I have been vacillating
on whether or not to buy a KitchenAid stand mixer. After recent success with
making focaccia, I want to get more into baking bread. Mid-stream into that
adventure however, without any question, the limitations of my hand mixer
became apparent. It turned into a wrestling match, and it’s hard to say who won.
Given the little machine still works and the focaccia came out pretty well, I
call it a tie.
But back and forth, and back
and forth I go. It’s very infrequent I splurge on something like this, and this
would be a splurge - a matter of want rather than need - and a pricey one. I
grab a coin to flip. Heads I get the KitchenAid and the coin comes up heads.
Humph. I need to think about it some more. After breakfast I decide to go for
two out of three and flip the coin again. Heads, I get the mixer. And again it
comes up heads. OK, OK. When fate speaks it’s best not to question.
The local Bed Bath and
Beyond store doesn’t have my first pick in color. If I’m going to spend the
dough, and if I’m going to live with this thing for the rest of my days, the color
is worth waiting for. The manager I speak with offers to order one, and I
accept, but we learn their network is down. The folks who work at this store
are really putting in the effort and are very accommodating. The manager is
frustrated, he wants to make the sale and I feel for the guy. I thank him, let
him know that I’ll order a mixer online and will be sure to be back.
At Pep Boys I drop off a
few quarts of used motor oil for recycling. A woman is leaving her car for
service. She’s very friendly and talkative. Her dad, her old boyfriend said
this and that about caring for her car and we joke about solutions to idiot
lights when they come on; putting a piece of electrical tape over them has
worked for me.
Maybe if the woman and I
continue to talk we’d go out for a coffee while her car is getting fixed and
maybe agree to get together again, and, and. This is a pleasant sequence of
possibilities to consider, but as much as I’d like to have a gal in my life
again, the last sucker-punch I was the bag for left too-deep an impression. I
thank the guy at the counter and wish the woman good luck with her car and make
my exit.
I get home and order the
mixer. Now I’m jazzed and looking forward to it. Full steam ahead. Visions of
great golden loaves and no regrets… slices of toasted homemade raisin bread
with generous slatherings of butter…
After dinner, the
inclination to stay put is strong. It’s a hard sell to get myself out for a
walk. Nonetheless I put on my boots for a quick lap around the plaza. Once out
the door and up the driveway I know this is the right thing to do. It’s a
beautiful spring evening, cool, a kiss of a breeze flits about, late sunlight
comes in low.
Near the capitol, among
non-descript government office buildings stands a crab apple tree, resplendent
in bloom, it is a mass of rich pink blossoms. A shaft of sunlight streams in-between
the buildings onto the tree. The full crown glows in warm chiaroscuro. I stop
and stand and look at it for quite a few moments. The tree stands quietly and
asks for nothing, it flowers because this is simply part of what it must do.
The laden branches sway ever so slightly in the breeze, light and shadow
flicker. Partially opened buds resemble miniature roses. Where sunlight has found
its way through the maze, brilliant spots of pink burst from the dark side of
the tree. Like stars, such beauty.
On the way home I make a
point to stop and admire the tree again. The light is becoming less but still
it is well worth standing and looking at. Continuing, I encounter a gang of
boys goofing around on skateboards. Hooting, jeering one another, they are
bundles of froggy, gangly energy. It does my heart good to see not one of them entranced
with a phone. Before crossing the street, which is torn up for utility work,
they do not simply pick up their mounts. No, they each kick the tail of their
board down causing the body of it to catapult up into the air which they then
catch mid-flight. Boys. They school across the street. By the time they ripen
into men, the world, their world, will be quite a different place.
