Hooked on Cafe World?

Wednesday morning I was sitting in front of our computer on my day off when our son Scott walked in on me and blurted, "Hooked!"

It all started innocently enough. Belinda asked me about a week ago if I would mind getting on her Facebook account and clicking on the application "Cafe World" because she had a couple of dishes that would be done cooking and she didn't want them to spoil while she was gone.

Sure, I said, not realizing what I had actually agreed to. Getting on Facebook and clicking on application were easy enough, but then I was lost. So I clicked on the "Help" and read the instructions.

To remove her dishes from the hot plates to the serving counters was easy enough, but now what to do with those red hot burners that were glowing from the computer screen? I read some more instructions and then clicked on the cookbook. Pretty soon, I was making decisions about how to run a cafe. And, like most men, I quickly ascertained that I had more skill and knowledge about this particular task than our spouses who have actually cooked more meals and spent more time in the kitchen than their husbands.

So, suddenly, I had been empowered. I had 15 or 16 dishes to choose from and they varied in time to cook and how much the customers would pay. I started out with some five minute cheeseburgers.

Yep, in a short five minutes they were ready to serve. That was easy...so I progressed on to more difficult tasks such as increasing the cafe's buzz factor. As the customers left the cafe, they would give me a thumb's up sign and the buzz factor would increase. The higher it went, the more customers I had and the more food I had to prepare. It wasn't long before I reached the maximum buzz factor of 105, which I took to meant that I was giving this game 105 percent...which is better than 100 percent.

Nuts, some of the dishes Belinda had cooking would take way too long to finish and I needed those hot plates NOW. So I deleted her dishes and started making my own.

Well, you get the drift. I have been doing this off and on now for about a week. Belinda would have something cooking, which of course was the wrong meal for the wrong time of the day. I would come to the rescue and save "Belinda's Cafe" from sheer ruin.

Now it was Wednesday, Veteran's Day, and I had the whole day off. Finally, time to really put on thinking cap and once again provide massive profits to the cafe so we could expand and buy the necessary things that would make this little operation even more profitable.

Belinda left for work and it was me and the computer. Until Scott arrived. And then he blurted out something that I didn't want to hear.

"Naw, I'm not hooked," I said with a snarl like a drunk clutching a cheap bottle of Mad Dog 20/20.

So let me explain...if I was hooked, it would be Steve's Cafe. The application would be on my Facebook. Thus, while I stay pretty well informed as to what is going on with Belinda's Cafe, I have not treaded into the "hooked" waters. At least not yet.

I could probably start Steve's Cafe, but why should I when Belinda's has already expanded, purchased more stoves and counter tops and I can hire and fire the waiters on a whim. Plus, I've got too many dishes cooking on the hot plates to start over from scratch.

You make the call? Am I hooked or am I just a good husband helping out?

Comedy through the eyes of my son

One day this week, I had to take my car into the shop for a minor repair. On the way, I encountered by son Scott who was driving home from college a little before noon. So I dropped the car off and walked home. Shortly, my wife arrived as well and we decided to eat at Fried's, a family-owned cafe on the northwestern edge of town.

Fried's is known for it's home-made German food, which I don't particularly like...so dad and I each settled for a hamburger and chips.

As usual, I scarfed down my hamburger while dad took his sweet time eating his. Belinda and Scott, likewise, were still heading into their German dishes while my plate was empty.

So it seemed like a good idea to order a slice of pecan pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on it.

When it arrived, dad was still about halfway through his meal, so he surprised me when he said, "I want that also."

I asked the waitress, a lady about dad's age but twice as heavy, to also bring him a slice of pecan pie ala mode.

When it arrived, dad stabbed the ice cream with his fork and moved it to his plate. Then he proceeded to finish his meal and ice cream at the same time.

Scott is watching all of this and having a wonderfully good time of laughing, chortling and snickering as he gasped for breath. I, on the other hand, wondered what I'm supposed to do with the $2.75 piece of pie -- minus the ice cream.

"Dad, do you want the pie?"

"No, you can have it," was his reply...to which Scott begins a new round of laughter across the table.

Well, after you've just eaten a hamburger, pie and ice cream, there really isn't room for another piece of pie, especially one as rich as pecan.

Belinda asked for a take-home box. That night, she asked me if I was going to eat the pie sitting in her fridge. You know what? I was still full...of food and Scott's laughter.

But I warmed it up in the microwave, poured some milk (in place of ice cream) on it and devoured the pie.

Still, though, I'm haunted. Did dad really want only the ice cream and he thought the pie was part of the plate? Or did he suddenly realize he was only hungry enough for the ice cream and not the pie?

Nevermind, I guess...the story resolved itself and Scott was entertained once again as he watched his grandfather and father interact over a meal and dessert.

Evaporation

My boys know what I'm writing about just from the headline, but I think I'll tease the rest of the readers a little. You know how fast water turns to vapor and disappears on a hot, arid summer afternoon? Well, that's the way Chex party mix disappears at our house...especially around the holidays. That's why years ago, we began calling it "Evaporation."

Sometime around Thanksgiving, the grocery stores will start selling all varieties of Chex cereal at a discounted price. We generally don't buy the wheat Chex, but we love the rice and corn varieties. A box of Kix is good and you can also add a few Cheerios if you want along with mixed nuts and some pretzels.

I've also worked on perfecting the coating. Basically, mine is melted butter, Worcestershire sauce and some garlic powder. I've also found that cooking it in the microwave for about six minutes and stirring it every two minutes makes a fine batch of quick party mix.

Years ago when we were hooked on "computer golf" as a way to while away the winter hours, we found that party mix and Mountain Dew were just the right condiments for an afternoon of hooks, slices and birdies. The cereal disappeared faster than I could make it.

However, mine pales in comparison to my mother-in-law's. This woman has taken Chex party mix to a new level. And that's where my story actually begins.

I was reminded a couple of weekends ago how good her party mix is. She brought out a big bowl when we came to visit and it wasn't long before it was gone. I think I ate 90 percent of it. Even her pretzels, which I don't really care for, were pretty good.

She sent an empty butter container full of party mix home with us. Now, I thought I would try to ration myself and eat just a little so it would last a couple of days. However, Scott found it and devoured most of it before I could get home from work. Still, the crumbs were tasty.

Now I couldn't really get mad at him because there was a time when my mother-in-law sent a huge gallon jug container full of party mix with us to give to her baby boy -- a huge man -- who lives in Bismarck. Unfortunately, Uncle Miles only got the crumbs that time because my family and I snacked on his party mix on the 210 mile trip from Glendive to Mandan.

There's only more thing I would like to add before I close...the best present I ever got from my mother-in-law for Christmas was the jar of party mix a couple of years ago. It was delicious.

Count your blessings one by one

"Count your blessings...count them one by one." That's how the old song goes and it's very good advice.

One of the blessings that I've taken for granted for too long is having great inlaws. I've known that I was among the lucky ones to have a great mother-in-law and father-in-law for some time, but haven't told them how lucky I am. Tomorrow that changes.

They welcomed me into their family from the first time they met me, and they have never disappointed me. Belinda and I use to go to dances with them at the Elks and the Moose when we were dating. When the dances were done, we would go to their home or to one of their friends' homes and eat breakfast and laugh and talk until the wee hours of the morning.

They were great when we got married, and they helped us move to Mandan two months after our marriage.

My father-in-law ran a body shop in Glendive but took time off from his work to drive a U-Haul truck when we moved in the dead of winter. I told him that this must have been costly for him because he was missing a day or two of work. He told me that for his family, his time was free.

I also remember after my wedding when I asked the priest at the Sacred Heart Catholic Church if he would accept a check for marrying Belinda and me. He said, "No indeed. Leo Doll is one of the most faithful givers we have at our church. I wouldn't consider taking your money for performing a wedding ceremony involving Leo's daughter."

These things made an instant impression upon me.

As grandparents, Leo and Rosaline have also been outstanding. My boys love their Grandma and Grandpa Doll very much. Grandpa Doll loves old cars and I remember Derek wanting to head down to Glendive to drive one of Grandpa's cars in the local parades.

Scott is one who would think the summer was a waste if he didn't get a week to spend with his grandparents.

So, here's to Leo and Rosaline...one of the many blessings God has bestowed upon my family.

Amen.

Building onto our church

This Tuesday, folks from Curtis Construction will be at our church at 6:30 p.m. to talk about some drawings they've made for a new addition to our existing church building and to give us a "soft" estimate of how much it will cost.

This project is badly needed by our church family, many who can no longer navigate down the steps to the basement for fellowship, meals...and more importantly, to use the non-handicap accessible bathrooms. What we would like is an extension on the main floor out to the east that would accommodate new bathrooms, a fellowship hall, a new worker-friendly kitchen, a couple of offices and a library/family room.

Sometimes this task of building seems overwhelming. After all, we are in a recession, and we have a lot of old people who attend our church and they are on fixed incomes. We're not a church with a lot of rich people. We're definitely a "blue-collar" congregation. I think I was beginning to wallow and wonder if an addition were possible.

And then my dad received a letter from his sister Delma this week. Delma and her husband used to live in Linton. She is now widowed and living in Oklahoma where her son Mike is a pastor at an Assembly of God Church. She has another son, Bob, who is also an Assembly of God pastor but currently he is serving time in a Texas prison...and conducting ministries in jail. If you don't believe me, check out this website: www.chiefministries.com.

Anyway, Delma is telling me that Bob, her son in prison, is now building a new halfway house in Houston. "It will be called Chief's House," she writes. "All papers have been filled and approved. Now they are looking for land."

Her son Mike, who is a pastor in Oklahoma said, "I don't understand how Bob's in prison and can build a halfway house?" My Aunt Delma replied, "With God, all things are possible."

She continued in the letter saying, "When Denny and I heard God tell us to build an Assembly of God church in Linton, we didn't have any money. God supplied all of it for four and half years."

Currently, Delma is sending Bibles and writing letters to men who are in prison. She writes that God is providing her with about $600 a month to pay for Bibles.

When I finished reading her letter, I was filled with God's inspiration and can't help but think, "Our church can do it, too."

So thought I would share this with my faithful readers. The photo is of my Aunt Delma and three of her children: daughters Peggy and Shirley and son Mike. The picture was taken in Mike's church. Peggy lives in Mandan and Shirley lives in Jamestown.

Not so random thoughts on health care

The following is the letter I sent today to my two senators -- Byron Dorgan and Kent Conrad.

Dear Senator:

I wanted to express my fear about government-sponsored health care being an option for people who already receive health care as a component of their benefits package at work.

My fear stems from something that happened last year to my dad.

My father is 89 years old and retired from Continental Oil Company (Conoco) in 1985. For 23 years he had excellent prescription drug coverage as part of his retirement benefits. However, Conoco now has discontinued their private drug coverage and dad had to enroll in Medicare Part D through membership in AARP. Like a lot of seniors, dad suffers from Alzheimer’s so requires expensive medication, including Arricept and Namenda. These medicines appear to have arrested the progression of Alzheimers; however, under his Part D coverage, dad’s cost for prescription drugs increased astronomically as most of this year he has spent in the “Gap.”

Dad is a World War II veteran of the Pacific Theater, who worked hard his entire life. I’m deeply hurt that Conoco would dishonor their retirees by dropping their prescription drug coverage and go with the less expensive government-funded option.

I wonder how many companies would attempt the same thing – reduce their financial obligations for private health insurance -- if there was government-sponsored health care. That’s my fear, and that’s why I abhor the thought of health care reform meddling into private insurance.

I’m all for health care reform…but let’s focus on the real cause…outrageously high medical care costs. If tort reform is needed to reduce the costs created by malpractice insurance premiums and defensive medicine, then I urge you to focus on that.

And he volunteered for this?

Yesterday, September 5, five of us went golfing. Well, four actually golfed and Colton drove the golf cart for his dad. I had the privilege of being chauffeured around in a golf cart by grand-nephew Blake, who is in the eighth grade at Plentywood, MT, and doesn't have his driver's license yet.

Blake actually volunteered to drive our cart so I thought it was incumbent upon me to share my years of golf cart wisdom with him.

Now Blake was a little nervous behind the wheel as he didn't want to give his aged uncle a whiplash with some lightning fast acceleration. In fact, Blake was going too plumb slow.

In my family, where everyone has a Type A personality, we know there truly is only one speed on a golf cart and that's FULL speed. So after a couple of holes of very slow and cautious golf cart maneuvering, I could see this was a teachable moment.

There are probably as many ways to let your chauffeur know that he's going too slow as there are grains of sand on a beach, so I decided to take the direct approach. I simply squashed his naked foot and sandal onto the accelerator with my tennis-shoed foot. The golf cart leaped into action before Blake even knew what hit him. After that experience, Blake made sure the golf car was running at full tilt.

However, Blake didn't know 'rule number one' of driving a golf cart with Uncle Steve. So there was another teachable moment. Rule number one is always park Uncle Steve in the shade of a tree. Even if this means that Blake has to find a club and scamper across the fairway to hit his next ball and then scamper back to the golf cart.

There were a couple of other rules that Blake never caught onto...no matter how many times I expressed them. For instance, if he left the golf cart to go hit a ball, I would take it upon myself to move over into the drivers seat. However, when I hit my ball, Blake always moseyed back over to drive the cart again. This was a direct violation of one of my rules.

Still, it was a fun afternoon, and I think Blake really learned some things about driving a cart..."Don't volunteer to drive Uncle Steve's golf cart."

I'm posting a picture of Blake after he learned about golf cart etiquette, literally, at my feet.