Coffeehouse Chronicles …and 2026 Shenanigans, Already

Happy New Year Coffe Drinkers!

Hey Chroniclers! 

Happy New Year! Yes, it is Year – not Years or Year’s. It is Year. Please stop making your 7th-grade English teacher’s ears bleed by adding an “s” to it. It is only one year, and there is no need to show possession. Geez!  

Okay, rant over.

The HB and I tried a little something different this year. We’re out in the mobile coffeehouse with some friends who also brought their land yachts out in Temecula. You may not know this, but planning a trip like this in advance is essential. For example, the decision to come out here started with a text message on December 30, twenty twenty-four. Yes, Chroniclers, you read that correctly. Three hundred and sixty-seven days ago, Yoko Uno sent a group text out to eight of her closest friends saying, “Tell your husbands that this is what is going to happen.” Our spouses made reservations, and dutifully, the men did as we were told. We showed up where we were instructed.

Present are the usual suspects: Yoko & the Professor, she was the instigator this time, Mrs. Scrubbles & the Cmdr, the First Lady & the Right Reverend Doctor, the Captain & Tenille, Teach & KC, Mr & Mrs McRib (formerly known as the Scary Serial Killer Couple), Her Honor, Mrs. Mayor & the Doctor and of course the HB brought her plus one, Your Hero. Moe & Winnie and Teddi from the Block & Panda made a New Year’s Eve appearance! They came for the fancy NYE dress-up and dinner to celebrate the birth of Mr. McRib. He is finally in the club. He can officially be called a sexagenarian now (that's not what it sounds like, get your mind out of the gutter). 

Did you notice that I used the proper term for year there? In this instance, it shows possession of the day, being “Eve,” the day before the New Year. Please take note. Thank you.  

The HB, thinking ahead and paying attention to the weather forecast, because it's a bit chilly and wet out here, made some plans and adjustments for the creature comforts. She made assignments on who was to bring heaters, EZ-Ups, and zip ties, and then supervised the construction of our theatre/smoke room. We brought a projector and used it to watch bowl games and movies, and toasted the New Year together in comfort (again, proper use). 

Happy Birthday, Mr. McRib!

While we’ve been here, there have been the usual hijinks. Stories, laughter, a little cigar smoke in the air, and a little brown liquid imbibed. 

Suddenly, it turned into the social event of the season. First came the Queen of Carson, sweeping in like a celebrity cameo. Everyone gasped, jaws dropped, and someone may have curtsied (we’re not naming names). Her appearance was brief but glorious, like a monarch checking in on her loyal subjects before disappearing onto the I-15 northbound and back toward the South Bay.

When Sea-Pea arrived, striding in with the confidence of someone who knows they’re about to steal the spotlight. Sea-Pea’s first decree? “Do NOT put me in the Chronicles.” Which, of course, guaranteed a starring role. The Right Reverend tried to warn Sea-Pea about the irony of such demands, but alas, wisdom often falls on deaf ears when drama is brewing.

And drama did brew—oh yes. Because what’s a campsite visit without a little chaos? Enter the Cmdr, who apparently thought water conservation was optional. One forgotten valve later, and his RV turned into a luxury spa—minus the luxury. Beach towels were deployed like emergency parachutes, and industrial dryers roared to life, sounding like jet engines preparing for takeoff. It was a scene straight out of a sitcom: soggy socks, frantic mopping, and someone yelling, “Save the snacks!”

Of course, being so close to the amenities, Cmdr McCroc has been extremely happy. McCroc believes that shopping should be a medal event at both the Summer and Winter Olympics. We’ve been here three days, and he’s been to Costco 12 times. The GM has threatened to get a TRO.

Just when we thought the campsite couldn’t get any more lively, the fellas decided to throw a soirée for the ladies—a culinary coup to give them a well-deserved break. The Right Reverend Doctor, in a moment of divine inspiration, declared: “Let the women rest! This afternoon, the men shall cook!” And so began the Great Philly Cheesesteak Operation. 

Picture it: a lineup of determined men armed with spatulas, veggies and onions sizzling like a symphony, and the smell of beef filling the air like a promise of glory. It was teamwork at its finest—or so it seemed. 

Enter the Professor. Oh, the Professor! This was not just a cooking event for him; it was a masterclass in issuing orders. He saw Your Hero and thought, “Ah, my new sous-chef-slash-lab-rat.” Suddenly, I was running hither and yon like a contestant on a game show: “Grab the peppers! No, the other peppers! Slice the bread! No, not that bread!” It was a relentless barrage of commands, and I obeyed—twice. Then came the infamous evil eye, a look so powerful it could curdle cream cheese. 

The Professor got the message. Order spree: terminated.

Yesterday was a day of contrasts: torrential rain, a steakhouse feast, and Mr. McRib’s birthday bash. After the festivities, we retreated to the theater/smoke room for the evening’s entertainment. The task of setting up the projector fell squarely upon Your Hero’s shoulders—plugging in cables, arranging the screen, and generally looking like the hero of a tech drama. 

But nature had other plans. Thanks to the earlier downpour, the power strip was wetter than a sponge in a car wash. I gave it the old college try—several attempts, in fact—but after envisioning myself as Yosemite Sam with sparks flying from my hat, I wisely surrendered. 

Enter the Doctor. Mr. Fix-It himself. With the calm confidence of someone who’s seen worse, he swooped in armed with a fresh surge protector and an extension cord. In minutes, the room was glowing, the projector humming, and the evening saved. Hats off to the Doctor—our knight in shining circuitry.

Moe & Winnie have finally earned their nicknames—some of you may have heard of Thelma and Louise?  Well, they are Louie & Louise. Vuitton. It’s only obvious.

Well, that’s it for now! From us here in the Coffeehouse, we wish you all a most prosperous New Year!

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

#coffeehousechronicles