N
nordie
Had to get the third of five vehicles into town early this A.M. for a state-of-the-art alignment; seems it's the year for the entire stable of licensed road vehicles to get checked for tracking, camber, caster, toe-in/out, and such.
My senior's bucket list isn't that impressive, really. I've done many things in my years, but as far as any grand schemes I believe need to be accomplished before I die, well, that's probably no longer a list than finishing my long-overdue greenhouse, building a root cellar into the side of the hill out back, helping to build my wife's sauna she's waited so patiently for, perfecting my soilless mix, and maybe finishing the barn's siding ....
Probably the most elaborate items on my bucket list would be getting drawn for, and harvesting, a wood bison permit for Delta Jct.'s herd (I've been putting in 2 permit apps per year for them for over 20 years.. and nothing yet), accessing and smoking some excellent traditional temple ball 'shish, on-site in Nepal, some Kashmir 'shish in N. India, chewing an unlimited supply of coca leaves in the mountains of South America, etc. All of which I've done in the States, but most of which I figure would be enhanced experiences in the land of their origin.
Of the more realistic and achievable items on my list, I've toyed with taking advantage of the well-advertised 'senior discount' at Denny's, for about a half-decade now. I mean, what says, "Thanks for your time on the planet!" more than a lukewarm order of 'Moons over My-Hammy.' Besides, when I say it aloud, I can see the face of the Cuban informant in Miami Vice years ago. It's a dialectic thing, I think.
So this morning, after dropping off my truck for the previously mentioned processes, I somewhat spontaneously proposed to my wife that we stop at Denny's and take them up on their seniors' offering.
Well.... after reading several pages of heavily laminated and glossy menu items, complete with pictorial presentations, all of which had 'WARNING: Just reading this menu may cause Type II diabetes," written all over it.. I finally decided that building my own omelet was the safest strategy, particularly once I'd confirmed that their mushrooms weren't from a can.
Didn't think to interrogate the waitress about the sourcing of the jalapenos. If such an opportunity arises in the future (unlikely), then I may remind myself to do that.
The 'whole wheat toast' looked like a whole wheat blend bread, that had been dredged through cold bacon grease, as the toast had clearly not been warm enough to melt what ever butter-substitute was in play in the kitchen there.
I knew before ordering that the likelihood of them having -real- hash brown spuds was slim, and the waitress told me that my reliable safety option, ordering home-fried spuds instead, was a no-go. So dehydrated hash browns from a carton was the only potato option. Apologies to the Irish for what our dehydrated nuclear food stores and preppers have done to your (and my) sacred veggie, the potato.
The omelet arrived, with the 'caramelized onions' clearly having been pre-prepared that morning... or the previous day, maybe. The spinach was decent when it could be located. The jalapeno slices in the thing were obviously pickled and from a jar/can. The waitress, who carried no order pad or pen (whom I'd initially thought might be gifted with a similar identic memory as mine, but later confirmed upon delivery of the order that she didn't possess such traits), apparently mistook my request for feta cheese for cheddar; no irreparable harm there, but still.... cheddar ain't feta... I mean, one's white and inherently crumbly, while....
Coffee was (as anticipated) somewhat bland and non-descript, like a roadhouse drip system, but without the road house decorum.
In the end, after a 15% senior discount, and after factoring in a $5 tip, the bill was just under $30.
I fondly but silently recalled the truck stop near Woodstock, Ontario, Ca. in the later 70s, where, as a younger hitch-hiker, I could tie my dog to a post, leave my packs with her, & get a GOOD steak and eggs breakfast, with real home-fried spuds or real hash browns, for all of $2.50 CAD.... next door to numerous operating family farms..
I thought about the Denny's breakfast this A.M., and the similarity or parallel in offering a discounted access to the very definition of mediocrity, for seniors, and the rest of this life, and what it's come to be. In that regard, I concluded that Denny's was A.) not worthy of its presence on my bucket list (y'all who haven't scratched that one off your lists yet can take heed, and just send me 50% of what you might've otherwise spent, for saving you the wasted moments of modest disappointment in your remaining years), but having done it now, I can remove it from my list, and B.)... Oh.. I nearly forgot 'B.' in all of this rambling... Denny's delivers a visual and taste-reinforced reminder of the mediocrity we've come to accept as decent or normal, and for that, I am not yet sure whether they should be fined, or rewarded.
I suspect that after a few puffs of Raspberry Lemon Haze (courtesy of generous friends), and an oil change on the old RAV4 in preparation for an upcoming trip (for which I'm not yet certain as to which vehicle I'm driving, so ALL of them have to be ready), I may have a better idea regarding the answer to that conundrum.
That, and I still need a hair-cut for the Border. I always try to look my conservative best when crossing federal borders. After all, they represent yet another fine example of the mediocrity we have come to accept as 'normal.' And as we know now, if we've been paying attention, life in this new age seems to largely be about appearances, in one way or another.
With that, I'm guessing the folks at Denny's would agree. I mean, the pics were pretty impressive.
I like to speed read, good one mate.
