Pancakes Anytime!

OK, I started something with a few internet groupies of mine when I mentioned that I cook in a big man's shirt. First the guys wanted to know whose shirt I cooked in, and the girls wanted to know how big was big! Please, please - people - this is really more or less a family site. I think I told you all that I've been celibate for far too damn long - the shirt is mine, I bought it at Macy's in anticipation of a day when someone of my choosing would look really really good in it while I cooked pancakes.

I've always been a strong believer in fantasy - it just seems to stop the stress dead in its tracks when I take the time to breathe in a few deep breaths, lay back in a tub full of lavender oiled water, and let the steamy thoughts of my big shirt and that one man just take over the rest of the evening - with pancakes. You can't go wrong with pancakes - anytime, anywhere, anyway - pancakes always seems to get the job done.

The pancake fantasy has been a staple in my journaling for years, so much so that my kids want waffles when I pull out the box to fix breakfast - or they pass entirely, and go straight for the top of the refrigerator where we host all 16 boxes of cereal that seem to never go away - we just replace the nearly eaten boxes with new boxes, and combine some of the almost similar cereals. Oh, but sometimes, just because I'm THAT way, I'll pour 1/2 a box of Frutti Pebbles in with the Kellogg's Froot Loops just because I can - REBEL THAT brats! Ha! It's like wearing two different heights of shoes when you think about it - and I laugh in their faces.

No, in case you wonder, I don't wear my big man's shirt when the kids are home - that's one of the reasons I kicked them out of the house - I love that damn shirt! Makes me smile. It's actually a 2x, and the man I want won't be, but the shirt just flows and it's linen, and it's white, and it's soft, you can really bust a move in a shirt like that - Tom Cruise has absolutely nothing on me when it comes to dancing on the kitchen tiles - seriously, I took belly-dancing for a semester and well, let's just say - yeah!

So, pancakes! When you can't think of anything else in the world to charge up that romantic night, that weekend-isn't-getting-here-fast-enough feeling, or that I-just-want-to-dribble-a-little-syrup-on-you moment - pancakes! A little confection sugar couldn't hurt either! (giggles with her Pyrate smile....thinking, always thinking.) Are those bananas?

Men Should Love Me!

When I think about it, I'm the perfect woman. I really am. If I were a man I would want me. I'd think I was a bit chunky, but I'd be willing to go walking with me, to work it off - I would! I thought about it this morning, and yes, men should fall all over themselves to have me. If any man wanted to be my boyfriend (please don't apply, I'm not actually taking applications at this time) he would have the freedom to go fishing, hunting, golfing, whatever he wanted to do because I'm not into asking him where he's been, where he's going, what's he's doing, and forget about money - I have mine. He can keep his.

Football. Men like football right? Well, I LOVE FOOTBALL. My kids hate the fall because they never see me on the weekends. I'm either at the game, or on the couch staring at the set. I didn't go the distance and get the cable thing where I can see 147 games a week - that's a bit overkill, but I do insist on them leaving me the hell alone when OU takes the field on Saturday, or when Green Bay does on Sunday. OK...seeing that I'm moving to Chicago, I'll have to expand my horizons and love the Bears, but Reuben said I'd go to Hell if I admitted it out loud in Wisconsin. I'll stuff my face with cheese and mutter something incoherent - that makes men smile too!

I do drink a beer when I'm stuffing my face with cheese, and there had better be a few pillows to throw because I'm going to be throwing pillows when I watch a game. Men should love me because I rarely go shopping unless it's at the Home Depot, and then I can't be pulled out easily - sometimes offering me a Starbucks can get the job done. I'm the only one I know smelling the lumber to see how fresh it is. I went to the Home Depot yesterday to have a couple of planks cut and I don't even have a fence right now! I'm going to get one, and they were on sale, and I just hate the smell of a new car - when you can fill the air with pine, do it!

Oh, and men should love me because I cook - not completely naked, but somewhat. I mean, I'm usually wearing a big man's shirt and I dance around the kitchen a lot - do a little dance, wait on the water to boil, add the spaghetti, dance a little more - put on the Buble' (oh wait, men may not like Buble' - SCREW THEM!) That's the me I love - I love the me that says to the world "This is my spaghetti - if I want to put olives and pineapple in it I will" and I do. I rent adventure movies- crank the stereo loudly - and I actually know the difference between a forced out and an RBI - yeah, OK, I just admitted to watching baseball - it's what I do when I'm waiting on football to start - give me a break!

About that application thing - I'm not taking apps because I'm pretty sure I'm still too in love with myself to share me, I'll be over it someday - but it's been a good 8 years, why spoil a good thing?

Rocking Rocket Launchers!

I think I told you that he broke his ankle the other day, but did you know he's in a band? Yes, when he's not killing people on the simulator, drilling his SGT into the soccer field, puggling someone off a beam, or launching that pineapple grenade, my baby boy Reuben is out on the stage, mic in hand, raspy voicing it for the world to cringe at. I couldn't begin to tell you what it is that he's singing about - even if I'm standing 10 feet away from the man, I can't understand a single word spewing out of his mouth. I have to stand at least 10 feet away to keep out of the wet zone, sweat leaps from him after 1 song.

When the kid was 8 months old he was walking - no, running. "DOG" he squealed - "DOG" and he shot straight up in a second from a sitting position - running to the front door, hitting it hard with his forearms just like a lineman - precursor I suppose for his future as an defensive tackle - and he hasn't stopped. At about 13 months old he and I went to a jazz festival and I lost him. Could not find the kid - I was panicked! I'm serious, I was crying, stomping, looking, frantically begging for help - I went to the stage to have the grand master make an announcement. My boy was missing! He was found - quickly - by the band! He was on the side of the stage. He had completely WRAPPED his body around the amplifier/speaker - boom, boom, boom, boom, and OHHHH, how he was smiling! Well, that explains why he never hears me when I call him in to clean his room - and probably explains the love for the ring he gets in his ears when he throws that grenade too!

He grew up too quickly, as they all do, and he joined a few bands as their lead. I won't even be nice about it. The boy can't sing. I didn't say he didn't sing, no, he sings all the time - I remember having to run to the other side of the house, turning on the dishwasher and the garbage disposal to drown out what was coming full blast out of the bathroom. Why the man thinks anyone would be interested is beyond me. He's at least a good entertainer - I'll give him that. When you think about it, he may have something - but I'm not sure I'd pay to hear it, that's all. The CD better be autographed, and it better be in my Christmas stocking, because my hard-earned cash won't be exchanged for what I try to avoid.

Look at the star on his head - always the quintessential American. I had to give him a really bad time and remind him that TEXAS is the Lone Star state - That bandanna was probably burned in effigy! The boy is Sooner born, Sooner bred, and yes, when he dies - the plot closest to the Norman campus is already paid for. I wouldn't be surprised if he hadn't already paid for the monument with something like "Damn, I can't see the game from here" written on the stone! One thing about the fact that my boy sings is this: at least he's not drinking when he's singing, and he's not chasing women, he's just up there pounding his head against the wall, body-bumping the guitarist, head-banging the air to the point that even the Army has to question if they made the right decision allowing him to sign - but he's always, and I mean always - unpredictably entertaining - which, I suppose is the point.

God only told us to make a joyful noise - and, well - Reuben does that well.

Little Looney Laura!

She's obviously the BLUE Ranger, she's pointing to it. All of her life, Laura has called herself something - "I'm the Blue Ranger", or "I'm Ariel", today she's 18 and calling herself "Asuka" from some anime show - don't ask me which one, the girl has been into Pokemon, Digimon, if you can't pronounce it, she's into it.

Today the woman (hahaha, she's 18, she's legally old) asked me a question that just made me stare at her a little longer than I normally do. I wanted to say "You're a superhero, you figure it out." This girl looked me straight in the face and said "Mommy, if I use my super power to make the others fall on their faces when I'm on American Idol, is that wrong or is that just using my naturally given talents to further myself?" DAMN! I stood there, stopped completely in my tracks and stared at her. "You're auditioning for American Idol?" I asked? Wow, my little girl.

She does sing actually, in fact, she'll be on the Ozzfest tour this summer singing, but don't expect to see her on the stage. She'll be in the side tent just outside the venue from 11 a.m. to 7 p.m. doing the Faith the Dog thing, but I know Laura - she'll be packing that iPod and she'll be doing the dance while she emulates Maroon 5, Christina, Shikira, shaking and moving, singing, and grooving - that's my little girl - my old, old, old, and dare I say FAT little girl? That last part was just a jab because she's looking over my shoulder to see what I'm writing. She saw her picture on my blog and automatically assumed I was writing about her - the nerve. I wish I were FAT too. She's what - 5'8", 134 maybe? Cow! (she just hit me - can she do that? Abuse! Abuse!)

Yes, next time you see the iPod commercial with the long haired shadow throwing herself all over the screen you can think about Laura on the tour bus - poor Ozzy, can you imagine? The man has so much to deal with - he shouldn't have to be subjected to the Blue Ranger in full throttle body-heaving to words he can't even hear - bet he asks her to tour again next year too! She'll be an American Idol by then though - probably have to charge him a bit more than she's getting this time for sitting in a tent with a really cool dog.

Laura should have been cast as Luna Lovegood on the Harry Potter series because she thinks she possesses powers to make objects do whatever she wishs. I read about that sort of power and I studied it for about a minute - freaked me out, so I stopped. I do think it's real though, and I do try to practice it when I meditate. I don't move things, but I try to hone in on people that I want to pray for and get right into their hearts and minds so that I can feel what they're feeling - is that stalking? (Stop staring at me, it was a valid question!)

Sliding Your Life Away!

I did not draw this picture, it was found and used for demonstration purposes, and it works.

It may or may not freak you out to know that there are alternative methods of getting out of burning buildings - the galvanized steel, spiralling slide may not be your first choice - the staircase looks pretty good when you think about a burning hot building and the steel slide's surface heating up with every spinning, twisting, curve - then again, it is enclosed - what am I talking about? Oh, I should have told you up front. I spent five years of my life in a building in downtown Oklahoma City with the distinction of having the ONLY sliding fire escape in the entire Southwest. I think St. Louis has a slide in a building as well - gotta tell you - freakish things happen inside the slide!

The Ramsey Tower was built in the year 1935, right along side the First National Center both vying for the position of being the tallest and first, skyscraper in the city of Oklahoma City. Remember, Oklahoma only became a state in 1907, so to have a few skyscrapers going up only 28 years later - well, that says something - it says we're incredibly slow at more than just giving our employees raises, we also take our time at building them places to work. The Ramsey tower, located at 204 N. Robinson, did win! It finished off just shy of 3400 feet, but add a little spiral thingy-majig and you got the winner! I read a historical article about Mr. Ramsey, he was the architect for the Empire State Building - so he at least had experience. He also cheated a bit, cutting off several rooms, offices, and space that he had originally intended to be attached to the building, but he wanted to win the race - He did it too!

The Ramsey Tower became the Liberty Tower, the City Tower, City National Tower, it was called the Pencil Building for a long time, but now I think it's just City Place - or more locally referred to as the "brownish building just across the street from Leadership Square, the one with the Interurban Restaurant". That was MY building for five years and I loved it. Getting out of it wasn't a problem for me. I took the elevator - my children, however, chose the more entertaining method - they took the slide as often as they could get away with it.

The slide itself is not dangerous - it makes you puke your guts out when you're finished, yes, but it is not dangerous. The slide slopes just so in order to give you the dignity you need upon finishing your 31 story flight, to stand up, brush off the dust from your bum, and exit the pseudo elevator doors that do actually open up onto the ground floor - for everyone to see you! They do see everyone who exits, because they stand around waiting for it. The security rarely watches, they've grown tired of the hassle of writing up everyone who rides the slide - and they can't write you up if you have a valid excuse. We used to tell people to say "I dropped my glasses and had to go after them", or "I lost my dog, have you seen him?" Anything will work as long as you don't stand there with that look of dumbfounded barfy-ness on your face - but if you do lose your cookies on a security guard - you will get written up! (word to the wise, exit to the East, there's a trash can outside the main door.)

While teaching I used to give credit to any of my willing students if they would experience the slide, bring a video back, and let the class watch! I've seen over 50 videos from my own students, and an equal amount from their friends - it's just a great deal of fun to break the law and tape yourself doing it I guess - I always told the kids NOT to rat me out - but to say they lost their glasses, their dog, their homework - and of course to carry that object on their person so they could produce it when questioned. A good sized brown paper bag is good, not only to sit on during the ride -but you know, to catch your guts when you land.

In case you're wondering, it takes about 4 minutes and is over 70 resolutions from top to bottom and yes, you're spinning in the dark, barely catching a glimpse of light from time to time as you pass a floor that may have forgotten to turn out the exit-closet interior light - which you thank GOD for when you see it....I left ours on, but we were on the 28th floor, not much of an answered prayer since it starts just 3 stories above us. There you go - a cheap way to thrill yourself, your lover, your friend, your teacher - the best time of day to do this is after 7 p.m. if you can get in, do the restaurant/bar thing - it's the best excuse...but I warned you about the need for the fast exit. Don't say I didn't.

Have fun! (Oh, and to you Mr. Edward H. Moler - THANK YOU for the 5 years of perfection!)

My Baby Boy Got Broke.

My boy surprises me sometimes. "Hey Mom", he called from the top of the roof, "watch this!" and before I can stop him - he's landed on those glass ankles I unwittingly gave to him at birth. I admit, they weren't mine in the first place, I inherited mine as well - but dang - the boy should have figured it out long before his 14th birthday. That day he broke himself, the month before he broke me when he demonstrated a move the legendary Reggie White had been teaching him - thank you Reggie.

When he played football - which was virtually every waking moment of his life from the time he was 11 to the day he swore into the U.S. Army 9 years later - he broke at least 1 bone a year, usually a small ankle bone, and both of his legs have been cast and wrapped for most of his teen-twenty's life. The kid could take over the world if he could stand up long enough to do it. Honestly, it used to surprise me how a boy his size even balanced on the skinny rails I gave him. We look like thoroughbreds - big butts, long strong necks, (I'd love to say we were both lean and fiery, but at least I'm fiery!) and we have that attitude of a race horse too - all while balancing on spindly little ankles just begging to be taken out from under us.

To be fair to my son, he did not break his ankle this time by playing football. He tackled the commanding officer on the soccer field - and threw the man and himself into the goal, rather than allowing him to make a score for the opposing team. Of course my son realizes that tackling in soccer is NOT the same as tackling in football - but years of training taught him to take out the man with the ball - at all costs. This time, it was an ankle, KP duty for the CO's inconvenience, and about 4 weeks of not getting to play any reindeer games on the range at Ft. Wainwright - poor baby - I asked him if he had to peel the potatoes - how silly of me. The Army doesn't use real potatoes anymore. Well, they're in frozen bags - they're probably real.

This ARMY is not my father's Army I'll tell you that. I called Reu the other day just to talk - forgetting he was enlisted I guess. He text me back a minute or so later to inform me that he was in formation, getting drilled by the SGT and would get back to me. Think about that - he misspelled drilled, but I knew what he was saying. The Army allows cell phones in case they lose a troop! I can hear the P.A. system like the one they had on M.A.S.H. "Be sure and set your cell phones to vibrate only, Col. Willim is due to arrive at 0800 for inspection. Anyone with a ringtone not conducive to the United States Armed Forces will be sent immediately to the barracks for latrine duty." What am I saying - the Army has maids now. Didn't you know? Room service, car service, catering - and all on the shoestring budget our Congress allows!

Maybe the boy can take these next few weeks and improve on his XBox skills. He requested that I send him several Army games and the movie Pride and Prejudice, but that's a Kiera Knightly thing, I'm sure. Get better boy!

Keynoter!

Hey, I was informed that some people don't know what a Keynote Speaker is. It's sort of like a motivational speaker - we are usually the "headliner" if you will - thus the KEY part of the word "Keynote". I don't think I know why the 'note' part is on the word, because it's more like a novelette as opposed to a simple note. When I talk I lose all track of time and have a really nice designated watch person to nod her/his head at me, and vigorously point to their watch - the international sign for "You're running out of time".

Here is a link to one of the places I spoke recently. That may give you an idea of what it is that I do - hey, and if you were thinking about hiring someone to be at your next corporate sales motivational seminar, military support gathering, an inspirational power conference, or even an educational function where you'd need a person with enough guts to lay it on the line for the administration when you can't do so - please, feel free to call me!

LINK: http://www.brevardcounty.us/saweb/vicsvcs/ritewk.htm

The Brevard County gig was so much fun. The circumstances were somber, yes, and we were honoring (among others) a beautiful soul by the name of Kathy King who had recently passed away - Kathy was the reason I was invited to speak at their national Victims Rights Week conference, she felt that my story of struggle, acceptance and empowerment over circumstances warranted calling me and setting it up so that I would be the keynote speaker for not only Brevard County, but Seminole County in Orlando, Florida as well. I had the BEST of times - let me assure you.

Faith goes with me usually when I speak, but she's beginning to find a new event horizon with my daughter (her owner) Laura. Laura, now 18, is a professional singer, a songwriter, a speaker in her own right for teen issues and she's quite the little survivor of the same issues I speak of with one very distinct difference; Laura and her sister Caity were actually physically kidnapped and tortured emotionally and sometimes physically by their father. They have stories to tell that I can't even hardly relate to. Faith has been such an inspiration and (key) help to them. It was best to let Laura fly with her new wings.

So, speaking seems to be in the blood - I write, Caity writes, Reuben writes, Laura does write - but not books or poems. She's into anime episodes and little stories. I speak, the girls speak - Reuben....well, he burps well.

Cops and Car Tags!

What is it with these people in blue? You drive a car without insurance the police can't detect that. You drive a car without owning it - they never know, but drive a car with an expired tag and they're all over you! I was clever though - you know I was. I took MY tag off of MY car and put my son's tag on it - - for about a minute. Then that CHRISTIAN thing sets in, and I think to myself "I can't do this! I'll get caught for sure." Probably not, but you know - even if the men in blue don't get me I still have to answer to Jesus. He's got that omnipresent thing going on.

So, I inch my way to the city of Edmond from my house and go pull up in the parking lot of the post office really hoping my post office box is full of money. I do that, I hope a lot. Most of the time I'm hoping - most of the time I'm left standing there with magazines, bills, letters from fans of my dog - no money. Today I had money! YEA! First things first, get to the bank - get the car insurance updated (expired the 31st and this is the 1st) - get the tag (you can't get the tag without the insurance, lovely catch 22) - get the great feeling you get for being completely legal and in compliance with the law. That didn't happen.

Outside the post office was a uniformed police officer waiting for the owner of the little silver Ford Focus wagon parked in the post office parking lot without an updated tag. Can you believe it? I couldn't. I didn't even have the advance of knowing this one - Caity hadn't met him yet under duress. Usually I can spot a cop, wave, apologize for the kid and move on. Not this time. Hello Dear Sir, I began my conversation. "I swear to you, to the Lord, and both of our mothers that I am literally ON MY WAY to the bank to deposit this" and I held out the check "So that I can go to the insurance company and get my new card, and then to the tag agency to get the new sticker - would you like to follow me?" No. He said. You can't drive the car without insurance, and you can't drive the car without a tag. OK....OK....OK....no problem. The bank is about 2 miles from the post office, the insurance office another 2 from the bank. The tag agency is just around the corner from the post office, and after a little rainy trek - that took 3 hours....I'm in compliance.

No, the cop was NOT there when I got back. Yes, I could have awoken my brats to get on their moped and do the three errands for me, but what's a little calorie burning? I needed the walk - gave me time to think about why I'm such an idiot in the first place. I guarantee you, if I had waited the guy out - he would have left in 10-12 minutes. You just never know. But, at least I do KNOW that I didn't get a ticket. He couldn't cite me because I didn't actually own up to owning the car. I told him I was driving it. He asked me who owned it. I told him I was an American, and I was pleading the 5th. He even asked me what the 5th was - and the teacher came out in me for about another minute. It felt good.

Real American Beauty! Love for Lindsay!

Like a rose, Lindsay Lohan has been grown, groomed to near perfection, cut from her life stem to be seen, used, and now apparently stared at by the world - supposedly, HER public.

An American Beauty is indeed an amazing flower - just being able to successfully grow the plant takes professionalism, years of experience, and a prominent reputation among the flower community - not just ANY rose gets into the mix, not just ANY American Beauty gets chosen. Do you see the comparison I'm trying to make? America's endless desire to see gorgeous women bloom and blossom before our eyes from the beginning has led us to the seemingly tragic story of yet another fading flower - America's film industry found her, watered and fed her, groomed her, cut her from her family to bring her out into the light (so to speak) and without any concern whatsoever to her real personal needs that same industry thrusts her into PR situations creating a dying effect, openly exposing not only her natural thorns, but pointing out what invariably will happen - death.

WAKE UP Hollywood! This isn't a flower you're holding. Lindsay is a real person. She's not even legally an adult - how can she be shuttled back and forth by adults, manufactured into a glossy prototype of so many other would be starlets that came before her, told to drink, told to go to the very places that denied her presence once she stumbled - forced to be seen, to be fed the lie that if she's NOT seen she'll become a nothing, a no-body, a has-been - lied to, and suddenly found wanting in the streets after being set free without guardianship, without real guidance? We can't expect her to behave perfectly - she's a kid! She's a human kid! She's been made into a product- WHO out there, besides me, loves this girl? Her own parents have used her for years to gain popularity, money, status, dreams - she's been abandoned, but held up for the world to admire just as long as she's beautiful - as long as she behaves - as long as she does what you say!

Didn't anyone see the Letterman interview? She was scared, nervous, hurt, and needing more than a gesture of sideline parenting. Yes, it may be too late in some respect - but it is NEVER too late to love her, or to pray for her, or to offer real help - real solutions, not another "I'll-help-you-and-you-help-me-get-rich-off-your-name" scheme that seems to be prevalent today on television and in the tabloids - everyone is so fast to jump on Lindsay's every mistake. Has ANYONE tried to find her glory? Has ANYONE mentioned her abilities to write, to love, to think, to cry, to want to be something more? Maybe it's just me, but I see a little girl - wanting to grow up, yes, wanting to be led, wanting to be shown a better, more fulfilling solution. DAMN IT can't anyone around her - anyone - love her without expectation?

No flower, having been cut from the stem will live long - but how we love to show them off in their bright colorful vases; ribbons, and glitter - how pathetic are those who show them off. Let them live. I love Lindsay from my heart - yes, probably because she has for years reminded me of my own daughter Laura, but nevertheless - that is ONLY the way I found out about her. Over the years I have learned to see her for herself. And I have cried right along with her on many occasions - I hope she is able to not only heal her condition, but her soul as well. Love to you, our American Beauty!

Starbucks and MY Troops!

Can you imagine the FEAR, the utter FEAR that ran through my blood when my friend, who happens to be 100% military, told me that Coffee Moguls at Starbucks were going to launch an anti-administration or anti-war campaign! I all but fell off my chair! NO, I screamed! I can't do this! That would mean giving up my addiction!

Luckily for me, an internet idiot is behind the rumor, and there is absolutely NO TRUTH to the rumor whatsoever. I spend on the average about $6.00 a day drinking coffee at Starbucks. I've often said out loud that it's cheaper than cocaine, has the same effect, but you don't have to deal with the police! It's an accurate statement. There's another comparison too: Starbucks may be more expensive than say Dunkin Doughnuts or Caribou Coffee, but it doesn't have to be. People don't have to get the cappuccinos. They can do Americanas, straight coffee drinks, simple espressos - no one puts a gun to my head and forces me to dress my drink up. I do it because (and whenever) I want to. It's a great perk - I'm an American! (and I have a job)

So...with big, fat, wet, tears rolling in my eyes I called the headquarters of my beloved Starbucks. I was transferred and transferred, and then I was actually hung up on, but I called back. I had to know. There was NO WAY I was going to take the manager's word for it at the store I usually buy my coffee from. She's awesome, but like me, she's 100% pro-trooper! She's going to tell me what I want to hear, and that's not what I needed. I wanted, yes, I wanted, but not what I had to possibly face. The call finally went through. I was sitting, literally on the edge of my rolling chair awaiting the answer. It was good.

Starbucks has so many stores with so many mangers, district manager, regional managers, and investors that somewhere along the line one or two of them discussed asking Starbucks to make a stand. How can a company that serves everyone from every walk do that? It would be corporate suicide! They aren't stupid! The coffee company itself isn't Starbucks, there are growers, distributors, customers, clients - we're all in this. I'm sure there are a dozen customers at any one time in any one store on any one corner: and that's just in Manhattan with their 100+ stores, that is going to be able to have a varied thought or two on the outcome, or even the onset of the war - OK...that's cool, but my goodness - to say that the STARBUCKS name is involved in something as terrible as NOT supporting MY troops, my son, my flesh - it isn't true. Thank God, it isn't true.

My store's manager (Rebecca) and my other store's manager (Betty) have teamed up with me to get a petition going to ask Starbucks to do the world a favor - or in the case of the troops, a flavor. We'd like to see a certain select or blend be dedicated to the troops - their memory, their support, their efforts - even a way of funding them, or thanking them. Every cup sold would generate money for patriotic causes here and overseas. It's a beginning - something we discussed over a good hot cup of coffee today!