Back to Muddy Waters Cafe

Since the Beach Boys enjoyed their breakfast so much at the Muddy Waters Cafe in Tillamook, we decided to share the heart stopping goodness with Mrs. Monkey Man (monkey sister couldn't get herself out of bed in time to join us). The six mile drive from Netarts to "downtown" Tillamook came with growling stomachs and great yearning for much needed coffee. Mocha for Mrs. MM and a quad espresso for me. Gotta have the caffeine in the morning.

Muddy Waters Cafe was not quite a crowded as it was Friday. I think there is a weekday work crowd that frequents the establishment or maybe they were just recovering from a tough night at the Tillamook County Fair where intake of elephant ears, corn dogs, cotton candy and other midway fare left no room for their regular morning stop and the hearty meal of hash browns, eggs and toast.

The family plopped itself down in a cozy booth with a view of both the street and kitchen. Once again, Judy, the MWC proprietor, was busy in the kitchen but not so busy that she couldn't yell a "Be right with ya" greeting. She served some folks at the counter and popped over to our booth with her cheery smile and warm attitude. Recognizing my son and me from the day before, she welcomed us back and was happy to see we brought in more mouths to feed.

As with the previous day's breakfast, Judy served us sinfully delicious comfort food - biscuits and sausage gravy, hash browns, a sausage omelet and lots of sides. When she came back later to bus our table - remember this is a one woman shop unless she has to call her sister in for help - Judy all but sat down to chat with us. The initial topic of conversation was the Tillamook County Fair and how her daughter and grandchildren were coming down from Portland to visit and catch the demolition derby - smashing cars is a big deal along the Oregon coast apparently. Judy's eyes absolutely lit up as she talked about her grandkids and pointed to the many photos of them on a pastry case near the kitchen.

We asked Judy where her daughter was coming from and it turned out to be very close to an area we used to live in - the Silicon Forest of the Northwest. Judy also filled us in on a bit of her history. She and her husband Keith decided to make Tillamook their "retirement" home and commuted to Tillamook on weekends to build their dream house. Keith was an engineer and Judy worked at Reeser's Fine Foods in Beaverton, Oregon. When they came down on the weekends they lived in a tent on their property and literally camped out while hammering nails and cutting lumber for their new home. A true do it yourself project through sun, rain and God knows what other type of weather comes out of the Pacific Ocean headed inland.

Judy cooked meals over a camp stove and they had only a rented porta-potty for taking care of business. It was all business for Keith and Judy until one night they decided to tidy up and hit the local Elks Lodge for dinner and dancing (Remember...this is Tillamook, Oregon home to more cows than people). While there they ran into a couple that came up to them and asked if they were the Tent People from down the street. This was the first of many friendships the Tent People from Portland formed with the locals. As she told this story, tears started coming to Judy's eyes. She apologized then explained that Keith - the love of her life, the man she said she waited 50 years for - had died just this last Spring of colon cancer.

Mrs. Monkey Man stood up and hugged Judy to let her know it was okay to feel the pain and express it. This was fresh and Judy was still hurting. It also hit very close to home for Mrs. Monkey Man, you see, I was only two years removed almost to the day from surgery to remove cancer from my colon and it had been less than eighteen months since I had finished chemotherapy. I was a survivor. Judy's Keith was not. We felt her pain.

Judy's story of love found and lost was tragic, but she is a fighter and is carrying on by being of service in the only ways she knows how - cooking, smiling and sharing her gratitude and love for life with everyone she comes in touch with.

We love you, Judy, and will frequent your establishment every time we visit Tillamook.

Best Ever

This is dedicated to my most favorite person in the world.
Enjoy.

Sunday 160 - CJS

My head was pounding.
My eyelids were heavy with sleep.
The sickness enveloped me
as the world closed in with crushing force.
Clearly, I was suffering from CJS.

_______________
This is a Sunday 160.
Take the Challenge if you dare.

Summer Rain???

A lone

street light

shines in the park
reflecting on the damp leaves
and sturdy, wet trunk of a tree.
The melting lines of sidewalk chalk
fade in the mist of an unusual summer rain.
The calendar and the weather are in disagreement.
One says August the other drizzles October in the dark.
I’m confused.

_________________________________________________

This is a Flash Fiction Friday 55.

If you want to know what the hell that means visit g-man. The challenge is on.

Or Try my Sunday 160.

Beach Boys

This weekend the whole damn clan went on a road trip to the Oregon coast. My son and I left Thursday evening to get a bit of extra testosterone time before Mom and sister arrived on Friday night. We also took the family dog so he could acclimate himself to the new surroundings and not be a big, whiny pain in the ass when the girls showed up. Fat chance there was of that happening...the bigger they are the louder they whine.

Our first day was a real experience in small town, down home sensibilities and courtesy. We drove to breakfast and ate at a little diner named Muddy Waters Cafe in Tillamook, Oregon and it is a must for comfort food. When we showed up the three booths and one table were full so we walked over to sit at the counter. There were five stools, three of which were taken and the two remaining weren't together. A woman seated at the counter looked at us, interrupted her breakfast and said she would move so my son and I could sit together. She then proceeds to yell to an unseen person in the back of the kitchen, "Judy! You're getting busy here, you better call your sister." She turns to us and tells us it may take a while, but we will get served and asks if we want to read her paper while we wait, pours herself a cup of coffee to go and says good bye to the hidden Judy as she gulps down her last few tasty bites.

Mere seconds later "Judy" pops out from the kitchen with plates full of food for one of her tables. "Sorry for the wait, fellas, I'll be right with ya." she says with a smile. Judy goes about five foot four and well over two hundred pounds, has lost her share of teeth but smiles with unselfconscious abandon. She is busy and happy. She looks at the couple sitting next to us and says, "The usual?" at which they nod. She then appears back in front of us and asks what she can get us to drink. A quad espresso and a Mountain Dew are the answers. She is a blur of movement as she runs back into the kitchen, starting the espresso machine with the flick of her thick wrist along the way.

Out of nowhere appears a slightly shorter but no less plump version of Judy with a complete set of teeth. This, most obviously, is her sister, who walks over to us and asks what we want to eat while searching for a pad and pencil to take the order. My suggestion of using a napkin is pondered briefly but she knows it just won't fly in Judy's kitchen. We both order "The Pile" which is a base of grilled hash browns and onions topped with sausage gravy, fried egg and cheese. As I order, my heart screams at me to stop and think twice. Either that or please double up on the Lipitor.

Judy's sister brings our drinks and rushes back to the kitchen to bring out the next order. The place is alive. Not crowded, but alive with chatter and the sound of the local radio station talking about crops and the Tillamook County Fair. "Don't miss the destruction derby at the fairground tonight..." It was like walking into another dimension of time and it was wonderful - Judy with her less than toothy grin, no nonsense sass to any customer willing to challenge her to a battle of wits and great food that seemed to be made to order for the farm hand ready to step out into the fields to set sprinklers or herd the cows in to be milked - this is Tillamook, you know, home to Tillamook Cheese. What a great way to start our day. I felt like my Mom served me breakfast with attitude. (We found out more about Judy on a return trip the next day - more about this at another time.)

Then it was off to the beach. Our dog, a seventy pound pit bull named Ezmond, had never been to the beach so we had no idea how he would react to the sand and surf. Ez is a big pussy who hates to go out into the rain even if he hasn't relieved himself in hours, so for him to get into the water was a huge question. We weren't even sure he would want to walk out into the sand...too dirty for his dainty paws. Turns out he loved it. Ez and my son took off on a run and were as happy as pigs in shit. For Ez all the new smells were heavenly. Seaweed. Driftwood. Dead crab. Fire pits. Prints and marks of other dogs. He loved it and the way he expressed how much he loved it was with a great pee-fest, marking everything he could until he could only lift his leg for effect.

Ezmond was truly the star of the show as the day went on. He had gotten over his whiny "I'm so far away from home and miss my mommy" attitude and started to man up. The three of us took off later in the afternoon for a second walk on the beach. We walked past a boat launch on our way and ran into yet another colorful local. This man had parked his car. Hopped out and walked straight toward us. His weathered, tanned and wrinkled face looking us up and down before blurting out the question, "Does he have his nutz?" in reference to Ez. Sadly, I answered no. I am sure not as sad as Ez must have felt for being emasculated in public.

The local went on about how his blue heeler got tagged by a pitty. How the pups were the best he ever had and he was hoping that this handsome and muscular figure of a canine would want to offer his services to his bitch who was waiting patiently in his rusty, parked car. The bitch looked a bit old for what this local had in mind and I think Ez would have had to be wearing beer goggles to make heat with this coasty had he actually had the balls to do so.

For my fifteen year old this was an eye opening experience. I don't think he had run into a person, outside of some character on South Park or one of his other late night shows, that came across in such a direct manner. We have added the question - Does he have his nutz - to our ever growing list of inside jokes. He also learned more about doggy buggery in that short period of time than most will care to hear in a life time.

Ahhh, the Oregon Coast. A blend of farmers, fishermen, loggers and "ladies". It was a wonderful day with my boy that never would have happened with mom and sis in tow. God love 'em, but a boy's got to have an adventure.

Sunday 160 - Dirty Moon

Days of high temperatures and

miles of automobiles

spewing hot pollution

left the skies dingy brown

with stench.

The full moon in its glowing tan was beautiful.

________________________________

This is a Sunday 160.
Take the Challenge if you dare.

Never

Letters typed and never read
Words said and left unheard
Spoken images cutting deep
applying pain
Emotions draining
from hearts left bleeding
Head or heart
where do you aim
to stop the pain
Leave nothing left to feel
Build the walls
Build them higher
Build them thicker
Just give up
Shut down
Close up
Never

_________________________________________________

This is a Flash Fiction Friday 55.

If you want to know what the hell that means visit g-man. The challenge is on.

Or Try my Sunday 160.

Flying From Fear

The nightly ritual was always the same. Lights out. Keep the door open just a crack - no more than two inches so it was dark but a little light was let in from the hallway and the voices of Mom and Dad and sometimes the television could be heard. Close the closet door. Pull the blankets all the way over his head and leave just a small opening so cool air to breathe could flow in but the monsters couldn't see him. Monsters that hid under the bed or crawled out of the closet. How they would get out of the closet when the door was closed, no one knows, but monsters are very innovative, you know. Especially in the mind of a young boy.

Apparently the blankets somehow made the boy invisible to his two most feared monsters - wolves and snakes. Just how wolves could sneak into suburbia then get into a house, past adults and through a two inch crack in the door only a fearful child's mind would know. On the other hand, snakes - huge, long, poisonous snakes with great fangs that bite and fat bellies that could constrict and consume - could lay hidden under a bed for hours and crawl through the smallest of entries.

Always the same fears every night from a child who stood up to neighborhood bullies and was first in line to defend a friend. Night fears made from dreams rode in on a spectrum of thought over which he had no control. The only other real fear was heights. The fearless boy couldn't climb a tree to play in a friend's fort. Even the tall platform his father erected for him had to be used by others since his stomach and mind couldn't handle the climb. "What if I fall" his mind would say.

Falling from a great height into a den of wolves and a pit of pythons - the worst of nightmares. A fall. A helpless broken body. Still feeling. Still alive. Left to be consumed by gnashing teeth and writhing, tearing fangs. It was more than the boy could handle.

Most of the night's dreams were harmless enough. It was only the bastion of fear - at falling asleep knowing something was in the room - that kept the heart racing and the mind too occupied to slumber. But sleep would come. Fears allayed by the echos of soft, protective parental voices off in another room.

Drifting off, the boy would find himself running along a cliff. Sometimes being chased. Sometimes just running. The cliff looked out over an ocean. Blue and deep. Seas swelling with the crash of waves. Jagged rocks at the bottom of the cliff gaping up as teeth of a mighty animal ready to devour. A slip. A fall. The worst of fears in the making. Falling. Falling toward the sea strewn rocks. He wakes. Sweating. Panicked. In fear, but thankful it was only a dream.

That morning the boy reflects on this dream. A dream he has had repeatedly. He hates his dream and his fear. He asks himself, "How can I stop this dream? How can I take control? If only I could fly." The idea strikes him with warmth, "If I could fly in my dreams, I could escape the fall or I could fly away from wolves and snakes."

The boy convinces himself to try to fly the next time one of those fear filled dreams of evil creatures or horrible crushing falls buzzes through his highly active mind. Nights come and go and the boy is almost disappointed that he hasn't had an opportunity to try flight. Then one stormy night when heavy rains, thunder and odd shadows bring fearful thoughts the right dream arrives. Chased by wolves, the boy runs though a forest, dodging trees, fighting through the underbrush, just staying out of reach of the fast closing beasts.

Before him lay an open field. A danger or a great fortune. He wasn't sure. In the open field he couldn't out run the wolves, but he could test his flight. His subconscious was excited. "Will I fly?" he asked himself. Off he ran into the field. He could feel the sound of the paws behind him. He leaped and woke up. "Not tonight. I won't find out if I can fly tonight," thought the boy as his heart pounded, reacting as if it had really been trying to out run a pack of wolves. But his fear was abated. He had made an attempt to take over his dream and it felt good. He was excited to try it again. Not fearful of being chased, caught and consumed. Excited.

Again nights past. The boy stayed confident his plan would succeed. He practiced running in fields near his home. Jumping. Leaping toward the sky. Visualizing himself lifting off and flying weightlessly and effortlessly over trees, houses, anything in his path. His friends ask what he is doing and when he replies, "I'm practicing to fly," they snicker but play along. Running with him and taking the last long steps before the pretend flight begins. They fall in heaps on the grass laughing. Turning the flying game into a game of tag as only young boys with an unending supply of energy can do.

Dreams can't be forced, but they can't be denied. After the nightly ritual is completed. The closet closed. The door left open a crack. The blankets forming a proper hood with tiny breathing space. Eyes drooping shut. Dreams come.

He finds himself walking along the sea side cliff. Seas again angry. Awaiting his fall. Rocks reaching up. Aching to mangle the bones of the fallen. He slips. The fall begins. "I wasn't able to run to take off", he thinks. "How will I fly?" He is falling. The rocks are closing in fast. He stretches his arms as he did in the fields by his home and feels himself in control. The ground stops getting closer. He feels himself taking off over the rocks and out toward the sea just as he had visualized. Effortless. Weightless.

The waters stretch out before him. Waves tossing. Reaching for him to take him in and under. He has none of it. Flying with joy. Turning. Looking back to the shore. Seeing it for the first time for its beauty, not its dangers. Swooping. Soaring. As a seagull on a breeze. No fears, just freedom.

When he wakes he knows he has had his first flying dream. He is in control and even more excited for the next night to come. Sleep no longer carries the fright of fearful creatures looking for blood and destruction. It is now a place of unrestrained power.

The next night he can hardly fall asleep he is so inspired. When sleep finally comes, he stands in his own front yard. He takes just a few short steps and surges skyward, flying over his neighborhood. Seeing it from above in every detail as if floating in an astral plain. Perhaps that is exactly what it was. A boy learning how to relax within himself and believing he could fly. What is to stop a young, open mind from achieving such a feat? Leaving the earthbound body for a joy ride through the air.

Sunday 160 - Damned Economy

A single voice in cube town asks.

"Where's Lauren?"

Silence follows.

"She was let go yesterday,"

comes the softened reply.

Silence ensues.

I miss you my friend.

_______________________

This is a Sunday 160.
Take the Challenge if you dare.

The Hunt

The prey leaps and bounds up the path. Leaving a strong, wild scent behind.

He follows in close pursuit. Just a loping, trot of a run to start

but as the prey falls closer a sudden burst is all that he thinks is needed.

The burst followed by a leap.

THUD.

The dream is over.