being smashed by asteroids, it is the Boomers that are colliding with Earth.  The Flower Child of the 60’s is returning to the earth in record number and with an agonizing thud.

The old-age homes we ignored and even made fun of as teenagers are now our return addresses.  What once were rap-sheets have been replaced by diet and medication instructions hanging from clipboards.  We are the Pepcid generation.

And in spite of what you may have heard, most of us are going gentle into this good night.  Not that our fight has left the station before us, but simply stated - the ride itself has changed.  It has become unrecognizable and without spirit.   

Even though we still have a few quarters in our pocket we just don’t want to go around again.

We’ll leave them for you in the little ceramic dish on the dresser. 

Some May Not Agree

It started with a loud, unusual noise.  It continued long enough for me to get up and go investigate.  It was the FedEx truck trying to make its rounds, but the thing had gotten stuck in front of my neighbor’s house. 

            The more the driver tried to get it unstuck, the more his tires would spin, smoke and squeal, which is the noise that I heard.

            I watched for just a few minutes to see if he was going to get himself free, but he was only digging in deeper.

            I walked back into my garage and retrieved a large bucket of kitty litter.  My thinking was that I could toss it under the tires of the truck to give him a little traction.

            The bucket was heavy and it was difficult walking so I only made it half way when I saw him finally break free.

            I turned around and headed back home. 

            I don’t think the fact that the kitty litter was not new should sully the spirit of my good intention.

Sauvignon for the Palette

How grand would it be if I knew how to paint

With canvas, easel and splashes of thought

Perhaps sipping Merlot in the Sun –

No question of commas or words would be wrought

Hard though to know when you’re done 

A fine Zinfandel and a warm summer breeze

would turn classical music to jazz –

Or maybe a Pollack - just paint a sneeze

In violet and gray for pizzazz

To squeeze out a rainbow with a Hip, Hip Syrah

Let it age like a fine Chardonnay –

Expressively yellow with tinges of Ah...

with a nice little splash of Reggae.