Here Comes the Rain Again: A Post About Orange Juice and Rain

Hand-squeezed OJ, with separation

I woke up 'naturally' today (meaning no alarm), at a reasonable time for feeding animals, having breakfast myself, and getting to work on time. This is pretty surprising, given that I was up past midnight, listening to what the weather forecasters called "gale-force" winds and rain.

Here comes the rain again

When I opened my refrigerator on this rainy, final day of February, I saw this unusual - but welcome - pitcher of fresh squeezed OJ.

I don't drink OJ in the morning because it gives me an upset stomach. This OJ has been in the fridge since a friend brought over 2 bags of oranges sometime last week. I realized that if I didn't use it soon it might go to waste.

My desire to have some orange juice thus determined my breakfast: half of a banana, cup of tea, half of a bagel with cream cheese, second cup of tea. All things that would counteract the effects of orange juice.

I don't usually have bagels and cream cheese in my house either. One of my own nicknames in my head is "Bagel Whore." I become a raging crazy person when it comes to bagels - I *LOVE* them. I will break laws for a good bagel (though no one has ever before known to use this temptation to bend me to their will). In this case, bagels were on a list of foods my niece liked to eat for breakfast. Somehow there were two bagels left after her stay with us. Maybe I'm getting better.

The banana was eaten as I fed Jeremy-the-Bird and Olieo Dog. Tea was poured, and the bagel was toasting, so I got out my pretty little gilt edged glasses for juice.

Left: Stirred and shaken  Right: Poured off the top

I had several thoughts that I don't ever remember having before as I opened the drawer to extract a long handled wooden spoon for stirring the OJ: 

What if I DON'T stir it?
What will it taste like?
Does juice at the top taste different from juice at the bottom?
Is pulp the only difference?

Seriously if you've already done this experiment, I can't do anything but apologize for wasting your time reading this blog post.
I decided not to stir.


It felt reckless.
I had known my whole life that you MUST stir the orange juice before pouring it out.
Now, suddenly I was considering a taboo act.
The rebel heretic every one who knows me, knows that I am, was going to drink unstirred OJ.

I am gonna try the thin, colorless, unshaken orange juice.

Falling on my head like a memory

I have no memory of ever tasting OJ, but I know what I like.
(Don't I?)

Tasting orange juice isn't exactly like tasting fine wines, or tasting different types of honey. Although the liquid in the two glasses looks quite different, the flavor is more the same than different.

ASIDE: Okay, in THAT way it IS like tasting fine wines. Good wines all taste more like grapes than OJ. But when comparing fine wines to two-buck-chuck I've found myself thinking, Is this even made from grapes?  Some bargain barrel bottles I've tasted do not really resemble wine.

The pale juice with almost no orange color had a consistency like whiskey. Slightly thick. Very silky on my tongue. Huge flavor. I wasn't expecting THAT! It was Taaaaasty! The natural sugar was creating the thin but still syrupy texture. There was a bite of acid, and a HUGE flavor of orange. Tart, but with no bitterness.

In hindsight, I think I assumed the separated top liquid would be tart, bitter, acidic - nasty. Stirring was obviously the way to get a sweet, balanced OJ. Turns out, Noooooooo.

In comparison, the richly colored, "orange" orange juice, with LOTS of pulp (the way I have always THOUGHT I liked it) tastes like an altogether different substance. The heavy pulp content seems to confuse my poor tongue: Ack! Do I swallow or chew?! The chunky liquid is much more bitter, I now assume due to the inclusion of pulp and the higher levels of bitter pith.

Colorless, no-pulp OJ is THE BOMB.

Falling on my head like a new emotion

At 41, I feel like I understand a little secret about orange juice that I've never known. It may be an inconsequential thrill, but it is a thrill, and that thrill is mine!

No one has ever told me this information. Maybe not many other people know either. But you know now. Go forth. Squeeze fresh OJ. Drink the good bit, the pale, clear, not-orange juice. Use the rest for baking or marinating.

And while you are at it, let anything in your life - a wonderful, seasonal rain storm - encourage you to ask questions about anything you've 'always done.' Be that rebel heretic with me, against the most minute of daily practices. Maybe you will see, feel, taste, smell or hear something beautiful, wonderful and special in your day, even if it is just drinking a glass of orange juice.

Rainy Courtyard

Blooming Succulent

Not Ready To Leave...

...my hotel room. After a few days here, I'm nice and safe; I found a radio station I can deal with, I have lots of clean towels, and the bed finally holds the impression of my frame enough that I slept the whole night through.

But it is almost time to go, and really I'm just stalling because if I'm not sitting here, then I'm sitting in the airport. Much less interesting. Although there are people there, and I'd be doing the same things (well, not blogging, as there's no guarantee of internet access).

But I *would* in fact be reading (most of what I've been doing this morning). Enjoying another great new book, Wit's End, by Karen Joy Fowler, whose Jane Austen Book Club I enjoyed so much. Wit's is also great...so compelling, that I had to tear myself away to get my teeth brushed and the last few little things packed. I'm quite grateful I didn't start it until the end of my trip - I would certainly not have been as on-my-game for work if I was constantly sneaking out for a 5 minute read-break...

Should I admit I do that sometimes? When the book is truly as well-written and engrossing as this one is? Well, this book is also conducive to that: Lots of short segments, so it is easy to set down and pick up. But I don't want to.

Really the reason I wanted to blog today was that I had other confessions to make. I did a truly, consciously anti-social thing: I put a half hamburger bun in the toaster at my hotel kitchenette...and it already had ketchup and mustard on it. There's no chance the condiment-side wouldn't touch the coils. Anyone staying in this room in the future is going to get just a little spice to their toast.

I thought about this before I did it, and I TOLD myself it was anti-social, unfair to the next person...but for all I know, someone has done the same thing before me, and I was getting a little bit of who-knows-what on the top side of my bun. In my head it is the same conversation I have when deciding whether or not to report the fairly serious trickle from the bathtub to the hotel owners. Well, I haven't done that yet, but I WILL let them know as I leave - a decidedly unnecessary waste of water. I didn't shower each day I was here, so maybe that makes up for it.

Nearly everything is packed, the suitcases are MUCH lighter, because I was good, and I ate most of the food I brought with me, and stuck primarily to my diet. I have been awake for hours because unfortunately, I awoke to one of those you-want-to-be-completely-organized-but-you-know-that-you're-not
mini-panic moments, and I thought that maybe I had my flight time wrong - YIKES!

But no, I got up and double checked; And double-checked...and couldn't really go back to sleep. It is going to make being on CA time especially hard, I know, but oh well. Time to post, close up the computer and go. And who knows - maybe there WILL be wireless at the airport...?

Psycho Patrol for Baby Chain Gang

Several weeks ago I was trying to find parking near SFMOMA for a job interview and I saw a Baby Chain-Gang. Seriously.

Identical High Security Orange Oversized T-shirts on a squad of 9 five year olds.

It took four adults with prison guard face smeared across their features and a handcuff-like rope contraption to keep these tiny persons in a tight line for crossing the busy San Francisco Street.

Each little kid (boys nearly indistinguishable from girls) had a hand or two thrust into the looped rope cuff, attached to the main tow line at one foot intervals.

The only individuality of the gang was their attitudes toward the rope: One brown haired boy had one wrist in his loop, and the other hand, arm, shoulder were thrust backward as if he was being dragged against a strong wind. A little blond girl was obviously riding a horse: She had both hands on her loop, and was cracking the reigns, while she cloppity-clopped on the pavement. A third baby had the loop in his palm, a forward bend in his back, and the rope across his shoulder, as if he was Gulliver, dragging in the Lilliputian ships. A couple of children on opposing sides of the rope were obviously using it lumberjack style to chop down an enormous tree.

They all made it across the street - not so much because the light stayed green, but mostly because the drivers waiting were laughing so hard they couldn't reach their gas pedals...

As I was driving home tonight, I saw another thing that make me laugh out loud. Especially after the recent horrific shootings on college campuses and in malls; Friends, and the I-80 interchange having bad car wrecks, and various happy couples splitting up, getting back together and resulting in nasty custody battles...I am so glad that this is out on the road: Psycho Patrol

We need a lot more....

T3 & Credit Union Juxtaposition

Uhm, how nervous should I be about the following:

My Credit Union posts on their website that they have a planned systems upgrade starting on a Friday night at 10pm, lasting...mostly through the weekend. No problem. It is Friday at 3pm, I'll check my accounts, make sure there's no problems, bills are getting paid, etc., and then be out of town all weekend anyway.

Except the logon won't accept my name & password (ARGH). Now I'm calling.

"I'm sorry, our systems are down, and IT estimates 3-4 hours until they are back up."

I'm thinking, "Huh? You're a BANK. You have my money. You can't 'go down.'"

This seemed eerily connected to a comment I made this morning while commuting with my husband. We had finally Netflixed Terminator 3 this past week, and this morning I joked that he could get one of those nifty, non-expiring governmental license plates by doing QA for Homeland Security.

"You can be the guy who makes SURE SpyNet works right when it gets ready to destroy the human race."

Ugh. Looks like they don't need him.