Not the destructive kind, but rather the comforting kind. This is how I feel about the comfort available to me via our fireplace. We begin to stockpile wood on the rack outside early in the year. By November we have amassed enough wood for several weeks of fires to warm ourselves by before we go for the next load of wood. Then we start the process over. It’s really not a bother. I look forward to it each Fall. Some time ago we had our rooftop heating/air conditioning unit removed. We don’t miss it. It was not energy-efficient and our PG&E bills had been astronomical. The purpose of our wood burning fireplace is to heat and provide comfort. It does just that and more. The beauty of the fireplace with the orange flames, the movement of these flames, just the esthetics of it all, is welcome. You see, our fireplace is built with ten panes of glass connected to each other in a circle. It kind of takes on the feel of a beach bonfire. Oh, yes. It is pleasing what the wood and our fireplace collectively can provide. All of this takes place in one corner of our family room. This is a room that has served as the focus of most family activity for over 18 years. The fireplace goes ignored by us from March through November, and then it can be ignored no longer. Thank you fireplace, the wood in it, and the strike of the match that gets it all going. Oh, yes.
I hate it. I have been known to refer to January as the month with the least redeeming value. I mean the gray, the cold, the dreary. It follows December with all of the holiday merriment. It follows with a big thud. Yes, January is the segue to February with its promise of better weather and a month till Spring arrives. But, maneuvering through January takes some skill. Oh, and let’s not forget that in January I can be visited by, not one head cold, but by two, 14 days apart.
Wake me up when January is over. The Spring line-up of dresses are hanging on the racks at TJ Maxx. The cracks in the cement are over-flowing with greenery…weeds of all kinds and sizes. This heralds the coming of new life. Gone is the abysmal January climate. Gone is the cold…the gray…the unappealing. I try to hasten the eventual joy that springtime promises by having my car washed using the psychology that if my car is washed, it will not rain–because I fly in the face of prevailing logic. The spotted windshield and grimy chrome trim serve as statement to the contrary. It rained the day after I got my car washed. S***.
There’s some competition out there for #1. While waiting for our return flight in the Burbank terminal, and with no other cafe in sight, I decided we would sit down at the best-club-sandwich-place-in-California. Can’t recall the actual name, never mind, the important thing is I am giving an accurate assessment.
Airport eateries hold the distinction of offering food that’s just a notch above edible cardboard, and over priced. So, I surveyed the menu and laid my eyes on what read “California Turkey Club”. For me to really enjoy it, it has to be the traditional layered club, not the sorry substitute that some places bring. I once had a “club” that was served in a croissant. Really? Are you kidding? What a travesty. The bread in a club should be either toasted sourdough, toasted white, or toasted wheat. Well, I placed my order and about 15 minutes later, a waitress presented my sandwich. Massive doesn’t begin to describe the size of this treasure. Instead of quarters, the club was cut in half. Huge halves. It is difficult to eat a club and look neat and tidy, but that’s part of the allure. This particular sandwich set the bar. Amazing! I tackled it from opposing corners, from top to bottom. And still, I couldn’t avoid making a mess. Crisp bacon, sliced turkey, avocado, lettuce, tomato, and my favorite toasted bread. Sublime. Now, it’s clear. When I make my next visit through Burbank and its airport, I will dine at the best-club-sandwich-place-in-California. And order their club. By the way, as I was paying my bill, I sang praises to the waitress. She said, “Our food is good”. Agreed.