Jan 2, 2012
I’m not gonna lie. I hope this post attracts lots and lots of attention. I hope beyond hope that somehow, someway, Keurig sees it, and like any other great food blogger, I’ll be contacted and offered mucho free product to review for them. I’d love a stinking huge Keurig gift basket to show up on my doorstep with a “Thanks for thinking of Us” card attached. Yeah… I sure can dream, can’t I?
In order to understand my love for Keurig, you must understand my love for coffee. It all began when I was a junior in college and staying up late with my friend in the dorms. Now she was a coffee drinker. She knew Starbucks before they were on every corner. And during one particularly long study session which kept us up already past a decent hour, she said, “I need coffee. I’m going to the cafeteria.” I didn’t drink coffee much back then. Sure I’d had it as a kid with lots of milk and sugar. But as a regular, Mmm-mmm good! Gotta have it! thing, notsomuch. It was too hot and strong for me, so I added a few ice cubes. That’s the ticket!
And thus began my love affair with coffee. A few years later, a former boyfriend came to town and since it was close to my birthday, he took me to lunch. We drove to the outskirts of the neighboring town, to a quaint little restaurant off the freeway that garnered much attention for it’s 50’s-era style. The food was great, and the coffee was decent. We started talking about really good coffee and he suggested we make the 30 minute drive to the nearest Starbucks. I’m game! So off we went on an impromptu coffee run.
Now, when I say I live in the Southern California desert, that’s not exactly true. I live in a residential suburb that’s planted in the desert. But you don’t really understand the meaning of the word desert until you start driving toward Barstow. And how it is that Barstow got a Starbucks long before we did is still a bone of contention around here. So. You get my excitement at driving just for good coffee. I was thinking this would be a really great birthday!
We were so busy chatting and getting caught up that we missed the first turn off. Hmm. No worries. There’s another one in a mile.
Missed it.
So we kept driving. It’s not easy to get lost on the 15 North. It’s not like there are any sidestreets to get in the way or mislead us. So we just kept talking, driving, figuring we could turn back once we reach Calico Ghost Town. A darn good birthday drive.
Missed it again. We were just about to turn around when I saw it. The first billboard indicating Sin City lay ahead: Las Vegas! And what, you ask, did the billboard advertise for that fine town? David Cassidy in Concert. Ohhh, babyyy….! I’m pretty sure I drooled. Or squeeled. Or both.
I pointed and said, “Ooh, let’s go there!” I was just joking. He wasn’t. And he said, “Wanna go?” Just like that. Uhmmm… WHAT?!?! Five dollars in my back pocket. Never been to Vegas. Hair and makeup not quite done properly. We were only supposed to be getting coffee. So I made a quick phone call to my family and said, “Hey, I’m gonna be home seriously late… like, tomorrow morning!” and it was settled.
Two great things happened that night. The first is that David Cassidy stood ten feet in front of me with his microphone, looked into my eyes and sang, “I Think I Love You”, to the dismay of all other females in the audience. The second is that I had a really great cup of coffee.
Now that’s a birthday!
Flash-forward over a decade, and I’ve become quite the coffee snob. I make Folgers when I have to, but prefer the Starbucks drive-thru. Especially since it’s literally a block from where I worked.
Last spring, I treated my mom to a birthday celebration at The Mission Inn in Riverside. It’s a beautiful, historic Inn. Just 35 minutes south of home, I used to drive there often to see the sights and surrounding areas, but never stayed there. This was the first vacation with all three of us: Mom, Me, and Dot. And it was the best. Our concierge was so helpful. She was in constant communication with me by phone and email. I explained to her my personal ideas and she threw in some marvelous touches that I never thought of. Once we were settled, she came up to personally introduce herself and wish my mom a wonderful birthday. [If you ever get the chance to stay at the Mission Inn, do so! And let them know I sent you!]
I’m so in love with the history that the Mission Inn has. I’m particularly fond of Author’s Row, where I hope to vacation some day. Many wonderful authors have not only stayed at the Mission Inn, but written books while there. I’m pretty sure there’s a Magic Pen around there, and I just need to find it.
Years ago, at one of the Inn’s corners, was this great place: The Mission Inn Coffee House. I was so looking forward to grabbing a Starbucks-quality coffee. But it has since been replaced with the Bella Trattoria, which is a fine Italian dining establishment where we suffered under heatlamps in 20 mph winds and rain just to eat my first ever veal (lasagna, it was superb!) and a true tiramisu; all while listening to Bocelli in the background.
Our room was tucked into a corner and we had a grand door overlooking the Spanish Patio, Author’s Row, and windows overlooking the pool. It was exquisite. The first morning we woke to find the coffee pot was a Keurig.
I’d never tried a Keurig before. I considered it a flashy gem, a gaudy ring on the hand of the rich and famous. A bling-bling that unnecessarily flaunted snobbery. I knew nothing. The Mission Inn had printed wonderfully simple instructions. They could have called
it “Keurig for Dummies”: Pour water. Select K-cup. Brew.
Voila! Keurig + Molly = Coffee Snob.
It was so simple. So easy. So flavorful! It took me only two weeks to get my own. Just like the one at from our room at the Mission Inn. The only difference is the color. Theirs is black. Mine is red.
You know how all roads lead to Rome? That’s how it is with me and coffee. Whereas every significant coffee moment in my life holds a great memory, there is nothing, nothing, nothing like the enjoyment I have with my Keurig. Each day, the perfect cup of coffee awaits me. I enjoy a variety of flavors without worrying about one bag of beans going stale before I finish it. When I need an extra boost, I brew a short cup full of caffeine. If I’m looking for a casual day at home, a full 12 ounces fills my cup.
And we’re not just talking coffee, here, either! Cocoas and ciders and teas, oh my! I also love brewing a clean cup of hot water for my instant oatmeal breakfasts, or regular tea bags. And let’s not forget that when I want to use my regular gourmet coffee grounds, I have the replaceable My K-Cup. With over 200 flavors and so many ways to brew, there is absolutely no possible way to make a bad cup of coffee.
All roads may lead to Rome, but all coffee leads to Keurig.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
Nov 21, 2011
I wasn’t sure what to write about today. It’s Thanksgiving week, and I’m thankful for so many things indeed!
I was looking through some old posts and photos for inspiration. There have been so many wonderful experiences in the past year, I thought I’d share some with you.
This first photo is my fireplace, with the first fire of the year. I love my fireplace. I love being a homeowner, and being able to host friends and give my daughter a comfortable place to grow and be. I love that during a summer storm, we sat and made s’mores right here in our house. I love the warmth the fireplace offers, and the decor. When we lived in an apartment for over 10 years, we didn’t have a fireplace, and we had one door and only three windows. I love being a homeowner. And I love my fireplace.
This next photo is from the first snowfall last winter. We don’t typically get a lot of snow, and it was so beautiful to wake up to this. It lasted all day, and into the next before the sun came out and melted it all away. I love that it covered the entire yard, and wasn’t just patchy. There’s a calm and silence that comes with quiet snow. I don’t know what it is, but the world seems to slow or even stop to enjoy the beauty.
We weren’t sure we could renew our Disneyland Passes last spring, but on what we thought would be our last day at the Parks, we were able to. I didn’t tell Hannah about it. For the last two years, our friends the Wright Family has taken us to the Parks in March. On that day, Baylee was going to purchase her own annual pass and we had a plan all set up. She talked Hannah into walking up to the ticket kiosk with her, and as they waited in line, she would tell Hannah, “You should ask your mom if you can renew your pass. Just ask her! Just do it!” We knew Hannah wouldn’t ask for such a thing without nudging, so Baylee kept at it.
Meanwhile, us moms (me and Stacie) were off to the side chatting. Stacie asked me a question that I can no longer remember. I held up my hand and told her, “Wait. Something really great’s about to happen.”
Then Hannah said, with no hope and a shrug, “Mom. Baylee says to ask if we can renew our passes today.” I simply said, “Sure.” We all laughed except Hannah, who took about 20 minutes to really process it. Even after we got the renewals and walked into the Park, she kept saying, “Wait. I don’t understand. What just happened?” It turned into one of our best trips to the Parks in a long time.
In April, we took our first ever Three-Generation Vacation. I treated my mom and daughter to a weekend at the Mission Inn in Riverside, CA. It’s a beautiful historical Inn, and has been the temporary home for several authors.
It was terribly cold and windy and even raining after the sun went done, but we were determined to eat at the Bella Trattoria. The problem was, it only offered outdoor seating and the wind kept blowing out the heating lanterns.
Nonetheless, we stuck it out. And I ate veal for the very first time in my life. I discovered… I like veal. I had always inherently been opposed to eating baby cow, but this was delicious. It was their veal lasagna. And of course, whenever I go somewhere new, if there’s an Italian dish on the menu, I can’t not try it. So I did. And I loved it. I loved it like I breathe, like the sky is blue, like I was born for that particular moment…
Until the tiramisu arrived. And then I was beyond satisfied. Especially because Con Te Partiro was playing over the sidewalk speakers. This was not the end to dinner. This was an experience. This was more than a memory. I may never eat there again. But I will never forget those flavors and aroma and atmosphere. It was heaven.
This is a view of Sunday morning outside our mini-suite. I woke up early and was transformed by the tranquil beauty and heritage of the building around us. It was so quiet, so peaceful and renewing. I want to live there forever.
Summer came and I got my first-ever BBQ. The exact same one my brother bought for himself a few weeks earlier and a few hundred miles away. We had fun laughing about that. This is my first-ever grilling experience: I roasted vegetables and grilled chicken.
The flames made me really nervous, but it turns out I can totally handle a grill. And that made me feel pretty confident.
The Three Generations again took a trip; this time to visit my big brother and his family in Las Vegas. I love driving, and my brother is so good at giving directions, so I had no problem finding their new home. We drove around the Hoover Dam, walked through a few casinos. But the most memorable moment (and what Hannah had been waiting for all weekend) was the Cokes Around the World tasting at World of Coca-Cola. They give you two trays with eight drinks each: the different flavors of Coke from everywhere. They were unique, they were flavorful, and some literally made us gag. It was a blast to share and taste and figure out who would like which one. We each had our own favorites. Surprisingly, mine was not from Italy. I don’t remember which one I liked best, but I do remember this fun experience.
My daughter took this last photo when I decorated for Christmas last year. I love nutcrackers. I mean, I love nutcrackers. Each year, I get at least one new one to add to my collection. Hannah doesn’t care for them. She really doesn’t care for them.
But she still managed to take this great picture and photoshop it for me. She’s really talented when it comes to art and photography. Someday she’ll be famous for it. Until then, here’s a sample of her work.
Well, those are my most favorite photo-memories for 2011.
Happy Thanksgiving to all, and to all a Good Turkey.
And Frankly, My Dear… That’s all she wrote!
Apr 16, 2011 |
by Molly Jo Realy @MollyJoRealy
I met Robin H. today. A nice man, a little bit older than myself, beautiful eyes… and a world’s worth of hurt behind them.
Robin is homeless, and very much ashamed of that fact.
I was eating outside at a pedestrian mall at the Mission Inn when I saw him, discreetly looking into the tops of trash cans. His clothes were ill-fit; not that they didn’t belong to him originally, but the “him” they belonged to must have been at one time, long ago, much heartier.
My daughter and her friend were enjoying a pizza inside. I approached them delicately to ask if they were finished. There were two slices left and they offered one to me. I shook my head, then nodded toward the window. “There’s a homeless man out there looking for food.”
Suddenly the ambiance shifted. Our carefree afternoon quickly turned into something more caring. We put the remaining pizza into a box and carried it outside with pride and generosity. My daughter’s friend approached him as we stood back. He accepted it without looking up, and sat on the nearest bench to immediately start eating.
As we began to walk away, I tried not to stare. I didn’t want to embarrass him. But I couldn’t help notice how slowly he ate. Each bite was thoroughly savored, properly chewed and digested. Nonetheless, within a matter of us walking 100 feet away, the first slice was gone.
My mind went to the bag of snack food I had left in the car, and we promptly retraced our steps to retrieve it. The blue lunch tote felt so light, so empty. I slipped $5.00 in as well, for whatever else he might need.
We found him again, on the same bench, the empty pizza box under his feet. Politely, I offered him the bag of snacks. He couldn’t lift his eyes up. He seemed in wonder that someone had noticed him, let alone showed him kindness. The mall was bustling with people: weekenders from the Mission Inn and the many children’s pre-Easter activities surrounding the area. And they had all ignored him. He was invisible to everyone, even though the bench he sat on was in the middle of the square.
“Cookies,” he said, sifting through his new loot. “Cookies. I can maybe share these with my friend around the corner?” It seemed as though he was asking my permission.
I introduced myself, and he finally looked up from the bag of goodies. He stopped counting his blessings long enough to make much needed eye contact and repeat my name. “Molly,” he said. “My name’s Robin. Robin Hamilton.” And he held out his hand for a firm shake. I took his hand and returned his gaze.
I introduced my daughter and her friend. I was impressed with his manners, as he shook their hands and made eye contact. He was down on his luck, but he wasn’t ignorant. He turned his attentions back to me.
His eyes were clear, but sad; his entire body weighted down by something unseen. Just as he was invisible to others, his cares were invisible to us. He returned to the bag and found the cash. “I can, I can use this.”
He looked up again. “God bless you.” I took the opportunity. “Do you know God?” I asked him. And I could see him struggling against his thoughts.
“I used to,” he glanced away. “I used to drink. A lot. I got in trouble. But I talk to people. I got friends.” And he shared, more by eyes than by words, how drinking was his downfall. How the bottled demon took control and he lost so much. He tried a sober-living shelter, but had a moment of weakness with a tiny 99-cent bottle of booze and they kicked him out. “Rules…” he nodded. It struck me how lonesome he seemed, for want of a tiny sip of alcohol. How just a drop has kicked him to the curb, literally.
I could sense his pain. He hadn’t had a drink in quite a while. I asked if he would rather I took the cash and bought water or tea for him, so he wouldn’t be tempted. He said no. “Thank you. I don’t buy drinks with money given to me from people. I buy things I need. Food. Alka-Seltzer.” He told me of his friends around the corner who watch out for him, and if he needs a sip now and then, they take care of him. I saw the hope begin to glimmer, and I knew he meant they were his support group.
I asked if we could pray for him, with him. “Here?” he asked. “Can we hold hands?” I smiled and assured him that would be fine, if that’s what made him comfortable.
So there we were; four people standing and sitting on a bench in the middle of a bustling center, praising God and giving Him glory for Robin’s testimony. And thanking God that he was no longer invisible.
I pray for tonight, Robin and his friends are sheltered and fed. And I pray, for every night, that I will never forget him.
What does this have to do with our family date? Absolutely nothing. Except for the fact that this was truly a man of integrity, clear-headed and filled with regret and humility for his sins… even the 99 cent size.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
In order to understand my love for Keurig, you must understand my love for coffee. It all began when I was a junior in college and staying up late with my friend in the dorms. Now she was a coffee drinker. She knew Starbucks before they were on every corner. And during one particularly long study session which kept us up already past a decent hour, she said, “I need coffee. I’m going to the cafeteria.” I didn’t drink coffee much back then. Sure I’d had it as a kid with lots of milk and sugar. But as a regular, Mmm-mmm good! Gotta have it! thing, notsomuch. It was too hot and strong for me, so I added a few ice cubes. That’s the ticket!
Years ago, at one of the Inn’s corners, was this great place: The Mission Inn Coffee House. I was so looking forward to grabbing a Starbucks-quality coffee. But it has since been replaced with the Bella Trattoria, which is a fine Italian dining establishment where we suffered under heatlamps in 20 mph winds and rain just to eat my first ever veal (lasagna, it was superb!) and a true tiramisu; all while listening to Bocelli in the background.
