Amnesia

I never fully believed in the notion of amnesia until I received my kicker check today. Well, at least I thought it was my kicker check. The envelope had a return address bearing the state seal and the words OREGON DEPARTMENT OF REVENUE, so anyone would’ve assumed what they had in their hands was a kicker check. A kicker check, for those not in the know, is money Oregon taxpaying residents receive in December when our state government suddenly finds themselves with so much excess funds, shake their heads in disbelief, and wonder aloud what they’re supposed to do with it. “Give the money back to the people,” one very wise state employee once proclaimed and Oregon residents have benefited from this surprise, timely Christmas money ever since. I opened the envelope and, instead of a check, found a nice note from my government expressing their gratitude for my donation. Donation? What donation? Apparently, I checked a little box when I filed my taxes this year which effectively relinquished my kicker check–should I receive one–to the Oregon Educational Fund. Funny thing is, I don’t remember that box let alone putting a check mark in it. Although, my generally poor memory leads me to not completely denying it. But, it’s just so not like me. I’m not rolling in the dough so why the hell would I think about giving any away? Sigh… I suppose I should feel joy in this act of charity albeit accidental in nature.

The Lucky Scramble

This morning I had breakfast at the Cup & Saucer Cafe, one of my most favorite breakfast places in P-Town. They have the best omelet specials, the best tasting breakfast potatoes, and quite possibly the most delicious breakfast scone. I come to the Cup & Saucer at least once a week, which, because of this frequency, has led to instant recognition by the wait staff there. I always take the very back booth seat, which provides me an excellent vantage point of the entire cafe. Plus, it’s only a few steps from the restrooms. Within a minute of taking my seat, I’ve got a heaping cup of decaf in front of me. There is one female waitress who is so adorable about whom I don’t think I’ll find any fault. She’s youthful and energetic, and was always very polite that I immediately liked her when she started working at the cafe about ten months ago. I’ve found food servers to pride themselves on their amazing memory, and I’m certain they relish in those moments when they’re able to guess their customers’ needs and desires. She is one of those food servers. In fact, she has a triumphant expression on her face every time she plops down my decaf and asks me if I want my usual. The problem is that she thinks my usual is the Lucky Scramble when I always, unfailingly, order the omelet special. I realized that I must remind her of another of her frequent customers who, perhaps, unfailingly orders the Lucky Scramble. I don’t want to bruise her ego so I always respond with “Actually, I’ll have the omelet special today.” This has been our exchange for the last ten months–she keeps trying to serve me the Lucky Scramble and I keep “trying” the omelet special. I look forward to the day when she finally remembers my usual order, cherish it for a few seconds, and then say to her: “Actually, I think I’ll try the Lucky Scramble today.”

The Universal Language of Music

Last night, I jammed with a few people from work. I’m using the term “jam” very loosely since I, myself, didn’t play any instruments–I simply lent my voice. We have our holiday party on Saturday, and we got this crazy idea a couple of weeks ago that a bunch of us would get a band together to play a couple of songs at the party. They recruited me along with two other vocalists. We practiced for the first time last night, and, for the most part, we did well. This was at once very surprising and unsurprising to me. The musicians–a drummer, two bassists, and two guitarists–had been in one band or another throughout their adult lives. Things came easily and naturally for them. They spoke in their own language–a musical language–as they agreed on chord progressions, percussive styling, and song arrangements. And, although last night was the first time we got together as a “band,” several of the songs we attempted to play actually sounded quite good. For all intents and purposes, I was the newbie, having never been in a band and completely unaccustomed to singing while accompanied by anything other than karaoke music (or my own self on the piano). Yet I found myself quickly getting into the groove, immersed in the talent that surrounded me. I felt simultaneously relaxed and energized. As the evening progressed, so did our music–having gone from being tentative musicians getting together for the first time to sounding like we’ve been playing together for ages. It was exhilarating! I can’t wait for Saturday to come!