Musings – on the editor’s mind

A story and a satire

I was in the Tav last Friday afternoon having a bourbon and a beer before I went out to Anacortes to get my oil changed, there not being any place in town for automotive work. I was telling my friend McCoy that while I was out I was going to get a couple of bunches of daffodils for the Mrs. She really likes those yellow blooms on the kitchen table this time of year. She says they remind her of the sun when she gets up early in the dark after that damned daylight savings time kicks in.

So McCoy says to me “Hat,” cause he knows I hate his shortening my name. “Hat”, he says, “I ran out to Anacortes myself last week to get a hammer at the hardware store. I decided to go to the Ace on my way to the farmers market, given it was the last Saturday of the month. I sure do appreciate those farmers coming out all winter long. Besides potatoes and winter squash and leeks, they have kale again, cold as it has been.”

I told him that I was getting my apple pie at the Farmhouse – which I am going to keep calling it even if I will drink Guinness there since it is now an Irish pub. It is still a couple of weeks before Jen opens her store at Schuh Farms, so I am waiting for her cinnamon rolls, though the ones at Calico are pretty good, too.

I had to tell him how the last time I headed out to the Farmhouse I got a flat tire just south of McLean Road, near the Roozens’ daffodil field – or is it in tulips this year? This fellow saw me on the side of the road and offered to give me a ride back into town.

Well, I will be darned. I told him I had to pick up my kid at the middle school, and darn if this fellow didn’t take me to campus and picked her up and took us to our house near the Methodist church. He said since it was Friday he was heading across the bridge to the reservation to get oysters from the Swinomish Shellfish Company since no one nearby sells local oysters. It was on his way.

He said he had time, that he wanted to get to the barber’s to have Tony cut his hair before he closed at 5 p.m. You know Tony, the barber, right? His dad, Dick, used to cut my hair but Tony has been cutting it for years now.

I agreed when he said he wanted to stop at Sips to pick up the wine his wife ordered she enjoyed at a tasting last week.

I told him my wife will bring me back to my car and then we will run into Pioneer Market for some things for dinner and the weekend. The guys will be coming out to plan designing our float for the tulip parade. We do that to help the Kiwanis help the school kids out.

“Well Hat,” McCoy said, reaching for a handful of popcorn. “It is a good thing those out-of-towners come into town even if they are just running errands and passing through. A lot of them say they live in La Conner, but they don’t, you know. Like you were saying, if they don’t live in town, maybe they shouldn’t be allowed to be on those town commissions.”

I said to McCoy what I always did, that it is called the Town of La Conner for a reason and that the folks that live here need to be the ones pitching in for helping with the parks and parades. As I again emphasized to that damn, stubborn McCoy, that is why they are town projects after all.