I heart boys who fix Macs.

Reber is a superhero. If you see him, high-five him for me.

Thank you note

So, just in case there is anyone out there who hasn't met me, or who has only the vaguest idea of who I am, let me clue you in on how I make my money. I am a barista, which is the single most cliche occupation in this country right now. But unlike the liberal arts majors making beer money with headset walkie-talkies at the Gap, I have done this job for a long time, and I intend on doing it for a while longer, and I really, really like it. One of the things I like so much about it is the customers. I have the best regulars in the whole world. I have watched as their children grew and graduated and went away, I have seen them sell houses and buy boats and get married and fall apart and heal. They are what keeps me serving coffee when I'm thinking, I could get a B.A. and temp in an anonymous corporate office for the rest of my life. Every once in a while they are so marvelously thoughtful that I could cry, or kiss them. Last week, when there was a convention, and my relief pitcher was out of the game, and I was seriously lambasting myself for not becoming a pediatric nurse like my mom secretly hoped, the men who come in every morning and share their views on the world and sometimes on my clothing took up a collection and tipped me very well. They handed it to me non-chalantly and said, "We wanted you to know we appreciate how hard you work." They wrote a little note on one of the bills, and they all filed out as if nothing happened. I could have cried, or kissed them. Instead, I gave them a little something to talk about. I made them this shirt.

All day long, I kept waiting for someone not in the know to smile slyly and say, "I drink coffee!" I was hoping it would be someone I could smile back at and flirt with, but I figured it would be some skeevy dude off a Holland America cruise ship, or a teenage boy who thinks that women half a decade younger than his mom are GROSS. Instead, it was another fabulous regular, whom I consider a friend. Thanks, Mr. B. You sure know how to boost a girl's self-esteem.

At last!

Today is the kind of perfect late spring day that I run the risk of forgetting, because sunny days in Southeast Alaska are called mostly cloudy in other parts of the civilized world. It is clear and warm, probably what you might consider light-cardigan weather. The pool is filled for the kids to play in. There is a light breeze blowing, and there are tons of people wandering about with sparkly things, because we have another whole weekend of salmon derby ahead of us. It is a Friday, which means the only coffee I have to make tomorrow is my own. I am wearing my new favorite outfit - the Seattle skirt, which is a delightful shade of robin's egg blue with 3" long off-white silhouettes of carnations all over it, a tee shirt with ruffles at the neck the color of milk chocolate, and open-toe wedge heeled sandals in brown with cream colored buttons on them. I feel like an ice cream cone. Plus, I just got four new magazines in the mail, a veritable bonanza of media, and I enjoy nothing so much as lazing about in the sun look at clothes I will never afford. The only sour note is the blister I received from the gorgeous new sandal foolishly forcing my feet into them after standing for eight and a half hours. A small price to pay for feeling so chi-chi.



I hope wherever you are today necessitates a lovely pair of Jackie O sunglasses and vodka spiked lemonade. Nothing says summer like ice-cold booze.