"Burt Reynolds once asked me out. I was in his room." - Phyllis Diller

I don't think I could ever work at a coffee shop for more than 10 minutes before committing a violent crime. At our normal Sunday morning Starbucks stop a 30-something lady in front of me was ordering for what must have been a small convention of some sort. She read from a list of all the drinks each person wanted and the word coffee was never used. She spoke in Starbucks-ese to specify how many shots, double this, extra whatever, and other technical details for each drink and then moved on to the various pastries in her order.
The monster bag hanging from her shoulder should have been a clue.
Isn't there some unwritten social rule about how big your coffee shop order can be? There should be.
The barista who took her order was clearly getting miffed as the line behind this lady grew, and by the time I got there she just silently shook her head. (She knows me from our weekly stop.)

Check out this goat! It's a breed unique to India and Pakistan raised for its milk. I did some reading and they're expensive, but have been bred with another local breed that is more common and the result makes for a good dual purpose (meat and milk) goat.
Alas, despite the GMO and chemical laden foods our country allows manufacturers to put on the shelves of markets with impunity, it's illegal to import most farm animals of any sort from another country lest we somehow bring in the next killer plague.
Note: the notion of food manufacturing probably says all that's necessary about the state of the American diet.

I stopped on my drive home from Seattle to get a fast food burger (speaking of mystery ingredients) and across the parking lot was a string of shops many of which had Arabic script under the English on their signs. One was a Halal food shop. I thought about going in to ask if they sold goat meat but decided getting home as soon as possible was a better plan. I may stop in next time we head north just because it would be interesting to learn about Halal meat.

The music at church this morning was done by bench players because it's summer, but also because UFC is looking for a new music pastor and the music portion of the service is currently being organized by subs. I wondered if Brett (pastor) agreed it was pretty meh. Not a critical miss under any circumstances, and the more understandable on a July Sunday.
I also had trouble focusing on either the music portion of Brett's sermon because I kept thinking about Alisa's family. She died a week ago this morning after spending several weeks in the difficult final stages of cancer. I bought the Mustang from Alisa's husband, Rick, as nice a guy as you'll ever meet. I've known Alisa's parents all my life and they're a gracious a pair of servants who, among other things, have been very good to my parents as the folks' abilities have waned.
How difficult must this morning have been for them?!
In fact, I had an email exchange with Rick while we were at Starbucks in which we talked about space, and how difficult that can be when a space is now missing someone who used to be there. Rick said he's surprised that the most difficult place for him to be is their closet.
Pathetic.
So I spent a good portion of that 90 minutes praying for them.

Friday was the birthday of Marshall McCluhan, who would have been 106. (He died in 1980.) If you don't recognize that name you probably recognize his most famous statement: "The medium is the message."
That was never so true as it is now in the age of internet communication, including news sites, YouTube, Twitter, Instagram....

Tomorrow's to-do list includes making a blueberry pie. Hoping to improve on my crust a bit and not go backwards in any part of the process. Sophomore jinx?

I also hope to get Sally's left side fender off and at least a start on replacing the driver's door hinges. With a forecasted high of 89 degrees I need to get the barn cleaned and my run in early. Neither of those are things that should be done in hot weather.