Smoke and Lights

The little things, like an acknowledgment from a friend, can brighten an entire day. The first day of the year was a beautiful day.

Here's the rest of the day in a jumbled order--like you often get at many fast food places.

"Did you need anything else?" the cashier asked.

"No," I answered.

"Beautiful," she said with a smile as big as sunshine.

"Lots of people call me that," I said.

"I bet they do," she responded with a laugh.

"At [name of another store in town] the cashiers even ask for my phone number."

She looked puzzled. Apparently she found that difficult to believe. I felt slightly wounded. 

I elaborated. "In fact, they refuse to sell me anything if I don't give them my number."

"Oh," she laughed, understanding that that other store has that whole loyalty reward system based on customer telephone numbers.

After that it was pretty much just the total and, "Do you need a bag with that?" to end the conversation.

In fact, I did not need a bag...what with only getting the one item and all.

Backup. When I had found the item that I needed, and went to check out, the two open registers were backed up. Both had folks with baskets full of stuff. One of the registers was at a dead stop; there was either a problem with the register, or someone was checking a price; or perhaps invisible alien brain rays were slowly sucking their life away; I don't know; I'm just speculating. The lady at the register for returns saw my predicament and called me over. I recognized her. She's always trying to make conversation, so I felt safe with the, "Lots of people call me that," rejoinder.

Why was I at the store? I needed a temperature gauge for my smoker. The smoked prime rib I did for Christmas Eve dinner had been so delicious that wife wanted me to smoke something for dinner. I was going to smoke potatoes, and peppers, and steak. I had been doing all the smoking on the best guess principle and checking the temperature of the meat with a thermometer from time to time. I wanted to try something a little more precise. The system is completely manual, with charcoal and wood chips or chunks added whenever I feel a disturbance in the force requires action to bring balance.

I couldn't find a temperature gauge for a smoker. I did find one that goes inside an oven. It was cheap, a temporary measure.

The meal was delicious. The steaks took longer to cook than I had planned,but the low temperature smoke and the final searing really made them tasty--with no small thanks to my ad hoc rub creation. (I didn't actually add any hocks, or hawks, just various seasonings.) The little potatoes, bathed in olive oil and sprinkled with salt, pepper, Italian seasoning, and a hint of parsley pleased everyone. Daughter said it tasted just like fire--apparently she meant that in a good way, because she kept eating them. I should have made more of the potatoes, but I didn't expect daughter to like them. Wife fabricated a delicious salad that, with the olive oil and vinegar based dressing, created a refreshing palate cleanser between bites of steak and fire-flavored potatoes. I give the meal five stars.

Before the great fumigating of animal parts and edible flora began, I completed the traditional removal of the many little points of Yuletide radiance with their accompanying wire leashes. Although the temperature soon induced me to put on some gloves, I didn't need a hat (though I could have kneaded one to keep my fingers warm). The sun beamed in pale brilliance that lit the day like Capt. Kirk's face in a close-up with an alien babe. Speaking of babes, alien or otherwise, Wife assisted in boxing the lights as I took them down from the house and the trees. 

The lights are now covered by their cardboard bushels, to sing their message of cheer no more for 11 more months, but the refrain of their soft lustrous voices will linger in the heart the whole year through.