Stories

Someone wise once told me that ’shoulds’ lead to anger, and that if I ever found myself experiencing irrational irritation or annoyance I should look for ways I’ve decided someone or some thing ‘should’ be behaving, then decide if that ‘should’ is rational. This has proven a very useful technique for me, since I can pretty much chronicle my life through a series of frustrations with how the world behaves, in contrast to the way it behaves in my fantasies. ‘The World Is Not Enough’ would be a good title for the story of my life, had it not been taken already by the James Bond franchise.

A fairly recent exception to my chronic state of dissatisfaction, one that leaves me hopeful that I may have at last conquered my demon, comes in the form of smartphone applications (apps). What makes me especially hopeful that I’m cured is the massive potential for disappointment the smartphone presents. If you think about it, a device that can access the internet wirelessly, take high-resolution photos, talk, sense touch, recognize speech, know exactly where it is in the world (including which way is up), know whether it’s moving and how fast, and recognize the direction and strength of magnetic fields should be able to accomplish some pretty amazing feats.

To my surprise, I find that smartphone apps that should exist, often do. For instance, I take comfort in the fact that there is an app that finds the cheapest gas near my current location, and one that listens to a song whose name I can’t remember and identifies it for me, and one that overlays the constellations over the sky when I point my phone at any part of it.

Many, many years ago there was an older man who came to our store pretty much weekly for about nine or ten years. He wasn't all that talkative, he came with a plan and left with all the things on his list and always 12 small white grapefruit. Not much conversation, not even any dialoge about the weather, even if it had rained every day in June. Things never changed. He always smelled of mothballs and pipe tobacco. Monk wore old Hathaway wool shirts, real cotton khaki trousers, leather and rubber L.L. Bean boots half laced up and we never saw him without a pipe in his mouth filled with unburned tobacco.  He drove a large old pale yellow Ford Squire station wagon that looked retired from his other home in Connecticut. He came on the same day every week at roughly the same time.

We never saw him with anyone, but some weeks his grocery basket was heavier than other weeks and he would be downright grouchy, usually around the beginning of August. We could tell by his cantankerous attitude that he had family coming to visit.  There is no stopping anyone from visiting friends or family in Maine the first couple weeks of August even if they aren't that fond of each other. My sister and I were sure to have the freshest grapefruit awaiting him because he wasn't shy about telling you the following week that "they were getting a little dry" and his tone could be quite unpleasant.

The wives were off to the local terme- a natural hot springs spa in the town of Spello – for soaking, facials, massages, etc. This was an excursion for the group known as “Umbrian Girls Go Wild” – a disparate, dissolute organization made up of various wives and non-wives, who get together at odd times during the year to do odd things.

Because the women needed to take a few cars, the eminent Don Michele di Sicilia and myself were left with only one car between us for the day. We offered to shop and cook dinner for our spouses after their soak, and this led to one of the longest afternoons of my life.

Everyone in the town of Trevi knows Don Michele. Everyone. So what would have been a brief stop in the coffee store in Borgo Trevi, became an hour of rumination, gesticulation, exaggeration and flirtation from the eminent Don Michele. I almost forgot to buy coffee.

It’s almost summer – in L.A. it feels like summer already. We were sent a sample of a new drink from Laughing Glass Cocktails. Okay, we like the name, too.

It’s an artisan tequila. No, it’s an artisan margarita. In a bottle, pre-mixed (but it doesn’t feel mixed at all, it’s so light and delicious....) and all natural. The name alone was perfect. Just pour it over ice in a wine glass and if you want to be fancy add a slice of lime. But for a summer barbecue, (or a guacamole starter) and a light incredible drink under the stars, we recommend it highly! And, for a party, it’s so simple, three bottles and no muss and fuss, and slightly lighter (thank goodness) on the alcohol content than if you’d mixed it at home. Some of us have a no alcohol before six rule around here, but you don’t, I bet it would be delicious with huevos rancheros, too!

Balsamic Vinegar. Yes, it’s a standard. It’s the norm. Can I have the salad with balsamic on the side. The price of balsamic varies like wine, but a few years ago we discovered a moderately priced balsamic (also artisanal, also limited edition, also limited distribution like the Laughing Glass above) called Leonardo & Roberto’s. It’s quite simply incredible!! I’m addicted.

Only available, as near as I can tell online or at some of John Edwards select Farmers’ Markets. Less is more. The taste is fuller, the amount of dressing you need is less as well as the amount of balsamic you need in the dressing is less. If I could, I’d send everyone I know a bottle instantly. We like the traditional but also, available in other flavors....!