The Name Says It All

gate f8 philadelphia international airport-- Are airports like Disneyland, full of secret clubs and backstage doors for those in the know? Methinks yes. Readying for my on-time connection to Ithaca from Philly last night, I glanced up from my usual preflight routine of jamming one... more... item into my bulging carry-on and spied the door to an important office:

Piedmont Airlines, Inc.
Chief Pilot's Office
Doug Jett

Gate F8? F8. Fate. Doug was destined for the skies.

Howdy, Neighbor!

trumansburg-- The other day, we were loitering near the counter of the Kinney Drug, shopping for something "holiday"-- Chapstick?-- and overheard the person in front of us chatting with the checker about how she baked 61 dozen cookies this year.

"61 DOZEN?!" we exclaimed.

"Yes," was the answer, "because I'm from Lodi, where all the crazy people live."

Back to the Drawing Board

nearby-- One of us occasionally daydreams about how great it would be to open a breakfast place in our village and name it after our superstar chicken. In fact, this one of us was just revisiting the dream this morning. The other of us, having worked in the restaurant industry, nods patiently and moves on. Today, we discovered this daydream can be put to rest.

Mom & Pop's Secret Recipe (name changed to protect our lives) has relocated from a village to the east to a village to the north. We made a visit after stopping at the one-room library for books and making it through the holiday rush (1 person ahead of us) at the local post office.

Counter with fun stools for twirling: Check.
Local art: Check.
Local color: Check.
Colorful locals: Check.

Five framed pastel drawings lined the wall behind the counter, gallery-style. A curatorial sort might say they were fine examples of "outsider," "primitive," or "American folk art." Me, I'll just say: thumbs up for the owls. The depiction of the Seneca white deer was a little spooky, but that just comes with the territory for an inbred species living on a genetic island. Another person might not have chosen to hang a pastel drawing of a fox clutching a dead hawk by its broken neck, but hey, it's Mom and Pop's place-- not yours or mine.

One of us read about the war in Afghanistan while the other of us edified herself by leafing through a back copy of "Real Simple" magazine (yes) borrowed from the library. One's sandwich was egg salad, the other's a perfectly grilled cheese with tomato.

Seen the documentary "My Brother's Keeper"? It's a creepy, crumbly true story of backwoods bachelor brothers from another era. A doppelganger to one of the brothers shambled in just as the chocolate milk arrived. A cold gust of wind from the open door blew his beard over his shoulder.

Upon bill paying, one of us had this exchange with Pop:
One of us: "We just found out you opened here after you closed in your old spot! Nice to see you've reopened!"
Pop: "Yep."
One of us: "Thanks for a great lunch, we really enjoyed it."
Pop: "Bye."

Yessir, we want to be your customers. We'd love to give you money. Thanks for chatting with us! Thanks, too, for crossing this daydream off the To Do list.