Archive for January 2012
120126: Cesar at his best at Mi Camino Real; his reward? a luscious piece of Willie’s and Bob’s birthday cake, or, fruit tort, if you like. The more the merrier; the merrier it is the fewer headaches we have. (Mount Orab, OH)
Don’t ever let anyone tell you Scrabble (copyright til you die) is low impact work. I got my butt pummeled three times a dozen and a half, and then again today at Mi Camino Real in Mount Orab. And only played two games. You shoulda been there to see the fiery gleem in Bob’s Eyes. Only person I ever met (well, practically) who can play a tough game and give rolling advice, free ‘o charge, to two other people at the table….and winning more than he’s losing.
“Afterwards (We Scrabble [copyright til you die, lately at the restaurant because I can’t do marathons since I got out of the hospital here in Cincinnati a couple of months ago],” I beat nobody but they (Willie and Bob) beat me like an egg-suckin’ dog who cain’t even read much less play Scrabble (copyright til you die). Willie beat Bob and me, then lost to CB and Bob. She’s been kickin’ some serious butt of late. CB (she and I no longer – for a while – play each other because of me, of course) lost to Bob but beat the living daylights and a little dusk outa Willie. Good times: better than high school, I do declare and foreswear. Bob is the self-declared lunchbunch champion. I am the self-declared lunchbunch intellect. Willie is the self-declaired lunch bunch’s busiest tournament player. CB is acknowledged by many as being the organized scrabble’s (copyright til you die) most prolific news reporter.
Very quiet, yet always at the read to answer the calls of customers, assholes and otherwise, Cesar is, by unanimous agreement, the best doggone server and establishmentarian buddy of all the places we go. Truth is I would feel a lot better if I could remember his name from lunch to lunch. (Note to Bob: One excellent reason not to repeat Lunchbunch venues is to eliminate the problem of forgetting employees’ names, especially the ones we like.) Cesar is always there with a smile and an offer of help, including service.
Strangely, speaking for myself only, I didn’t care much for the food at Mi Camino Real during the first years, but have been habituated by the food now, seasoned with a couple of warm human souls, include Cesar.
Having a caregiver isn’t as it might seem at times: they always are trying to make your life safer and more comfortable, often in sharp contrast to your own plans. It was raining today. CB chose a place out by Bob’s where I could devan without getting drenched. We had planned on Lake Manor up north of Mt Orab. Where lazt time when I was just out of the hospital I couldn’t get out of my shotgun seat in the van even thought I tried like hell for an hour 15. Where the waitress came out with an apology for something she had nothing at all to do with. Where they brought me a bowl of soup I slurped down why chained to my beloved Tranq and where it took me another 20 minutes when we got home in Cincinnati before I could finally transfer to Junior, Jr (cherished 3 wheel battery-operated electric cart so I could flee to my comfy chair.
And so… Mexican it was! and I rediscovered it with a sampler plate of who knows what all. Couldn’t eat it all even after sharing it with the crowd.
But that fruit tort birthday cake for Willie and Bob, now that was so special we all had to hold our hearts inside our chests fer a minit just till we got over the initial shock. Fresh fruit. On what tastes like hummingbird cake. The last one Servatii’s had! And $30 bucks to prove it.
Birthday party? Hehehe. Bob and Willie, both of them loading up with presents from the get-go, piled ceiling-high, trying helplessly to get th
e stuff to their cars.
Mennonite white bean soup, photo spreads of Shania Twain, Bob’s erstwhile favorite. Texting for a year from Bob so we all can communicate more effectively, particularly since I don’t answer my phone very often – tires me out (and thattttt’s thu truuff).
With the dropping economy, we keep expecting the restaurant to have problems, but so far it keeps chugging along. Get a chance? Mi Camino Real, first exit on eastbound 32 in Mount Orab, left at the exit, left at the 2nd light, left one block from there, go to end of block and turn into the parking lot. Tell them you love ’em and they’ll hustle up grub you won’t know whether to hug or eat.
Rained all day. Didn’t dim our fun, did it gals and guy?
Willie has a busy week but says she’ll be back in time or Lunchbunch Thusday. Meantime she’s going with half of Dayton to a tourney in Knoxville. And we’re banking on her to win enough to buy all of us in the Lunchbunch a drink or a limeade in two weeks.
Don’t know what I’d do without lunchbunch even if most of the photos today were inexplicably black and white until I finally figured out which switch to click for color.
20120125 Savannah wants to know who I am for the world which consists of a University of Cincinnati class. (fle Cincinnati. 1/25/2012)
UC photography student Savannah wants me to reveal all about my life because I’m dying for a class A/V project. She reminds me of the dozens of neophytic reporters and/or photographers I’ve trained (or tried to train) over the years. Been here to the apartment twice with recording equipment and Canon camera. Feels a tad strange, but you know me; I’m usually up for a new project – just point me in the right direction. I was chosen because I’m in hospice and because that means I’m dying, students have been warned not to mention that part to their interviewees, that is, the mes whose lives they’re investigating, which is kinda strange, don’t you think? Since – what the hell – if i weren’t dying on the public dole they’re have to make up some other kind of story, if they could.
Haven’t seen or heard from Savannah in months. Is that all there is? A few questions?
‘Course I do remember she had been instructed to keep my life down to a couple of pages; therein might lie some of the smoke that fills the half-finished print Savannah has constructed until Jesus comes to the rescue in the name of distilled if brief TRUTH, dear hearts.
After a week of worrying and clattering chatter, we wound up on Edgar Allan Poe’s birthday at Ron’s Roost, home of award winning mock turtle soup. Bob, Willie and John the husband who drove in from Indiana where they’re enjoyed a free, if confusing, night at one of the gambling joint on the Ohio River, Phyllis Prather, recently retired and preparing to scoot off to California to be closer to her son and, I assume, because it’s a helluva lot warmer out there, and CB and I in my new wheelchair, annnnd, of course Marsha our indefatigable waitress.
Some of us celebrated Willie’s birthday which was on the eve of Edgar Allan Poe’s, i.e., the previous day – Poe, my favorite poet, was 202 on thursday; on Wednesday willie was 62 and my nephew Jacob was 17.
We were all glad to see Phyllis and we are all sad that she’s leaving us. Phyllis recently retired as special needs teacher in Cincinnati. Now she’s headed for California to be near son Gamal, taking her two dogs with her – she surely does love her dogs, even baked them Christmas cookies which sounded pretty good to me!
After lunch Willie and John got the hell outa there “toward a doctor’s office” somewhere out yonder beyond the horizon and the rest of us came over here to play Scrabble. Damn, would you believe it, I WON a game.
The temperature was COOOOOLD (40 degrees fahrenheit); the people were wonderful.
My new wheelchair (thank you, hospice) is infinitely more comfortable that Junior Jr or CB’s mom’s legacy.
None of us had the award winning mock turtle soup.
As we were leaving, John regaled us with tales of driving long haul trucks over the famous “ice” roads in the arctic circle. You can see the “reality show” on the History Channel. John says the TV series shows easy going with much wider and better roads than he had and told of driving on the ice over one lake with the driver’s door open and one foot on the outside step ready to jump if the truck broke through the ice. Wow!