It was a moonless night and I could not get into the house fast enough as the wad of keys tumble between my fingers. I felt for the one with the three gemstones at the top which would open my front door, balancing the items which belonged at home, that had somehow migrated up to the office. As always, I left the house in the early morning, forgetting to turn on the outside light; knowing I wouldn’t return until long after dark. Someday we’ll get that motion light, I thought to myself as I turned the key, pushed open the door, and dropped everything I was carrying into the foyer .
It was an exhausting holiday weekend and there was still one more day to go before the majority of campers would pack up and head home. I nearly tumbled down the steps to the family room, making a beeline for my newest best friend- the nespresso c-100, with its companion, the aerocino plus.
The shiny piano black surface twinkled as I flipped on the overhead light. It drew me to it like a moth to flames and I opened the wooden black box which held the 16 grand crus coffee capsules hot with anticipation. Hmmm, ristretto, espresso, lungo or cappuccino….which will it be…? The small cardboard carton of vanilla milk made the decision for me as I poured it into the aerocino and hit the button. The hum of the nespresso and the aroma of the dark liquid expressing through the gold colored capsule marked livanto dispelled all the tension that had accumulated from dealing with the public all day. In cantrast, the aerocino frothed the milk in total silence and anonymity.
Holiday weekends seem to bring out large groups of people rather than the individual families that take the weekend jaunts into the great outdoors. Each holiday we get the same scenario. Groups waiting til a day or two before, calling for several sites and flabbergasted when they find out we are full and have no space left. Looking down the list of reservations, matching names to site numbers, the map of the campground is transformed into a microcosm of world cultures. I find it fascinating how members of the same cultures develop similar attributes and we unconsciously brace ourselves accordingly. Politically incorrect? No doubt. There are some cultures who do not feel they should be subject to the same rules as everyone else. Others, no matter how hard they try, or how often you may remind them of quiet hours, seem to be genetically incapable of speaking in a quiet tone of voice. Another group of persons, may be so accustomed to European beaches where clothing is optional, they simply cannot understand our insistence on wearing the top to their bikini while at our swimming pond.
And then there are those who do not count children as people. The discussions and court battles we have in America over the abortion issue and when a fetus is considered a viable person is amazing. Is it at the moment of conception? First trimester? This weekend, I received a phone call from a man who wanted to reserve a tent site. I knew by the name and accent what the sticking point in reserving would be. We allow a maximum of six persons per site, no more than four of which can be adults 18years or older. Even though the man knew the terms, he insisted he only needed one site, explaining that he only had four adults and 2 and ½ children. “So you have seven people, I said, you will need two sites. No, he insisted, I only have six people, 4 adults and 2 ½ children, I only want one site; the other child is very small. At what age do young children become humans in his culture? After several minutes of disagreeing as to the definition of a person, I finally put it to him in my most polite but firm end of discussion tone replying “Is it out of the womb and breathing on its own? Then it’s person, you need two sites. Hanging up the phone I thought perhaps I should have told him in the case of a half a child, we round up!
Looking back on the phone call now as I sip my cappuccino, I realized that there was probably a better way to handle the situation, although even with the second sip I couldn’t think of one at the moment. I simply shrugged my shoulders and kicked of my shoes as I settled back into the deep leather chair. I made a mental note to perhaps ask one of the seminar hosts on hospitality for a suggestion the next time I have someone of that nationality call for a reservation. Meanwhile, I was contemplating what color capsule I’d treat myself to next.
