Sometimes being local means eating with hippies.

We found ourselves walking into a local eatery this evening for dinner and had some tasty sandwiches - a roast beef sandwich for Doug and a turkey sandwich with almond and sun-dried tomato pesto for me. The best part of the evening, however, was the company. We appeared to be the only functional adults in the restaurant. This entire place was run by hippies. Should we have taken a clue from the stale marijuana smell, the walls painted like a psychedelic dream, or the macrame curtains? It took forever to order our food, though we watched on, entertained, while two employees tried to make sense of the orders they'd just taken. They got most of them correct, but every 4th order or so came with a voice over the loud speaker saying "Umm...the person with the veggie sandwich with no pickles? your order is ready." "Ummm... if you ordered a chocolate milkshake, your order is ready." "Ummm...if you ordered chicken wings with your order and didn't get them, we have them up here." We waited patiently while others came to get the onion rings they ordered instead of their french fries. We got an order of chicken wings with our dinner that actually belonged to someone else who had been waiting for quite a while. I was hoping to get a knife but couldn't seem to get anyone's attention as they searched for someone's milkshake that had gotten lost. All in 30 minutes. It was quite comical. There seems to be a latent part of my identity that looks kindly upon the hippy lifestyle. I like being barefoot. My favorite t shirt for 2 years was a thrift store find with the words "Don't Bungle the Jungle" on it. I could do a great twirly dance at Dar Williams concerts. And I believe there is still archeological evidence of my macrame projects. But somehow I grew out of that phase. I've become a square. And yet, I'm okay with that.

Fall is here. School is in full swing. Our weekends are full of football games and outdoorsy pursuits with a mandatory Sunday nap. Someday I may launch a long political rant, but suffice to say my mood on the political climate is bordering on anxiety. And it never ceases to amaze me the American public's distaste for actually researching actual facts about the presidential candidates (Imagine someone's surprise if they did: "Huh, I looked up 'community organizer' on wikipedia and it turns out it's actually a good thing." "Huh, I checked the dictionary and it turns out the phrase Team of Mavericks is an oxymoron."). I'll stop here. Just do me a favor and think really hard before you vote. Really hard.

Latest food projects: a mozzerella cheese making experiment that did not turn out as I had hoped. Finding new uses for cabbage and beets. Tricking Doug into eating kale. Finding that dipping all other unwanted veggies in a beer batter and deep frying them is always a good solution. And I can't wait for apple cider and pumpkin products.

Also, as I write this, it is 10:15 p.m. and Doug is waddling around me with his snow pants and ski jacket on. Nevermind that it was in the 80s today. It's time to start thinking of skiing.