There was a coin show in Augusta (Maine) today. I have an occasional interest in coins, so Steve and I made the plan to get up “early”, go to Augusta, have breakfast at IHOP, go to the coin show, then come home.
We took Route 201 from Winslow to Augusta. As we were motoring along, some little distance in front of us, on the left shoulder, a bald eagle spread it’s mighty wings, lifted about three feet off the ground, and — fell to the tarmac about two feet into the right lane. He tried again, getting to the center line this time, and we could see that he had in his talons the limp body of woodchuck.
I had slowed considerably by this time, as one does, and the eagle, who had by this time attracted the interested attention of raven, tried it again. This time he made it to the middle of the right-hand lane, about eight feet in front of the car, and there he made the Management Decision to leave breakfast where it was and come back when the damn nosy tourists had gone past.
I inched along, being careful not to run over breakfast, and slowly picked up speed. A glance in the mirror showed breakfast still in the middle of the lane, and no sign of the eagle. Happily, I suppose — at least for the eagle, and possibly the raven — it was early morning on Sunday, so there was a good chance of the eagle reclaiming his breakfast and hauling it to the trees on the right side of the road to eat in peace.
“Well,” said Steve, “there’s something you don’t see everyday.”
We eventually raised IHOP, where I ordered the spinach-mushroom-tomato-and-onion omelette, which turned out to be WAAAAAY bigger than my head, and, heeding the well-known warning, I ate about half, which was plenty enough, and set the rest aside.
Our waitress came by soon after, and, with a look of horror on her face, lowered her voice to ask, “Are you done? Really? Was it –” a furtive glance over her shoulder — “Was it gross?”
I assured her that it had been delicious, just much too much for me to eat, which seemed to puzzle her. She was further saddened by I refused a box, by reason of the fact that we were going to be some hours away from refrigeration.
I need to figure out a better breakfast, if we’re going to eat often at IHOP, which appears to lack a senior menu. Maybe ordering off the sides menu is the way to go. . .
Anyhow, breakfast eaten, we descended upon the coin show, where a vendor asked me what I collected. I admitted to silver rounds, and he gave me a look of disdain. “Silver rounds ain’t collectin’; it’s hoarding.” Live and learn. I came away with a copy of the 2017 Red Book, which I bought from the club table, to support the effort, and — despite my Mighty Vow that I would be buy nothing, I —
Let us backtrack a bit.
Those who have known me well — and, let’s face it, even fleetingly — know that I admire with great admiration the Connecticut quarter. The one with the tree on the reverse. Friends started to save them for me out of their pocket change; one of the vendors in Old Orchard Beach saved them for me; scant acquaintances, upon learning of my partiality, would drag their change out of their pockets to see if they had any “Tree Quarters.”
This all resulted in a rather embarrassing number of Connecticut quarters resident at the Cat Farm and Confusion Factory. I laughingly told Steve that I had cornered the market on Connecticut quarters in order to drive the price up.
I thought I was kidding, but one of the things I learned today is that (according to two vendors, at least) most state quarters in Good condition are “worth” 50 cents.
The Connecticut quarter? Is “worth” 90 cents.
So there you have it.
Oh. And my purchase in addition to the Red Book? A proof 1999 S Connecticut quarter.
I honestly didn’t think Steve was going to stop laughing.
After that, we stopped by Barnes and Noble, and then we went for a ride, coming home via Fairfield and the justly famous Belangers Drive-In, where we bought one haddock basket, one order of fried mushrooms, and brought it home to eat. And it was plenty. Then, we took a nap.
In all, a very satisfying day off.
How was your Sunday?
5 thoughts on “In Which the Authors Goof Off”
That eagle may have been hauling breakfast home to the family. Right about now is when the chicks hatch and grow, right? Not yet fledged?
As far as the Connecticut quarters are concerned, I’ll keep my eyes open for them once I stop giggling.
Sunday was an afternoon trip to the symphony with a friend. Arvo Part’s (don’t know how to stick an umlaut on Part) Credo, Stravinsky’s Symphony of Psalms and Rachmaninoff’s 2nd Symphony. VERY well done, plus we got to figure out whether we liked these 20th century works. I’ve sung the Stravinsky so I knew what looniness we were in for. Sherie’s reaction was Meh.
We both liked the other two and I came home with a wicked earworm. I vanquished the earworm, ate a peanut butter sandwich and drank some OJ and now I’m ready for bed.
IHOP omelets are huge; I don’t order them anymore. It is possible to get a couple of scrambled eggs (or eggs fried if it’s your thing) and toast if you want that. If it’s a main meal I can still get around a couple of pancakes and a couple of scrambled eggs (if I’ve been up and out doing things for several hours, say) but otherwise…capacity has gone way down.
Sunday began with driving down to the city and singing two services (two anthems each) at church–in the second service, I was the only second alto, and also asked to sing soprano for one verse of one anthem to help out the sopranos, something that a friend described as becoming a bi-sectional. Definitely a choral joke. Everyone survived, though the future bodes ill for those of us who are weak sight-readers (raises hand.) Messaien and a rather difficult Brahms piece are coming up and went back in our folders today. (Messaien is a composer I would rather listen to than sing–see above confession of being a weak sight-reader.)
Followed by a lovely drive home despite very high gusty wind, with a pause for barbecue (brisket sandwiches) because both of us thought of that simultaneously and thus were not performing the duty of dissuading the other from dietary indiscretion. Followed by (in my case) faceplanting for a nap; R- took a riding mower down to the woods to scout for wild boar sign. They are in the area, but haven’t ravaged our woods yet. At least not the part he went through today.
Supper (very late) was “leftover hash” contrived from previously boiled potatoes and previously cooked ground beef, moistened by commercial turkey gravy (the half jar not used the other day to make the same thing.) R- added a huge mixed salad to his portion.
Just in case y’all make it to Oklahoma City one of these years, you might l;ike to know that at least one IHOP here — the one closest to my home — DOES have a senior menu. At least, a seniors section on the main menu. I suspect that, like many other brands, it’s a franchise operation. Perhaps that’s a choice left up to individual franchisees.
Have you considered hauling around a small cooler for leftovers? We do it all the time here. A small re-freezable ice pack usually does the trick for several hours, and there are numerous options for the cooler: softsided, as well as rigid. Just pick one that would fit the takeaway containers and you’re in business.
No, I haven’t; I can’t even remember to take the bags from car into the grocery store half the time, so I think we can safely assume that I’m not that organized.