Young women serve up baked goods Saturday at the Red Ribbon Bakery.
By John Murphy
Stir crazy from days of being inside, CalTrans Girl and I on Saturday hopped in the Corolla and headed West on the 210. Destination: Seafood City in Rancho Cucamonga.
This is a normal trip for us. She likes to buy fish and vegetables, as well as baked goods from the adjoining Red Ribbon or Valerio’s bakeries. I like to eat whatever the heck she makes.
En route, I started fretting about my growing, unkempt hair.
“David Foster’s wife gave him a haircut,” my better half said.
“Who?” I said.
Informed Foster is a songwriter, I said, “Well, I bet he’s no Townes Van Zandt.” (referring to the late country songwriter/singer from Texas).
But it turns out CalTrans Girl was correct. Foster has had some big hits, penning tunes for Whitney Houston, Celine Dion, Peter Cetera and some other folks I don’t listen to.
Thankfully the topic was dropped, and we focused on the snow-capped mountains to our right, then headed for our destination.
Finally arriving at Seafood City, we found a line of maybe 20 people waiting outside, many wearing masks. They were being admitted a few at a time due to the COVID-19 pandemic you may have heard about.
The Filipino man in front of us was chatting in Tagalog on his cell phone before being waved in. Meantime, Some customers were already leaving the store, pushing shopping carts full of groceries.
Well, we made quick work of Seafood City and then it was off to 85 Degrees, an upscale place known to some as the “Starbucks of Taiwan.” (No offense, 85 Degrees).
Once inside, CalTrans Girl quickly chose some gourmet cookies and pork buns; then we waited in line, paid for them and left.
Climbing into our chariot again, I hit the ignition and the gravelly voice of the late, great Kris Kristofferson poured through my speakers.
“Now THIS is a songwriter,” I said, turning up the volume …
“On a Sunday morning sidewalk/I’m wishing Lord that I was stoned/’Cause there’s something in a Sunday/That makes a body feel alone/And there’s nothin’ short of dyin’/That’s half as lonesome as the sound/Of a sleepin’ city sidewalk/And Sunday mornin’ comin’ down.”
Even CalTrans Girl couldn’t argue.
Main Street Dog 