One of the favorite local breakfast places, Rise and Shine, is also home to excellent baked goods. Who'd have thunk, in one of the tiniest towns I've seen?
Today was my second foray into this gas station strip mall gem. Last time, grabbing a take out breakfast sandwich (on an East Coast-worthy bagel), I noticed the plethora of house made breakfast goodies in addition to the ski bum diet offerings of eggs, meat, and cheese. Muffins, giant cinnamon rolls, doughnuts, and croissants all obviously home made by their imperfections yet irresistibly enticing. Not much of one for heavy sweets in the morning, I decided that a croissant would showcase their skill as a patisserie and satisfy my craving for real food.
I went in this morning with my eyes on the croissants. In addition to my delicious three-egg, veggie-stuffed omelette and potato-chunky hashbrowns, I opted to pay a little extra and add a croissant instead of the offered toast or bagel. Now, I know I am spoiled by Standard and having almost unlimited access to croissants that have been lauded as better than those of Paris. But rather than turning up my nose, I used that as a measure by which to judge this new, unknown croissant quantity. As expected, these mountain croissants were not as good as Standard's. But it was a pretty damn good croissant. Puffy, flaky, crumbly in all the right ways, and distinctly buttery, the croissant could certainly hold its own in a croissant-off. It's a keeper, and only encourages me to keep returning to Rise and Shine until I have blown all my money and tasted their entire menu.
12.27.2009
12.26.2009
Like A Fish Out of Water
So I just went for my first 9,000 ft. run. It was a cloudy 20˚, so nothing out of the ordinary temperature-wise after nine years in Maine, and there is a 2.29 mile loop right out my front door. But the altitude. My goodness. Either I am way more out of shape than I should be, or there is zero oxygen up here. Running on flat ground is like trucking up a hill at sea level, and running uphill...well, let's just say I came way closer to throwing up than I ever have going SO SLOWLY. It's all you can do to keep putting one foot in front of the other, breathe, and not pass out.
But I made it! Maybe next time it'll be easier. If there is a next time.
But I made it! Maybe next time it'll be easier. If there is a next time.
'Tis A Season
Christmas is now officially over and done with, the extent of celebratory festivities being "family" dinner, team gift opening, and a soak in the hot tub. Although the latter happens more often than not, it occurred on Christmas, thenceforth will be considered a "festivity." I worked all day yesterday, and although 80% of customers wished us a Merry Christmas, none of us could figure out what they were talking about. Christmas? What's Christmas? We don't have holidays. We don't have weekends. We don't even know what day, let alone what month it is.
As a gesture towards the holiday we all assume has passed though none of us have experienced it, I currently have a batch of the family heirloom cinnamon rolls set to rise in the oven. (The warmest place I could find in our -100000˚ temperatures out here. No kidding - windchills yesterday were down to -55˚F, the wind at the base was blowing directly sideways. I felt like I was in an Antarctica scene out of Plant Earth.) Yes, I know I baked a fresh loaf of bread and a dozen muffins the other day, but no harm in even more homemade goodies, right? It's a holiday after all...kind of.
As a gesture towards the holiday we all assume has passed though none of us have experienced it, I currently have a batch of the family heirloom cinnamon rolls set to rise in the oven. (The warmest place I could find in our -100000˚ temperatures out here. No kidding - windchills yesterday were down to -55˚F, the wind at the base was blowing directly sideways. I felt like I was in an Antarctica scene out of Plant Earth.) Yes, I know I baked a fresh loaf of bread and a dozen muffins the other day, but no harm in even more homemade goodies, right? It's a holiday after all...kind of.
12.24.2009
Miss Manners Would Hang Her Head
Now that it's getting into busy season (aka Christmas break), we've all been working crazy hours, including a 10.5 hour day for me this past week. Fun! Not particularly, but hopefully the paycheck will be worth it. (Yeah, right. It's not like we get holiday bonuses.)
Not only are we slammed almost every day, but the customers are for the most part some of the most obnoxious, worst mannered people I have ever encountered. I don't know who their mother (or father) is, but I was taught to clean up after myself. When I unwrap a straw, I throw the wrapper away. When I'm done with a drink, I get rid of my cup. That does not mean I leave it on the table. I throw away my napkins. I wipe up spills. I bus my own table. I always think about a sign I saw once at an eating establishment, years and years ago.
"Your mother does not work here."
Subtle, but succint. I am not your mother. I don't want to clean up after you like you are a one year old who cannot be held accountable for your mess. Because chances are, you are not one year old. Not if you're reading this, not if you're drinking Starbucks coffee.
You are not entitled. I'm not here to clean up your mess; your mother isn't writing me a check.
Not only are we slammed almost every day, but the customers are for the most part some of the most obnoxious, worst mannered people I have ever encountered. I don't know who their mother (or father) is, but I was taught to clean up after myself. When I unwrap a straw, I throw the wrapper away. When I'm done with a drink, I get rid of my cup. That does not mean I leave it on the table. I throw away my napkins. I wipe up spills. I bus my own table. I always think about a sign I saw once at an eating establishment, years and years ago.
"Your mother does not work here."
Subtle, but succint. I am not your mother. I don't want to clean up after you like you are a one year old who cannot be held accountable for your mess. Because chances are, you are not one year old. Not if you're reading this, not if you're drinking Starbucks coffee.
You are not entitled. I'm not here to clean up your mess; your mother isn't writing me a check.
12.18.2009
When Worlds Collide
I went into the little gourmet food store around the corner from my house just to see what they had, and to my amazement a dazzling array of Stonewall Kitchen goods met my eyes. Jams, sauces, jellies, mixes, and mustards were scattered throughout a collection of delicacies originating all over the world and the country, but it was the Stonewall Kitchen products which threw me for a loop. I associate Stonewall with the Old Port, with free snacking while wandering downtown, in a word, with home. To see a jar of Wild Maine Blueberry Jam tucked onto a bottom shelf alongside apple and pumpkin butters from Colorado and Italian fruit sauces seemed supremely out of place. Wild Maine Blueberry Jam (personal feelings on wild Maine blueberries aside, DAD) is a hallmark of summers in Maine. Our blueberries are like our lobster and our moose; world famous, probably overrated, but the underlying reasons for many Mainers' livelihoods nonetheless. While it is an honor (and a feat of Stonewall's marketing, I'm sure) to Maine that its blueberries are so well renowned, it is an affront to my own philosophies on eating and to my escape from Maine to see jars of Maine jam on a shelf in a tiny gourmet food shop in the middle of nowhere in Colorado in December. It just seems absurd to me to buy Maine blueberry jam out here. Colorado should have their own fruit to make a jam out of. Leave the blueberries to us Mainers, and let me live my new life in peace without such interjections from the old.
On the brighter side, I did buy my first cookbook out here: The Bread Bible. (There are two of them...this now means I'll have to get the other also.) I'm psyched - if only I hadn't just used the last of my flour on the loaf I made earlier.
On the brighter side, I did buy my first cookbook out here: The Bread Bible. (There are two of them...this now means I'll have to get the other also.) I'm psyched - if only I hadn't just used the last of my flour on the loaf I made earlier.
From Ice to Ice
Since my latest ski incident (Tuesday), I have forced myself to again take a few days off from the slopes. Needing a replacement activity, I went ice skating on the "skating pond" in the Village at the resort yesterday morning. Skating through falling snow as it accumulated on the ice was tranquil enough, although it felt a little weird to be skating on a powder day. People walking by were giving me weird looks which could be instead attributable to my lack of coat or gnarly skating skills. Speaking of which, it took a few laps of the miniature ice (I'd say approximately the size of one zone; blue line to goal line for the uninitiated) to get my legs back under me - although I'm still waiting for the lungs (darned altitude). It definitely made me miss playing. As small and oftentimes crappy as the ice is, it would be a fun spot for a little 2v2 pick up. Now, if only I had my stick and some lung capacity we'd be all set.
12.17.2009
Channuwhat?
This whole holiday thing is very bizarre when you're on your own. Night four I got my hands on some birthday candles, stuck them in an old egg carton, and when they burned down after 10 minutes the egg carton itself caught fire. I guess there's something to be said for having a real menorah. Maybe I should just give up on Channukah like I have on the rest of Judaism; my Yom Kippur fast only lasted until 4 pm because I decided fasting for spirituality's sake was pointless and futile. I'm not sure how this happened, but I'm becoming very skeptical of organized religion. Or maybe I always was, I've just always had family or friends around to participate in all the traditions with. I know of only one other Jew here, and from what I hear, he's very annoying. So I'm going it alone...not to mention the next free church dinner is this Friday, the last night of Channukah. There goes that holiday.
12.14.2009
12.12.2009
A Midwinter Night's Dream
It's the kind of eerie darkness outside that smacks of alternate realities. The true night sky is pitch black. Stars are scarce and the moon nothing more than a slender curve. I know intuitively that it should be blindingly dark outside and yet it's not. Clouds carry spare rays of sunlight from somewhere far to the west, casting a dismal glow over the snow and trees. It's not enough, though. I want to see better than I can. My mind is playing tricks on me. My eyes see the light from the gray clouds, but my brain processes only the deep ebony of a moonless night. I feel as though I am in another place, far away from anywhere I've ever been. Night isn't night but isn't day. It isn't cold but the air pierces my lungs. I am exhausted but in the darkness-non-darkness I am alert and I feel alive. It is meditative, it is ethereal. I'm somewhere in limbo, in the purgatory of winter nights.
Put on Your Yamikah...Smoke Some Marijuanakah
(Warning: Illicit substance use, please read at your own discretion, i.e. don't show to children.)
Thanks to Leah for texting me to let me know it was the first night of Channukah last night. Clearly I am very on top of my game out here. I guess that's what happens when you don't know any other Jews. Lacking a menorah and even a potato of any substantive size, I pretty much neglected the holiday altogether. I did have french fries with dinner, which I suppose can be substituted for latkes if the situation necessitates, as did last night. I told a rough version of the Channukah story by way of explanation to a friend who didn't know what the (non) holiday is all about:
"Once upon a time when the Romans or someone occupied Jerusalem, they desecrated the temple, so Judah Maccabee and his Maccabee fighter guys fought back. And then they won the temple back and they had to light the eternal light thing, but they only had enough oil for one night, but it lasted for eight nights, and that's the miracle of Channukah. That's why it's eight nights and we light candles." (And someone let me teach Hebrew School...might have been a mistake.)
I was then informed that Judah Maccabee sounded like a Scottish name, and we all went on a diatribe about how the winter holidays (Channukah, Christmas, Kwanzaa...?) used to have legitimate significance but have in modern times become so commercialized the only point is to compare gifts with your friends.
In the end it was decided that my Channukah celebration fit all the general requirements. I ate french fries, which are like latkes, I lit two bowls, which is like lighting two candles (hopefully I'll figure out a non-mind-altering alternative for nights higher than four or five), and I kind of told the Channukah story. I did not say the Channukah blessings, as it felt a little bizarre to say brachot over weed. Although I'm sure one exists...I'll have to seek out my local Chabad rabbi and ask him.
Thanks to Leah for texting me to let me know it was the first night of Channukah last night. Clearly I am very on top of my game out here. I guess that's what happens when you don't know any other Jews. Lacking a menorah and even a potato of any substantive size, I pretty much neglected the holiday altogether. I did have french fries with dinner, which I suppose can be substituted for latkes if the situation necessitates, as did last night. I told a rough version of the Channukah story by way of explanation to a friend who didn't know what the (non) holiday is all about:
"Once upon a time when the Romans or someone occupied Jerusalem, they desecrated the temple, so Judah Maccabee and his Maccabee fighter guys fought back. And then they won the temple back and they had to light the eternal light thing, but they only had enough oil for one night, but it lasted for eight nights, and that's the miracle of Channukah. That's why it's eight nights and we light candles." (And someone let me teach Hebrew School...might have been a mistake.)
I was then informed that Judah Maccabee sounded like a Scottish name, and we all went on a diatribe about how the winter holidays (Channukah, Christmas, Kwanzaa...?) used to have legitimate significance but have in modern times become so commercialized the only point is to compare gifts with your friends.
In the end it was decided that my Channukah celebration fit all the general requirements. I ate french fries, which are like latkes, I lit two bowls, which is like lighting two candles (hopefully I'll figure out a non-mind-altering alternative for nights higher than four or five), and I kind of told the Channukah story. I did not say the Channukah blessings, as it felt a little bizarre to say brachot over weed. Although I'm sure one exists...I'll have to seek out my local Chabad rabbi and ask him.
12.08.2009
Musings
I walked home from yoga through the snow this morning. It was beautiful. It's finally starting to feel like winter, rather than just bitter cold with nothing but dry skin to show for it. It might have been the zen-like trance that settles over you after practicing yoga, but I really think it is the serenity and the silence of fat fluffy flakes landing on your hat, on your mittens, and in your eyelashes. It feels like it's been a long time since I've really been somewhere with snow. This is definitely the first time since high school I've spent a whole, real winter somewhere. The slush and freezing rain of Philadelphia never fulfilled my yen for real snow, and winter breaks in Maine never seemed to be enough.
Snow is somehow utterly nostalgic and yet always new, always fresh. You never see the same snow twice, but it's like an old friend you haven't seen in months or years. Comforting, yet approached with trepidation, until you've made your peace with it and arrived back at your infinite and unchanging relationship with the snow; a snowball fight, a snow angel, a donut in a parking lot, standing outside with your mouth open wide, curled up by the fire with a mug of hot chocolate listening to the blizzard, or not until the day after when fresh powder covers the mountain and your patience has finally paid off.
This is the excitement in the air when the snow comes. Snow is the ghost of winters past, present, and future. Always different, yet always the same.
Snow is somehow utterly nostalgic and yet always new, always fresh. You never see the same snow twice, but it's like an old friend you haven't seen in months or years. Comforting, yet approached with trepidation, until you've made your peace with it and arrived back at your infinite and unchanging relationship with the snow; a snowball fight, a snow angel, a donut in a parking lot, standing outside with your mouth open wide, curled up by the fire with a mug of hot chocolate listening to the blizzard, or not until the day after when fresh powder covers the mountain and your patience has finally paid off.
This is the excitement in the air when the snow comes. Snow is the ghost of winters past, present, and future. Always different, yet always the same.
12.07.2009
If All The Snowflakes
It finally started snowing yesterday evening, and it's about time. I made the questionable decision to ski on Saturday, when the mountain was packed with Denver-ites and turning into a giant ice rink. I fell on every run I took, was scolded by ski patrol to slow down, and even crashed into a control fence at the bottom of an icy blue. Then yesterday's windchill was -40 at the top, and I decided to stash the skis until my bruised legs have healed and we get some fresh, natural snow. Finger's crossed this storm keeps up.
12.03.2009
Frost Bites
I woke up at 8:30 in the morning yesterday, sat up, and Katelynn (roommate) informed me that it was snowing. I jumped out of bed: "LET'S GO SKIING!" Not realizing that the warmth of the last few weeks was completely dependent on the sun, I was totally unprepared for the bone-chillingness of the snowy morning. Overcast and with a windchill below zero thanks to 20 mph gusts at the top of the mountain, even the snow flurries were devastatingly unpleasant. I took three runs and couldn't take it. Once I got inside I ran my freezing hands under warm water, which burned, and I wanted to cry. I got to work at 12 and drank probably 20 ounces of hot chocolate and 20 ounces of hot tea, and it took an hour or two to stop shivering. Basically, skiing is NOT highly recommended unless performed safely in a cocoon of electric blankets, or at least millions of layers.
Here's the weather forecast for the next few days:
Here's the weather forecast for the next few days:
12.01.2009
A Hitchhiker's Guide to Colorado
We passed a hitchhiker thumbing his way to Denver the other morning on the way to work. He was standing on the curb with his coffee and a cardboard sign reading "Denver."
"He's standing in a terrible spot - no on can pull over to pick him up right there. He should be standing just down here, where cars can pull over safely. No one's going to pick him up there. He should move. At least he's got a sign though, that makes it easier."
Only in Colorado...
"He's standing in a terrible spot - no on can pull over to pick him up right there. He should be standing just down here, where cars can pull over safely. No one's going to pick him up there. He should move. At least he's got a sign though, that makes it easier."
Only in Colorado...
Bruce
Today I met a man name Bruce. Bruce was standing against a stop sign, long wooden walking stick in hand, in bright orange snow pants, a winter coat, yellow-lens sunglasses, and a lavender knit hat with a giant pompom on top which covered his long white hair falling out of its ponytail. His face was wrinkled, his mouth crooked, and his words were slurred with the speech of a survivor.
I asked Bruce if this was where the shuttle picked up. "It certainly is, it should be here directly." I set down my bag of groceries and prepared to wait.
"You're a beautiful young lady." I thanked Bruce. "I like to give compliments when I can," Bruce told me. "There's a quote that goes something like, you should always do good where you can because you never know when you'll pass that way again."
"Another beautiful day in paradise," Bruce commented. I looked around at the nearly cloudless skies accenting the sharp mountain peaks in the distance and agreed. "This is why I live out here." It's why we all live out here, isn't it? "It sure is. Came out here and never left. I'm living the dream out here." We all are, everyone who lives here. We're all living the dream. "That is true. We're living the dream. We are the dream. Let me rephrase that: We are the dream. All of us out here - we be. We are the be people, we have that be attitude. We live in the now. We are the dream."
"You know, I'm fifty-five now, and I'm gonna live till I'm one hundred and twenty." (Could've fooled me; I would have guessed at least seventy.) You're not even halfway there. "Got sixty-five years left." That's a lot of years. "Well if they go as fast as the last fifty five, that's not so many. I love my life. I have fun." That's all that matters. "Sure is. I can't complain." That's good. "You know, I never complain. When you complain, you ruin someone's day." That's true. "I always speak the truth. I haven't told you one thing that's a lie."
"You know, I love my life. I tried to commit suicide a bunch of times, but I'm glad I didn't die. I love my life." (Speechless.) "Last time I did it, I ate thirty Xanax and forty Aricept." I wouldn't just gotten sick of swallowing all those pills. "Well I chewed 'em up. Ended up in the hospital, killed my liver. I was on the transplant list for a new liver - they had my name on that list. Then they gave me something to drink and it fixed my liver right up. I'm glad I lived."
"You know what I really want to do?" What's that? "I want to give meals to the homeless." That's a good thing to do. "You know, when you do things like that, you get back more than you give. Believe me. It doesn't seem like it, but you do. Not enough people give anymore. It's all 'gimme gimme gimme.' That's no way to live. That's why this world is going to hell in a hand basket." It sure is.
"I'm sorry I'm lecturing you." No problem, gives me something to think about while I'm standing here. "It's important to do something, think about things, keep the mental garden growing. Whatever the human mind can conceive it can perceive - no, whatever the human mind can perceive, it can conceive. You know what I mean? You should never be bored. I always say, do something constructive. It doesn't matter what it is, as long as you're doing something. Never be bored."
The bus came, and Bruce and I got on. "I enjoyed talking to you." Yes, it was interesting, thank you. "Thank you. I don't know if our paths will cross again, but I hope they do, I did enjoy meeting you." It's a small town. "Sure is, this town is a small town."
I asked Bruce if this was where the shuttle picked up. "It certainly is, it should be here directly." I set down my bag of groceries and prepared to wait.
"You're a beautiful young lady." I thanked Bruce. "I like to give compliments when I can," Bruce told me. "There's a quote that goes something like, you should always do good where you can because you never know when you'll pass that way again."
"Another beautiful day in paradise," Bruce commented. I looked around at the nearly cloudless skies accenting the sharp mountain peaks in the distance and agreed. "This is why I live out here." It's why we all live out here, isn't it? "It sure is. Came out here and never left. I'm living the dream out here." We all are, everyone who lives here. We're all living the dream. "That is true. We're living the dream. We are the dream. Let me rephrase that: We are the dream. All of us out here - we be. We are the be people, we have that be attitude. We live in the now. We are the dream."
"You know, I'm fifty-five now, and I'm gonna live till I'm one hundred and twenty." (Could've fooled me; I would have guessed at least seventy.) You're not even halfway there. "Got sixty-five years left." That's a lot of years. "Well if they go as fast as the last fifty five, that's not so many. I love my life. I have fun." That's all that matters. "Sure is. I can't complain." That's good. "You know, I never complain. When you complain, you ruin someone's day." That's true. "I always speak the truth. I haven't told you one thing that's a lie."
"You know, I love my life. I tried to commit suicide a bunch of times, but I'm glad I didn't die. I love my life." (Speechless.) "Last time I did it, I ate thirty Xanax and forty Aricept." I wouldn't just gotten sick of swallowing all those pills. "Well I chewed 'em up. Ended up in the hospital, killed my liver. I was on the transplant list for a new liver - they had my name on that list. Then they gave me something to drink and it fixed my liver right up. I'm glad I lived."
"You know what I really want to do?" What's that? "I want to give meals to the homeless." That's a good thing to do. "You know, when you do things like that, you get back more than you give. Believe me. It doesn't seem like it, but you do. Not enough people give anymore. It's all 'gimme gimme gimme.' That's no way to live. That's why this world is going to hell in a hand basket." It sure is.
"I'm sorry I'm lecturing you." No problem, gives me something to think about while I'm standing here. "It's important to do something, think about things, keep the mental garden growing. Whatever the human mind can conceive it can perceive - no, whatever the human mind can perceive, it can conceive. You know what I mean? You should never be bored. I always say, do something constructive. It doesn't matter what it is, as long as you're doing something. Never be bored."
The bus came, and Bruce and I got on. "I enjoyed talking to you." Yes, it was interesting, thank you. "Thank you. I don't know if our paths will cross again, but I hope they do, I did enjoy meeting you." It's a small town. "Sure is, this town is a small town."
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