I was at Starbucks early this morning, as is usual on the mornings I don't go to the gym before work.
Why didn't I go to the gym? Socket and Hannah are with me this morning ... their Dad's in Fargo, Becca's in Revelstuck and our emergency backup dog sitters are on Shuswap Lake. Ergo, they get to come to work with me today.
ANYWAY, there was a couple in line before me. He picked up his drink, much like mine: straight, black and strong. Hers was piled high with whipped cream and he uttered an 'Eeeww' comment on the calorie-laden frou-frou beverage.
I started to laugh, which made them and the two baristas look at me.
"I just had a flashback moment to my mom," was my explanation. And I told them about my mom's cream addiction.
My mom was a tiny little thing with an unquenchable hunger for cream. Thick, heavy, yellow, stand-a-spoon-up-in-it cream. I was raised on a ranch and everyone knows ranchers don't milk cows (or if they do, it's a deep dark secret .... wonder where they hide the cow .... but I digress .... again) so we didn't have a milk cow and no cream ready to hand.
Every so often, Mom would go visit Mrs. Frick down the road, owner of a set of Jersey cows. She'd come back with a quart sealer jar filled to the rim with fresh cream. Mom would get a cereal bowl out of the cupboard, toss a few Corn Flakes in the bottom for pretense and then fill the bowl with cream, then sit down and proceed to spoon it down.
We'd gag. I mean, we liked cream but this was just gross. Dad would laugh at her and ask who she thought she was fooling with the whole Corn Flakes things.
What a great memory to start my day with!