Be My Valentine (Or Another Monster to Feed)

Like migrant birds, many of our mostly-all-retirees who own homes, here in Privatopia, are at their winter nests. As a result there were quite a few "no-show" bowlers without assigned subs at Privatopia's Women's Bowling League last Wednesday.

Our team of three bowled against a single bowler. My point being, that as a result of this lopsided bowling series, our team and the single bowler finished quite a bit earlier than usual.

When I left the house I'd told Faithful Husband that he could probably expect me to be home somewhat late, as I'd planned to stop at the grocery store  and gas station on the way home. Also, I wasn't certain if the official "scorekeeper" of the bowling league, for whom I was filling in, was due back this week or next week. If she was still away, I'd have to wait until all of the teams finished bowling and collect the scorecards before leaving.

"If things change, and it looks like I'll be home sooner, I'll call you," were my parting words. But, in a frantic rush out the door, I'd forgotten my IPhone.

The scorekeeper was indeed back in town and like I said, we finished bowling early. As I left the bowling alley, sans phone, I found myself concerned about the wind, drifting snow and frigid temperatures. "If the car gets stuck, I can't call for help. And anyway, Faithful Husband will be happy that I'm home early," were my reasoned thoughts.

I pulled into the attached garage, grabbed my bowling bag and headed to the door connecting to the house. As I placed my hand on the doorknob, I heard my husband's voice, "Alexa, play some romantic music." I heard the murmured reply of a female voice at the same time I heard lovely classical music wafting softly my way. I stood stock-still for a moment. Then, I quietly open the door to see Faithful Husband and tall, elegantly slim Alexa...

***

We are among the "chosen." Sometime last November we received an invitation from Amazon to request an invitation to buy a product- stop right here! Have you ever heard of such a thing? Okay, now this is not verbatim, but here is how I saw it:

Amazon speaking, "We invite you to request from us an invitation for the honor of purchasing our new product, Amazon Echo. Now this doesn't mean that we can actually guarantee that you will be among the chosen first to purchase this product, but only promise that we'll give it some thought and get back to you at a later date."

When I was a child, my now dearly departed mother used to use the phrase, "We got a live one." I discerned from her use of it that she meant someone who could be duped, easily duped, that is. I googled the phrase and find:

[Underworld]: a prospective victim of a swindle, esp. a wealthy, gullible person; one who can be easily taken in or exploited, esp. for money. (My mom had a thing for using "underworld or 'thug' language.")

Tall and elegantly slim Alexa

***

To quote P. T. Barnum, "There is a sucker born every minute."

***

Amazon Echo is a Bluetooth/digital speaker with a built-in voice control assistant.
"Take a look at this. I think this is interesting." I view the propagandized sleekly produced video which features a good-looking family of four, each chiming in with requests of Echo, named Alexa by Amazon:
Boy: Alexa, how do you spell Bogota?" Bogota is spelled B-O-G-O-T-A."
"The timer is set for 10 minutes beginning now."
"Taylor Swift playlist coming up."
Alexa responds with a complete current local weather report.

We've had Siri on our IPhones for two or three years. I found myself using Siri only occasionally back then, and even less as time went on. My Faithful Husband used either only slightly more often than that. We already own a couple of plug-in digital speakers for playing our digital music collections. So, why in the world would the two of us be interested in buying yet another product with the same purpose?

Faithful Husband, who is usually the more savvy of the two of us when it comes to making logical and wise purchases forwarded me the invitation to request an invitation.

Boy (doing homework): "Alexa, what is the capital of Colombia, South America?" Alexa: "The capital of Colombia, South America is Bogota." Boy: "Alexa, how do you spell Bogota?" Alexa: Bogota is spelled B-O-G-O-T-A."

Busy mother (in the kitchen): "Alexa, please set a timer for 10 minutes." Alexa: "The timer is set for 10 minutes."

Younger sister (lounging on the sofa):,"Alexa, play some Taylor Swift music." Alexa: "Taylor Swift playlist now playing."

Father (preparing to go outside): "Alexa, what is the temperature outside?" Alexa presents complete local weather report.

But, they couldn't fool me. I could already envision the fights as the siblings argue over their favorite playlists, the parents chastising the kids for using Alexa to get their homework done… well, you get the picture.

Yet as Faithful Husband pointed out that Amazon was offering it at a 50% price reduction ($99 instead of $199), and that he felt it was worth it for the speaker alone, I found myself agreeing that we should request an invitation for an invitation.

***

Now that we've used her for a while I find that Alexa is not perfect, but she is certainly fun to use.

With a built-in always-actively-connected microphone, Alexa can listen for her name from across the room. Talking to Alexa feels more natural than it ever did when I used Siri. When I'm typing at my Mac, I don't have to open a new page to research something, I simply ask Alexa to look it up. Anytime Faithful Husband or I discover that we are low on some food item or various household sundry it is  über-simple to ask Alexa to add it to our shopping list. She can play music from either of our digital collections with a nice 360-degree sound speaker.

But she's not perfect. She is still learning our voices and on rare occasion misunderstands us. She does not run on battery power and so isn't really portable. And you can't mention her name when discussing her or she will hear her name and interrupt what she's doing to address you. Like when I was typing this blog and asked Faithful Husband a question about having Alexa add mayonnaise to the shopping list and she promptly interrupted the music she was playing and replied, “Mayonnaise has been added to your shopping list.”

We both see potential for her down the road. And while I like Alexa, I would say that Faithful Husband is actually quite smitten with her.

But, like I foresee the problems likely to occur with the family of four in the video trying to share her use, I see potential for mishap with Alexa in the future. How far along will it be that instead of simply adding to our shopping list, we will be able to have said objects conveniently shipped directly to our home. Instead of "Alexa, add Valentine Chocolates to my shopping list," will I be able to say "Alexa, ship me a two-pound box of See's Assorted Chocolates in a heart-shaped box"  and have her reply "A two-pound box of See's Assorted Chocolates in a heart-shaped box will arrive on Friday before 6:00 p.m."?

So like that magic pulse, aimed at keeping us replete, that magic pulse that beats inside our Nessie (http://topeacenquiet.blogspot.com/2015/01/feeding-monster.html) so beats the promise that Alexa will one day readily accept our money in some frighteningly easy manner and my “one-click” purchases with Amazon will become virtually “click-less.”

***

Here are pix of the Valentine's dinner Faithful Husband and I prepared for ourselves. The romantic music list he was testing out from Alexa played in the background while we cooked.

homemade sourdough bread

salad with balsamic dressing

sides of bacon wrapped asparagus and twice-baked potatoes

steak broiled because it's too darn cold to grill outside

ditto for the lobster tails

chocolate mousse

A Cold Weather Recipe

I can't remember the recent social event I was attending here in Privatopia, but I do recall that one of my fellow home owners said to me, "Hey Rae, how is it over by your place? It must be like a frozen tundra over there."

I paused a moment to give measure to her words. She was an acquaintance, someone I didn't know very well, so it was difficult to discern her intent at conversation. Did she mean that my house did not have the beautiful view of a McMansion waterfront home? Or was I being defensive?

Recently I'd witnessed a fellow Privatopia resident say to a friend, whose home is located near the ski hill, "Well, it must be awful for you with the noise of that snowmaking machine and those bright lights that illuminate the ski hill." Or, the time a neighbor said to me, while visiting my house, "Oh, you don't have the open floor plan and expansive ceilings. How do you cope? I'd be positively claustrophobic."

Encounters like that are fodder for my blog. I'm beyond junior high school and it is no longer easy to make me envious, or to make me somehow feel inadequate that my possessions are not as grand as yours. Sometimes in such situation I have to suppress a desire to chuckle.

But, assuming the "frozen tundra" woman meant no harm, and remembering she lived in a cozy and protected vale-like area, I replied,  in my best Werner Herzog voice,

"Yes, well, our house is small and sort of set up atop a hill."

"So the wind can be quite unrelenting, 

especially during winter storms."

"Thank goodness we had new windows put in last year."

It seems to have paid off in a more tight and warm home."

***

I do not possess Werner Herzog's masculine voice, nor do I speak with a pleasing German accent. However, I can imitate his slow, deliberate, almost insistent cadence. And I can speak in a deadpan manner, practically devoid of emotion and with perfectly enunciated English.

I am a fan of Werner Herzog's films. I especially enjoy films in which he provides some of the narration. That voice, that gentle calming voice that absolutely demands you sit up and pay attention. That voice, that uncritical voice that makes you stop and think, and think again, long after you've absorbed the words.  That voice, that relaxed, softly predictable voice with its stops and pauses between sentences that seem to drive home a point harder than a sledgehammer. Oh, that voice.

***

When potential retirement loomed over us like an undefined cloud, I was having lunch with Reliant Husband in a diner a town away from our newly bought home in Privatopia. We overheard the townspeople asking one another, "Where will you winter this year?" "I can't wait until we are asked that question," I whispered to Reliant Husband, as dreams of exotic tropical destinations slowly danced in my head.

***

We had an amiable substitute on my Privatopia bowling team this past month, as one of our team is off "wintering" in Florida for a month. As we waited our turns to bowl, the sub asked, "Rae, will you be getting away anywhere this winter?"

"No," I explained "we made a quick trip to the East Coast to visit family over the holiday season. But, that's about it. We spend a couple of days each week with our new grandson. They grow so quickly. Soon enough we'll be able to take longer winter vacations, but right now he needs some time with us, and we with him-" I could feel myself making excuses about not taking flight like a “snowbird.” Yuch!

***

Reliant Husband and I have varying introverted tendencies that make it enjoyable for us to be somewhat isolated. We like to cross-country ski and snowshoe, not in crowds, but just the two of us. If I'm away bowling Reliant Husband will go out skiing alone. He also likes to putter about the house. I like to cook and bake. We both enjoy reading books or watching films. Neither of us use FaceBook.

In short, we both enjoy looking out of the back window at our "frozen tundra," a view that is both static and ever-changing. 

Two of Werner Herzog's documentary films come to mind as I gaze at my tundra, 1) Happy People: a Year in Taiga and 2) Encounters at the End of the World.

***

This week we returned from our two-day trip to the city to visit our grandson to find knee-deep mounds of snow surrounding our house. We temporarily abandoned the car on the road and began, in twilight, to dig our way back into our home. With the shovel we made it to the garage where Reliant Husband started up the snow thrower. He worked on the driveway and I attacked the deeper drifts with a shovel to make it easier for the snow thrower to do its work. We laughed as I reminded Reliant Husband of how Anatoly in Happy People arrives after a full day spent trapping to find his hunting cabin has had a tree fall on it, crushing part of the roof, snow is at least three feet deep on the remaining roof, a bear has torn open the windows, even though it knows full well there is no food to be had. And thus in the dark Anatoly, alone, must fix the cabin as he has nowhere else to go, no other alternative but to repair it so that he has a shelter in which to sleep. Our laughter makes the work go quickly and in one hour we're safe and warm in our-home-with-a-view-of-the-frozen-tundra.

***

All of my life I dreamed of retirement, a time when I could chose what activities I wanted, a time when I finally owned my time. And what better excuse to do nothing but the basics for a happy life then to be snowed in. What better reason to pick up a book you've always meant to read? What better reason to make bread from scratch? What better reason to watch, or re-watch a film? What better reason to write a story for a great-great-grandchild with whom you will otherwise never have contact? What better reason to dream during the day rather than at night when you are asleep?

All of my energy that is expended in a frenetic world of sometimes overwhelming activity and constant internet connection is slowly and deliberately repaired, rebuilt and restored, like Anatoly's cabin.

***

A Recipe for Winter Relish

How to relish winter? Well to begin with, put on layers of good winter clothing, jackets, balaclavas, gaiters, boots, hats and gloves, then don skis or snowshoes and head outside. Drink in the beauty that dazzles your eyes to near blindness and the crushing sound of complete silence that almost hurts your ears.

Now for as long as necessary, incubate your mind so that when you return home you will be instilled with energy to do more enjoyable things of your own choosing.

***

"Sometimes I sits and thinks, and sometimes I just sits…”

p.s. Just as I began to hit the 'post' button I looked up to see a majestic bald eagle over the tree in my back yard. - Sorry I couldn't get a photo in time!

Something to Laugh At (or: The Cost of Friendship)

Some years back, a female cousin of my husband told me a story of when she was new to parenting. The cousin, and her husband, had just purchased their first home in a new town and as a stay-at-home mom, she found herself bereft of friends, especially "mom friends." Out one day doing errands, she ran into a former classmate from her alma mater, Knox College. The classmate, like the cousin, was married and a new parent to a young, under nine-month-old baby and also, a "stay-at-home-parent."

"Oh, come and visit us!" begged the cousin's former classmate. "I'd be so pleased. And honestly, I could use the company right now."

A specific date and time were chosen. On the prescribed day the cousin packed up and toted her baby, and all of the considerable accoutrements necessary to traveling with an infant on a 20+ mile journey to visit a dear old acquaintance.

They had a nice visit, she remembered. They laughed and cried at their shared old and new predicaments.

The original plan had called for a mid-to-late-morning visit so the babies would be in their respective homes for lunch, and their all-important afternoon naps. But, heck, when you're having so much fun...

"Do stay for lunch! I have plenty of food for your baby. Does he eat chicken and carrots and applesauce and such? Great! I have plenty. You and I can have grilled cheese and soup. He can sleep on the drive home."

The lunch, extra time reminiscing with an old friend and sharing tips on parenting was most enjoyable, but all good things must come to an end. The cousin helped her friend clean up, then packed her baby and his regalia. Home they went. Of course, her infant son fell asleep two minutes into the thirty minute commute home. When she attempted to transition him from the car seat into the house he promptly woke, baby-refreshed and she was unable to coax him back to sleep. But heck, and so what!? It was worth an abbreviated nap to hook up with an old comrade, and more importantly, a possible new “mom-friend.”

She basked in the joy of the reconnection for a couple of days. "Isn't it nice to have a good friend so close?" she thought to herself. "Maybe we can find a baby class at some mid-way point that we can sign up for together. I think I read that the YWCA has a mother-tot music/movement class and that's about 1/2 way between our neighborhoods. Or, maybe the big new library has a story time for little ones? How fun it will be to have an old pal with whom to share with such experiences!"

A couple of days later her son took his morning nap, she stepped out onto the porch to retrieve the mail. "Oh how sweet!" she noted. "A letter from my friend! And only just yesterday I sent her my thank you note. This is looking really positive for me finding a 'mom friend,' " were her thoughts at the time.

Inside the house she quickly slit open her friend's envelope. She was confused at first as she looked at the contents. It took a minute, she confided to me, before her brain was able to make sense of it. Even then it didn't really make any sense at all. Inside the envelope was an invoice, an invoice for the jars, partial jars yet, of baby food her infant son had eaten a couple of days earlier, as well as her share of the soup and grilled cheese. "Oh, it must be a joke?" she thought. "I'll give her a call and we'll have a good laugh."

But, it wasn't a joke...

***

The story from my husband’s cousin popped back into my head when I saw the blurb about the 5-year-old British boy who parents were invoiced for "missing a birthday party." I'm certain you've seen it. It's been all over the internet and television news. Anyway the young boy's parents assented to his attending a birthday party, which was to be held at a ski resort. At a late moment they recalled that they'd previously agreed to the boy spending the same day with his grandparents. The grandparents trumped, so I say good for the parents' judgement on that matter. (I'm just saying ;) ) However, the boy's parents later receive an invoice from the birthday child's parents for what they termed a "no show" fee.

***

I don't get penny-pinchers, not these kinds anyway. How do you justify sullying an attempt at friendship, be it for yourself or for your child, with a request for money? And maybe I've watched one-too-many Judge Judys but I fail to see any basis, in law, for such an unreasonable and petty demand.

But what I really don't get, in this recent case, is the invitee's parents who then took the whole matter to the internet in a somewhat hostile manner, not as a laugh to be shared with the world. They were offended and angry, angry enough to include a photo of their 5-year-old son for the world to see, and perhaps as a lure for empathy. Apparently, currently, the way some people handle such matters is to look for on-line support. But come on, do you have to post a picture of your child?!

Better to be like my husband’s cousin and keep it as a funny story to share with friends and family.

Thinking back now, I cannot recall whether the cousin paid the invoice or simply ignored it. At any rate, I do recall that she recognized an all-important red-flag when she saw one and dropped any idea of developing a new "mom-friend" relationship with her former college classmate. 

It wasn't a joke… Oh but, indeed, it was!

Feeding a Monster

"Smoking is wonderful," says Bebe on an episode of the sitcom, Frasier.

"Bebe, what is so wonderful about smoking?" asks psychiatrist Dr. Frasier Crane.

Incredulously, she turns to look at him, "Everything."

She then replies, with a faraway look, as she slowly and passionately explains:

I like the way a fresh, firm pack feels in my hand.

I like peeling away that little piece of cellophane and seeing it twinkle in the light.

I like coaxing that first, sweet cylinder out of it's hiding place,

and bringing it

slowly

up to my lips,

striking a match,

watching it burst into a perfect little flame,

and knowing that soon that flame will be

    inside

    me.

I love the first puff,

pulling it into my lungs,

little fingers of smoke

filling me,

caressing me,

feeling that warmth penetrate

deeper,

and deeper

until I think I'm going to burst!

Then PHWHOOOSH,

watching it flow out of me in a lovely sinuous cloud

no two ever quite the same.

***

I don't smoke, but I find Bebe's description deeply amusing. And she’s right, habits can become sensual indulgences that excite, incite, stir, exhilarate, and enhance the anticipation, and later the memory, of a guilty pleasure. There is something about the habitual repetitions of simple movements that become an embodiment of the pleasure itself.

“Guilty pleasure” -the key word being guilty, indicates that you should, at the least, feel a modicum of contrition for your inability to deny your desire, be it a cheap romance novel, a tub of ice cream, slot machine gambling, online pornography, midday martinis, incessant video gaming...

at some point the boundaries, the guide posts we put up to keep ourselves in check begin to dissolve as we seek more and more pleasure.

Or, in my situation: a monster appears.

***

I wake up at my usual 6 a.m., even though I am physically in a different time zone. Weird, huh? I find myself in a house with, including myself, eight occupants, -six human and two “canis lupus familiaris,” you know, domestic dogs, all of whom continue slumbering. I mean, who wakes up before the dogs? Me, I guess. Our guest room is in a wing separate from the rest of the house. I amble to the kitchen, clutching my IPad. What I’m most interested in at the moment, what drives me to the kitchen, is my endeavor to find a cup of coffee. The last time I was in this home for an overnight visit there was a regular coffee pot sitting in the corner of the kitchen where my eyes now scan.  In its spot is a smaller version of what resembles my daughter’s Keurig coffee machine. I’m somewhat familiar with how that machine works, so I opt to give it a whirl. It beats me having to drive somewhere to find a brewed cup of coffee. I know that the local Starbucks is only a couple of miles away, but I also know that I will probably wake the dogs, and thus the entire household, simply by opening the front door to get to the car.

I follow the customary Keurig steps: turn the machine on, make certain there is sufficient water in the reservoir, insert a fresh pod, hit the button for the cup-size I’ve chosen, and heat milk in the milk frother (which this family owns -heck, they introduced me to frothed milk.) My efforts result, just moments later, in me sipping a cup of the finest coffee I’ve consumed in quite some time.

A bit later Usually Frugal Husband saunters sleepily into the kitchen and asks, "Where'd you get the coffee?" I nod toward the small set-up and urge him to give it a try, "It's just like Keurig, only better." Frugal Husband, a former Navy sailor, drinks only ‘black' coffee. He follows my instructions to operate the machine. He selects the larger of the cup-size buttons. Both of our “coffees” have a handsome amber foam atop, crema, I’m to find it’s called. Usually Frugal Husband samples his brew and declares it to be “pretty darn good.”

It turns out we are drinking espresso, mine with frothed milk added, making it actually a latte. A short time later our hosts waken and prepare regular coffee for us, from the old pot I remembered from past visits, the pot pulled from a covered ‘bread box,’ of sorts. But, come the next day, and the next, as I continue to wake ahead of the household, I chose to make my initial drink a cup of espresso with frothed milk. It is the beginning of my new affection for espresso-laced morning beverages. Usually Frugal Husband is equally intrigued by the espresso experience.

We contemplate using the gift cards we received over the holidays to purchase, what we consider to be, a somewhat expensive espresso machine. “Let’s sleep on it,” we decide.

***

On a recent return from a regular round-trip to and from Chicago, a minimum two-hour commute, I found it necessary to make a restroom “pit stop” at the half-way point, the Belvidere Tollway Oasis. As we stretched our legs and walked past the Starbucks I asked Usually Frugal Husband if he still carried the Starbucks gift card we used to share a few years back, before we retired from our respective workplaces.

“Yup, I have it in my wallet.”

“Should we get a latte or espresso?”

“You know, I just read that Starbucks has a new drink they’re featuring. It’s called a ‘Flat White.’ In fact, today is its debut. Do you want to try it?”

“Okay, but let’s check with the barista first and see the total funds left on the gift card.”

Usually Frugal Husband asks the barista for the balance. She scans the card and says, “You have twenty dollars.” 

Plenty of money, I think and thus order, “Two Flat Whites, please.”

“What size?” asks the barista.

“The smallest size you have.”

She busily prepares the drinks and shortly hands us one, “Here is the first one.” As she passes over the second she says, “That will be nine dollars and three cents.”

As Usually Frugal Husband hands her the gift card, we look at each other somewhat surprised. I snicker and stuff a dollar in the tip canister.

It’s been a while, maybe three years or so since we’ve ordered coffee at Starbucks, and so somehow we’ve lost our immunity to shock at Starbuck’s prices, four dollars and fifty cents per cup of coffee Flat White. As we walk to the car we laugh at our naïveté.

But, as we sip our drinks on the road, it is evident to both of us that this ‘Flat White’ is clearly a winner. The very next week on our round trip from the city we stop again at Starbucks for two “FWs,” as they are properly called. And again we thoroughly enjoy them. “Do you think we could make FWs at home?” asks Usually Frugal Husband.

***

Two days later the door bell rings. It’s Mike, our regular UPS delivery guy, with a package. Usually Frugal Husband and I open it together. He hands me the separately boxed Aeoccino Plus milk frother, part of the ‘bundle’ we’ve purchased, “You take care of this,” as he proceeds to open our beautifully boxed, Nespresso Pixie Carmine Red. I look at my husband as he holds the boxed machine, “That’s a nice name. We’ll call her Nessie, for short.”

“Welcome,” says the card, “By choosing Nespresso, you join a passionate, global community of coffee lovers. There are many advantages to owning a Nespresso machine, and delicious coffee every day is just one of them.”

The sleekly produce material accompanying the machine is just a tad too slick and I feel a tiny chia seed-sized pit in my stomach. What have we gotten ourselves into?

The previous day I’d done my Flat White research and felt confident I could make a drink close in taste to Starbuck’s. Usually Frugal Husband cleanses the new espresso machine, three times as recommended. “Did I just hear Nessie say, ‘Make me pure and pretty!’ ?” I ask. Usually Frugal Husband chuckles as I rinse and prepare the Aeroccino frother. 

We clean of a corner of the kitchen counter top just for Nessie and the Aeroccino. She is pretty, I think. Petite and slender, like many women wish to be.

Oh, and did I tell you, Nessie requires special bottled water? None of that stuff from the kitchen faucet for her. It reminds me of one of my grand-dogs who drinks bottled water from a special, stainless-steel, anti-bacterial bowl, due to her allergies. Did our Nessie come with special built-in sensitivities?

Nessie also requires occasional ‘descaling,’ sort of like I just got from my biannual visit to the dentist. We’ll have to purchase a special kit to aid us in Nessie’s biannual cleaning. 

With our pre-heated ceramic cups at the ready, I press the power button on the back of Nessie’s head. Her cup-size selection buttons immediately pulse to life, like two hearts beating in tandem. An additional light emanates from her abdomen. In 25 seconds she has fully regenerated, as her now-steady lights indicate. I could swear I hear her say softly at first, then more urgently, “Feed me.”

“Do you hear me? I said ‘Feed me!’ ”

Nessie arrived with a colorful assortment of pods, so I pick one up. “Lift the lever, you imbecile!” she cries out. I do so and gently place the pod inside her gaping mouth. She garbles, sounding much like me when I try to talk to the dentist when her hands and tools are in my mouth, but I can make it out: “Duh! Now close the lever, Nitwit.” I do so and hear her guttural sigh of satisfaction as I press the cup-size button on the left.

In a few seconds I have a perfect, and I do mean perfect cup of espresso. I follow the Flat White recipe and add, not frothed, but densely foamed and heated whole milk in exactly a two-to-one ratio. I pause a moment to enjoy the beauty of the beverage, the white, amber, tan and chocolate-brown colors combining as if a work of serpentine art. And like Bebe noted, I think, “no two ever quite the same.”

I carefully carry my FW art-in-a-cup to the kitchen table where I pull up a chair. I venture a sip, closing my eyes to give my whole being over to the experience, mindful consuming they call it. I make a purr, like a cat, as I allow my mouth to observe and absorb the aftertaste. “A perfect Flat White!” I announce

“Really?!” asks Usually Frugal Husband, “Is it really as good as Starbucks?”

“Every bit,” I promise as he hastens to prepare his own espresso.

***

In a couple of days we’ve whittled Nessie’s initial assortment of pods down to half. She’ll We’ll need more, so we place an initial order for 200 pods. 200!?

“How long do you think 200 will last us?” I ask. Usually Frugal Husband projects about ten weeks, if we ration ourselves to one a day each, five days per week. No more of this two per day indulgence we’ve been allowing ourselves. We’ll drink regular coffee a couple of days per week.

We drive into town to purchase six gallons of ‘special’ water for Nessie. When I received the confirmation email that Nessie’s 200 pods are on the way, I felt a relaxation come over me. Funny, I hadn’t realized I felt any strain until the tension began to ease, knowing that the monster's food was on the way.

“We’ve created a monster!” I wailed to Usually Frugal Husband.

“Yes, but look at it this way,” he reasoned, “It costs us about 75 cents per cup to feed her, a lot cheaper than four-fifty per cup we were feeding Starbucks.”

***

I am not having espresso, espresso is having me.

Our bundle packet

Media that feels too slick

Nessie's own corner

Beautiful expresso crema

Feeding in a pod

An after and before pod, (notice Nessie's teeth marks on the left)

"…no two ever quite the same"

This ad appeared on my computer (shortly after an FW search) ;)

My Electric Body Can't Carry a Tune

My Sensibly Frugal Husband has scaled back our satellite television subscription to the bare minimum. I guess I can hardly blame him since even when we were spending two or three times as much on paid television as we were recently, there wasn't enough that could hold our interest for a suitable time. Sensibly Frugal Husband enjoys live sports and history shows. I prefer foreign films, old classic movies or, any old-time television shows from my youth.

New Year's Day 2015, the SyFy channel had an all-day Twilight Zone marathon. I was able to view it because we spent the day at our faux-condo in the city, where we have access to many channels. On this New Year Day I watched a couple of episodes of Twilight Zone.

I hadn't watched TZ in years because a couple of spooky episodes managed to stick in my brain and on occasion these scary shows return to haunt my mind, 

( http://topeacenquiet.blogspot.com/2014/10/the-haunting-of-my-house.html )

like Talking Tina in the "Living Doll" episode, or the peculiar perpetually-returning guy in "The Hitchhiker" which gave me nightmares as a child, or the one (title escapes me) where someone gets trapped overnight in the store with mannequins. I have goosebumps right now as I type in this paragraph.

But, what I'd forgotten and now recalled, as I watched a couple of episodes that evening, is how often Rod Serling, the narrator, and often writer, of the program would work in parables with moral lessons on subjects such as war, greed, prejudice, conformity, paranoia and fear.

Rod Serling seemed able to broach and then air topics to which American television broadcasters, or more importantly corporate sponsors, might otherwise take offense and thereby censor. He was able to bypass censure by having the taboo topic occur on a different planet or an eerily other-wordly dimension in time or space, (or as he put it on his weekly introduction "...another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind.")- no need to worry or become alarmed, as it happens somewhere else. 

Rod's shows often featured surprise endings or strange twists with which he drove home his point. Mr. Serling wrote at least half of the 150+ episodes of the show during its five-season run.

A couple of my favorite parables (if you want examples of Rod's television preaching style) are "The Monsters Are Due on Maple Street," and "The Shelter."

This day I saw an episode I didn't remember from my childhood. The title, "I Sing the Body Electric," caught my eye. I knew this to be the title of the lyrical poem by Walt Whitman. A poem that celebrates the beauty of the human body, a body that  a soul uses to traverse to (and from?) the physical world.

This "I Sing the Body Electric" was a Twilight Zone episode written by Ray Bradbury. It begins with Aunt Nedra cautioning her brother (or maybe brother-in-law), who finds himself suddenly a single parent of three young children, that "Babysitters and nurses are not the same as family care." And that his children are currently, "like flotsam and jetsam …without guidance."

"How do you buy guidance for your children?" the father asks himself, later reflecting on Aunt Nedra's  advice. "Do I put out an ad on Craigslist? (Okay, actually it was just called a classified ad back then ;) ) 'Wanted: some kind gentle soul,' " his voice drifts off, then softly he utters, "to care…"

His son later shows him a Modern Science magazine advertisement from a company called Facsimile, Ltd. whose motto is "I Sing the Body Electric." 'If you are concerned with the moral and social development of your children, the article indicates, just buy one of our electronic data process systems in shape of an elderly woman. A woman built with precision and able to give loving supervision to your family.'

In other words? A mechanical grandmother, "a robot, if you will," explains Dad.

"I don't know," cautions the older daughter, "this doesn't sound right."

At this point the show pauses and Rod Serling interjects,

"They make a fairly convincing pitch here. It doesn't seem possible,
though, to find a woman who must be ten times better than mother in order to seem half as good,
except,

of course,

in the Twilight Zone."

"Come in we've been expecting you," says a voice at the door of Facsimile, Ltd. Inside they are met by a somewhat-creepy store salesman (substitute the image of a somewhat-creepy used car salesman here), who gives a quick run down on how the process works. Somewhat-creepy salesman tells the man and his three children that they will be able to pick out all of the specific appendages of the android, thus she will look just the way they want. All they need do is select the body part of choice and drop it down a chute. -And here is one of many funny parts -the younger two kids don't bat an eyelash at this instruction.

"I want her to have soft brown eyes like my agate marbles," says the boy.

"I want long hair, like Mom had," says the younger sister.

"I don't want her. She's not real! She's just a machine, just old junk," shouts the older sister, as she runs out of the building. Her father chases after her. The other two children shrug and carry on with the business of picking out their grandmother.

"I want thin fingers," says the boy. The younger sister then runs over to choose ears, complete with earrings already in the lobes! (I got a hoot out of this scene!)

"Do you want slender or sturdy arms?" asks Somewhat-Creepy Salesman, encouraging the two to keep choosing, "Do you wish short or tall stature?"

Finally the two get to the choice of a voice. Here they push a set of buttons ranging from high to low, each button emits a corresponding female voice recording, which utters a line from Walt Whitman's "I Sing the Body Electric." Together, the younger siblings choose a medium voice.

The scene fades out and back in, when a few days or maybe weeks later, here comes Electric Grandma bopping down their block, swinging her handbag, just as carefree as can be.

The boy recognizes her first, "Her eyes! Just like my brown aggies!"

Grandma knows each of their names.

"What should we call you?" one of them asks Electric Grandma.

"Any name you wish, Sylvia, Melvina-

"Grandma!" the two younger children shout in unison.

"Is that a kite?" asks Grandma. "Yes," says the boy, suddenly pouting, "but we have no string."

Electric Grandma magically produces kite string, right out of thin air. The younger two are elated.

Meanwhile, the older child refuses to accept the android woman and so it goes, younger two delighted, older sister abhorred at the whole matter. At some point the father apologizes to Electric Grandma for his older daughter's behavior. Softly, EG (Electric Grandma) answers, "Don't worry, there is no rush. She'll accept me in her own time, and in her own way," or something to that effect. She finishes gently, "A child's heart is very deep within and thus difficult to reach."

One day in a fit of pique, over some minor incident, the older girl runs out the front door. Electric Grandma goes after her. She catches the child and begins a talk with the girl about accepting the death of her departed mother.
"She left me!" shouts the girl.
"You mean she died," softly, but emphatically, counters EG.

Until this point the child had always claimed that her mother deserted her/them. So, now the viewer knows that the mother did not abandon them, but rather died. The girl isn't ready to confront the truth just yet. She turns and runs into the street, directly in front of speeding van. EG, with her lightning reflexes,  pushes the girl forward to safety, but in the process EG takes the full hit by the van.

The father has finally caught up to the pair and, logically, bypasses EG to pick up and comfort his daughter. The driver exits the van and looks on in fretful horror at little old Grandma lying motionless on the street. A few seconds later you see a close-up of EG's right pinkie finger moving, then her ring finger, then her whole hand and the EG magically pops right up, none the worse for wear.

The child, of course, now realizes the error of her ways and hugs Electric Grandma. "You're alive! You won't go away, like Mom, right? You won't die? Promise?"

"No, my child, nothing can hurt me. I cannot die. My job is to live forever."

The story flashes ahead to when the children are young adults heading off to college and saying their good-byes to EG.

The conversation goes something like this:
Pleadingly, "Oh, please don't go, Grandma. We love you and still need you!" 

"I must go children. You are grown now, ready for college and the world. And besides another family may need me."

"But, what will become of you?"

"Oh, I'll go back to Facsimile, Ltd. I'll either be sent out again or perhaps my parts will be redistributed. My soul will go to a room full of the voices of other grandmothers in storage. We will share the knowledge of what we've learned. I will tell them all that I learned from you three."

"From us?! But, we learned from you, Grandma. You taught us. You couldn't have learned anything from us, Grandma!"

"Yes, yes! You have taught me much," insists Grandma and "I will share that knowledge with others. And someday, oh I don't know, maybe after 300 years, I will gather enough wisdom to become alive." (I think old Electric Grandma maybe crossed her fingers or something here, as she looked hopefully up at the heavens.)

So, it had this Pinocchio twist ending. "I love it," I thought, as I laughed out loud. Then Rod Serling broke in to say in his serious voice,

"A fable? Most assuredly.

But who's to say at some distant moment there might be an assembly line producing a gentle product in the form of a grandmother, whose stock-in-trade is love.

Fable, sure 

-but who's to say?"

***

Who's to say that I am not an Electric Grandmother trying to earn her way to a real human body by being "brave, truthful and unselfish?"

do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do-ding*

(*At this point I tried to put a link to the Twilight Zone intro music I successfully downloaded, but the instructions lost me at step two. I just bet that Electric Grandma could have done it in a blink of her android soft brown "aggie" eyes.)

Welcome to the Twilight Zone!

Sensibly Frugal Husband assures me I have put in my 300 years and earned my right to be a real person. 

***

Check out Rod Serling's Twilight Zone if you have access to Amazon Prime or any such of those instant video companies.