Grumpy Blogs about life, dreams and Work

Bee and I ate  dinner at the Western Hotel in Callicoon NY last night.  It is an old place left over from the turn of the century when rail road barons ruled the universe.  The passenger railroad tracks still run through the middle of town, but are used only for commercial freight now. The Delaware is just off in the distance. Inside, the floors are river stone and hardwood.  The décor invites with an antique charm early 19th century luxury. Curiously, the waiter who took our order, seemed to be the owner of the place. He was charming and brusque like a New York doorman. I liked him. He reminded me of my dead step father.

While waiting for our food, Bee and I stepped out to the wrap around porch to smoke cigarettes. A retiree was getting in his car with his wife when a waitress came out to give them their doggy bag, which they had forgotten.  The retiree stood between the bumper of his modern car, and classic pick up truck parked in front of his car.  The pick up gleamed with a perfect candy apple red paint and conjured delusions of a more innocent time; a time when white men in America were busy dominating the world, and wives made bread and babies and everyone else sat at the back of the bus.

Oh, the good old days.

“You never touch another mans vehicle.” The waiter-owner yelled out to the retiree who had put his hands on the tailgate of the pick up truck.

“What?” The retiree asked as he looked over to the waiter-owner who had come out to the porch to have a sip of his beer and puff of a half chewed cigar.

“Step away from the truck.  You can look, but don’t touch.”

The retiree stepped away, not sure if the owner was being serious or not.

I was not sure either.

Bee and I headed back in. “Is that yours” Bee asked, being polite.

“Yup.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah. It’s all right. Take a look at this though.”

He stepped off the porch and pulled the cover off a Thunderbird that was parked under the car port right off the porch.

“Nice.” I said.

“Yeah.  But, the one I really wanted, a Corvette, I could not get.” The waiter-owner then went into a rant about how he tried to buy a classic Corvette, but couldn’t because it wasn’t right. “It had a 320 instead of a 282. Now, I would have preferred a 320, but he wanted to sell it in a Corvette magazine, which he could not do because it wasn’t right.  For those guys, it has to be right, otherwise it’s worthless.” I started to glaze over. 320, 282, b52’s. Ugh. As an American man, I should know these things, but I don’t. Bee started to glaze over too.  She and I see cars as just transportation things for a mechanic to fix when broken. Somewhere in the mix the waiter-owner said, “You can always tell a car collector from a non-car collector.  The car collector walks up to another mans vehicle with his hands behind his back and says, “Nice car.” A non-car collector walks up to a vehicle and puts his hands on the hood and says, nice car.”

I mentioned this just in case you wanted to know how to piss off a car collector.

Finally, the waiter-owner finished his tale of the lost corvette and let us go back to our table.

At a table near us a group discussed God, religion, man and the natural inclination to war. “Even the native Americans warred with one another.” Said an Armchair historian. Their conversation turned to a book called the Cosmic Bible. I snickered.

The Cosmic Bible thumper explained to the Armchair Historian, “It’s like the regular Bible, but with a different take.” I couldn’t hear everything. The Armchair Historian asked, “Who wrote it.”

“Angels.” The Cosmic Bible thumper explained with true belief.

I stifled a laugh.

“Arch angels.” He added. “It’s been translated into almost every language and it’s a best seller.”

Oh, America, gullible be thy name,
Let the moral majority agenda be done
In small town restaurants
As it is the White House,
While we fight religious wars
For oil and the right to drive SUV’s.
Amen.

Bee wondered what I was laughing about. I explained and we wandered into a conversation about my contempt for organized religion.

“I just wish people would recognize they are just playing pretend. They have no real poof of anything and should stop pretending they do. They should look to themselves and each other for salvation vs some book or pontificating ass on a pulpit. Don’t get me wrong, I think there is something more to the universe and existence than us just being walking meat.  But, that is it. Great for everyone who’s had a genuine spiritual experience, has seen an Angel, but I haven’t. And, I don’t need to. I know there is something more, I can’t prove it, and I think the world would be better off if everyone kept a sense of pretend about their religion and awe for the vastness of the universe instead of making their religion war. Organized religion is just an excuse to have a war. The way I see it, no religion. No war. Let’s all just agree we no one really knows the meaning of life, and help each other out for change. That’s what I liked about AA.  They’re just a bunch of looser trying to help each other be better people. That’s hard enough without having to convert the rest of the world to a so-called religious truth.” I said, and took a sip of beer.

“I don’t know.” Bee began. “I think if religion makes you feel better and to be a better person, it is a good thing. I think it is not the religion so much as the people.  Like the Casa case I’m working on. That’s a perfect example.  One Pentecost family was twisted and weird.  They took in those kids knowing their background. The mother told the girl, “We’re going to send you back and it’s your fault because you can’t behave.” That’s what she said to a twelve year old. Then, another Pentecost family volunteered to take them because they genuinely wanted to help children in need. The kids are happy and safe now. They have a good home and are being adopted. Both families go to the same Pentecost church.  But, both interpret it differently. It’s not the religion so much as the interruption.”

Bee stunned me.  She rarely shows depth beyond shopping for shoes. It‘s nice to have a surprising woman for a wife. She also pointed out my agnostic opinions are just as learned as most religious people.  Somewhere in the conversation  I had declared most people do not choose their religion, they are simply born into and never questions it, yet would kill for it.

I felt like the stupid ass I am.

The waiter-owner came by with our dinner. Bee had a shrimp scampi linguini seasoned with Jalapeno. I had a Delmonico steak, baked potato and iceberg salad with blue cheese. The waiter-owner stood over us like a hawk.

“It’s looks very nice.” I lied with a dismissive tone. It just looked adequate.

“Well. Have a bite.  I can’t leave until I know you like it.”

Like stupid cows Bee and I ate a quick bite and told him is was delicious.

“Good. Enjoy” He said and left.

As I suspected, the food was just adequate. The shrimp was under cooked and the cream sauce too heavy for a summer evening. My steak was seasoned with all the thrill of road side grill, which is OK at a road side grill, but not an upscale country hotel. However, I did like the unexpected character of the waiter-owner. If you like adequate food and brusque service, then give it a try. However, Bee and I agreed we would not go back for dinner, unless we had no other choice.  That is why we were there in the first place. We wanted to have dinner at the 1906 restaurant across the street. Their steaks and wine list is much, much, better. Unfortunately, they were booked. So, we went to the Western Hotel instead as we’ve had lunch on the porch before, and it was ok.