Diner

I awoke from an interesting dream when my alarm started clanging at 4:55am.  In this dream, things were all rather mixed up and scattered in terms of dates, times, appearance, ect.  The gist of the dream was that it was set sometime in the latter part of the 1970s or early 1980s, and I was at a diner of some sort (imagine something akin to a "Big Boy" restaurant).  I was sitting in a booth in the far back corner.  I was quietly smoking my pipe, and looking out the window at the grey turbulent skies which were releasing a mixture of rain and snow onto the ground.  My pipe was one of my various 1/4 bent Dublins, and I was enjoying a simple burley leaf with a hint of vanilla.  I must have already placed my order with the waitress, as I had a steaming cup of black coffee in front of me that I was patiently waiting for it to get to room temperature, after having spooned in a few ice cubes from the glass of water that was also in front of me.  

Even though it was very much the late 70s or early 80s, I was my old, grey bearded self of today. I was wearing one of my grey, corduroy sport coats with the grey elbow patches that was from that era (but that I still have today, and still wear since it fits again for the last several years).  I love this sport coat, and it is amongst the many I have and still wear from that era.  Please note that they look traditional, and do not in any way look "leisure suit-esque" 😀.

I had a book with me, but I do not remember what book it was, as I really was not looking through it, but instead peering out the window.  The waitress then came back with my order, and although I must have ordered these in my dream, seeing them arrive shocked AND thrilled me. I had ordered five (FIVE!!!) different ice cream shakes (four of them malted).  I had ordered:

1.  Chocolate (malted)

2. Vanilla (malted)

3. Strawberry (NOT malted)

4.  Pumpkin Spice (malted, but definitely not of the era)

5.  Coffee Mocha (malted, but again definitely not of the era) 

I had just laid my pipe gently onto the tabletop, and was reaching for my spoon to begin to dig in (I usually eschew straws initially until near the end) when......

"clang, clang, clang,... clang, clang, clang......"

The damn alarm forcibly wrestled me into wakefulness.

+ + +

It was too cold and windy to attempt to run outside, so I went to the indoor track and was the first person (other than the counter lady, Teresa, who opens up the place) to step inside.  I quickly changed into my damnably expensive running shoes (with ~1000 miles on them, so they are getting worn out) and traipsed upstairs to the track.  I stretched a little bit, then started to pound the "pavement".

• 11.1 miles stomped out this morning (~18 km)
• As I finished, I went into the small stretching room to stretch more completely after my run.  One of the regulars (a walker) was in there trying to adjust his phone to play something or other on his headset.  I have talked with MANY of the regulars over the years, but never with this fellow, as he had always been rather quiet and normally did not stick around after his walk.
• But, today he decided to talk, and he said to me, "I heard you were a teacher."
• I nodded my head in affirmation.  
• He then said, "What school did you teach at?  When did you retire? I retired in 2012, just as soon as I could at 62 myself.  I worked for the city, plowing snow, and taking care of the parks."
  
• I looked at him ruefully, and told him I was STILL teaching.  I then said I was teaching at the U.
• "Oh, you're a "perfesser" then? In what?"
• I told him I taught biology.
• "How long you got left?"
• I told him I am thinking I will probably work at the U for perhaps three more years.
• With that, he raised his eyebrow at me quizzically.
• I told him that professors do not have a mandatory retirement age, so I could conceivably stay there forever if I wanted to, but that was not in my plans.  I then told him I knew of two colleagues who did not retire until they were in their early 80s.

• With that bit of information, the fellow just stopped talking and left a bit abruptly. 

+ + + 

I searched around some more for the blueberry tinctured pipe tobacco, but could not find it.  I am HOPING I still have some left somewhere in my many stashes.  It was wonderful.  Instead, I did find a partial tin of Balkan Sobranie, which is one of the few pipe tobaccos with latakia in them that I liked enough to buy a fair amount of.  Latakia is not particularly special to me, although on rare occasion it is pleasant.  Balkan Sobranie is no longer made (I take that back, a "replica" version is made that I have never tried, but most folks say it is no where near the same.)  But, I opened the tin of Balkan Sobranie to enjoy its aroma a few times yesterday and this morning.  

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