Coffee Chronicles ...and Do You Smell That?

Spring Training! Hear we come!

Whaddup Chroniclers?

Yay! We’re on an adventure! While many of you know what a football fan the HB is, my choice as a favorite sport was often mentioned in Chevy commercials along with apple pie. Yup, America’s pastime! I love to watch it; I have been known to keep score at a game that I’m sitting in the stands and even watching on TV. Has anyone else noticed that they don’t offer scorecards at games anymore? Who remembers sitting at Dodger games with a transistor radio in hand, listening to Vin Scully and Jerry Doggett?

For years, I’ve been telling the HB that I wanted to go to Spring Training and watch the Dodgers as they prepped for the regular season in Arizona. Last year, we were visiting the West Coast version of the Obamas at their estate. If you’re ever lucky enough to get an invite to Casa de Obama, you’ll get a chance to see how the other half lives. 

When these two start talking about growing up in San Berdo and their Greek college years ...hooo boy! Hilarity ensues!

The lavish rolling hills of their estate used to have lush orchards with rows of mature avocado, orange, lemon, lime, and seco palm trees. Yeah, that was up until Mrs Obama looked at Mr. Obama and said, “I’d like a house here,” and she pointed. Mr. Obama, preferring to sleep in the bedroom and not the doghouse, made it so.

Anyway, during our visit last year, Mr Obama was talking about how much fun it was to watch Spring Training and said that when they go again, he would be sure to let me know. Of course, he forgot and gave me about a six-second notice to prepare for the roll to Glendale, AZ.

It’s a good thing I have a “go bag,” and the mobile coffeehouse parked right next to the house, plugged in, all charged up, and ready to move out at a moment's notice. Uh, Houston? Yeah, we have a problem. It seems that at some point between the time we got back from our last trip and Saturday morning, daybreak, a breaker had tripped. The coach batteries were totally dead.

The first clue that there might be a hitch in my giddy-up was when I tried to use my fob to deactivate the electric lock of the coach door unsuccessfully. Reluctantly, just like Fred Flintstone, I had to resort to putting the key in the lock.

Still perplexed as to why the lock wasn’t working; the real indicator hit me when I opened the door. Follow me here: no power means that time stopped in the motorhome. When time stopped, so did the fridge. The chicken and the half-pound hamburger patties that I like so much from Costco that were in the freezer were no longer frozen.

Are ya starting to get the picture? For you folks who used to run around in our former profession, remember that first ripe one you got?  The one who no one had seen for a few weeks in the middle of August, and the OGs made you go up and check his pulse? Whooooo boy! Thank goodness it was not quite that bad, but it was well on the way, let me assure you. 

The HB was not at all happy with Your Hero because, frankly, it’s my job to check that the electricity is still going on the side yard powering up the rolling coffeehouse, and well, admittedly, I’d never had a problem before. I took it for granted that this would be just like every other time she asked, “Coach ready?”

This time, nope.

We had about a one-hour delay as I had the RV idling in the driveway in order to bring the batteries up to full charge and to allow the HB to clean and deodorize the freezer. She was continually giving me side-eye while mumbling stuff to me like the cartoon dog Mumbly from Saturday Mornings back in the day. I think we were driving through Indio before she had a civil tongue.

Pray for me.

You know what to do!  Drink ‘em if you got ‘em!

#coffeehousechronicles