Better leave a trail of breadcrumbs after you leave the store

I previously posted about a couple of weird phone calls we received. The weirdness continues, but this time in person. 

This morning a large woman with many scary tattoos and a neck wattle the size of a pillowcase came into the store, looked around, and asked, "Is this where the housing authority meets?"

I said, "No. This is Otowi Station Bookstore. We sell books." 

"Well, why did they tell me that the meeting was here? This is 15th and Central, isn't it? They said the housing authority meets at 15th and Central." She waved a sheaf of papers at me.

I asked her whether there was an address anywhere on her papers. She came to the counter and slapped down the sheaf. No address anywhere. "There's a phone number for Guadalupe. She said to call her. Would you call her? I don't hear so good over the phone." She was breathing heavily through her mouth. "Hnnnf. Hnnnf." I called Guadalupe.

"Hello. This is Guadalupe."

"Hi, my name is Peggy, and I'm calling for one of your clients."

"Hnnnf. Hnnnf. Hnnnf."

"Where is your office located?" I asked.

"Hnnnf. Hnnnf. Hnnnf."

"At 15th and Central. Right across the street from the YMCA."

"We're right across the street from the YMCA, too," I said, "but I don't know where your office is."

"I just told you. At the corner of 15th and Central!"

"Hnnnf. Hnnnf. Hnnnf. Hnnnf. Hnnnf. Hnnnf."

"Where are you in relation to the Bradbury Science Museum?"

"I don't know! Eeeeee! This job is new to me! I don't know about any museums!"

"Well, the museum is at the corner--"

"Hnnnf."

"--of 15th and Central. There's a fountain in front."

"Eeeeee! I don't know anything about a fountain! I told you, all I know is I'm at the corner of 15th and Central!"

"Hnnf. Hnnnnnf. Hnnnf."

"Well, could you meet your client out in front of your office? Perhaps wave to her?"

"Yes, I could, but I don't want to leave the office! I keep telling you, I'm new on the job! I don't know my way around. Eeeeee! All I know is I'm at the corner of 15th and Central!"

I figured I should get off the phone, because otherwise I'd be talking to Guadalupe all day about her orientation to 15th and Central. I did what I should have done the second the client came in: I hauled out the phone book and looked up the address of the housing authority and wrote it down for her.

"Okay, the housing authority is at 135 Central Park Square. Central Park Square is right across the street. All the businesses are numbered. Look for number 135."

"Hnnnf. Well, what's this address?"

"1350 Central." 

"Then I'm at the housing authority! Hnnnf! Hnnnf! Hnnnnf!"

"No. You're in a bookstore. You don't want 1350. You want 135. Just go up to the street light and cross the street. Central Park Square will be right in front of you."

"Hnnnf. I hope I can find it."

Eeeee! I hope she did, too.

Chuckbert's Cheesey Chookies

With all recent posts from the accomplished cooks in this family, I thought I'd share a recipe I tried yesterday, Alton Brown's Parmesan Crisps. I prefer to call them Chuckbert's Cheesey Chookies, because of Chuckbert's fondness for parmesan.

Ingredients
3 ounces Parmigiano-Reggiano
Freshly ground black pepper, smoked paprika, or cayenne, optional

Directions
Preheat the oven to 300 degrees.

Grate the cheese on the small-hole side of a 4-sided box grater into a small bowl. We call our box grater "The Butcher of Hungary," because as you grate, it also neatly removes flesh. 

The Butcher.

Using a tablespoon measure, place cheese in mounds onto a nonstick silicone pad or greased parchment paper-lined cookie sheet. Flatten out mounds with the back of a spoon, making sure mounds are at least 4 inches apart. Season with pepper, paprika, or cayenne, if desired. Bake on the middle rack of the oven for 5 to 6 minutes or until golden.

Here are some finished chookies. They have a lacy look because I flattened them too much. I seasoned them with freshly ground black pepper. They are really good!

Psalteries are pswell

Michele and I drove to ABQ on Friday to take a load of clothes and a futon frame to the Albuquerque Rescue Mission, which ministers to the down-and-outest of the down-and-out. It's one of the charities I support. 

Then we went up to Apple Mountain Music so Michele could salivate over the various instruments. But I was the one doing the salivating. I saw the bowed psalteries and was intrigued. The proprietor played one. Then she handed it to me to play. I held it and bowed across the strings. Cooo-oool! I read the little instruction book. I didn't need to know how to read music to play a tune; I could use tablature, which I use when playing the harmonica or mountain dulcimer. Even cooler! So I bought one; the package included an instructional DVD. Yesterday I played "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" at a tempo and spirit often used to augment grief at funerals.

Here is a picture of a bowed psaltery.

Here is a picture of how the bowed psaltery is held for playing.

Here are two guys playing "Sally Gardens" on the mountain dulcimer and bowed psaltery.

Who's driving these handcuffs?

I hope Officer Squid's job is this easy.

Wait! Who's driving the car!?

Yesterday Bobbie and I went to Bandelier. Most of the trails were closed because of ice and snow, so we walked the Ruins Trail and the Long House Trail, then had a little lunch at the snack bar. Not many visitors were there. On the way out of the park we saw some deer browsing and resting. Bobbie will probably post those images and others she took.

High on the cliff is this a petroglyph of the sun and a bird. Click on the image to enlarge it.

Frijoles Canyon from the scenic overlook.

Dead juniper.

Here is Bobbie.

In a tribute to family vacations, Bobbie took a picture of me through the windshield. Then I took a picture of her through the windshield. It's a good thing Jack Classic didn't use this technique.

AUGGGGHHHHH! Who's driving the car?!

And any dry cracker will relieve the retching.

Previously I discussed some of the odd questions we've received in the store. This month we had two.

I answered the phone for the first one.

"Otowi Station. This is P-doobie. May I help you?"

"Do you carry tongue depressors?"

"No, I'm sorry, but we don't. We're a bookstore."

"Oh. Well, do you know where I can buy tongue depressors?"

"You might try the pharmacy at the hospital or a medical supply company."

"Oh, yeah! A hospital! I hadn't thought of that! Thanks!"

For the next weird call, I eavesdropped on Becky's telephone conversation.

"Thank you for calling Otowi Station Bookstore. This is Becky. How may I help you? . . . . You need a book on food poisoning? . . . . Oh, excuse me. I misunderstood. You want to know whether you have food poisoning. Um, okay. Well, are you nauseated?  . . . .  Okay, do you have a fever? . . . . Mmm hmm. Have you vomited? . . . . Okay. And do you have any diarrhea or cramping? . . . . Well, I'm not a doctor, but it sounds as if you don't have food poisoning. You might want to call your own physician to make sure, though. . . . You're welcome."

Otowi Station, your full-service bookstore. 

RIP, Casey

Our cat Casey died today. She was almost 18 years old. She had a tumor in her tummy, and last night she was ready to leave. She found a dark place under the radiator and behind Ike's basket of toys. This morning we took her to the vet to have her euthanized, but she died while the doctor was listening to her heart. She was a good cat, very elegant and loving, and she had a good life.