Bonnie and I are at the Summerland Waterfront Resort. It's a nice place and Bonnie seems to like it. She is the one who really knows the difference between nice and OK. Bonnie very seldom complains, but she will tell me when she thinks something is nice. The SWR ranks as nice, so I'm happy.
The restaurant here has an amazing chef. We were impressed by everything we tried. Two particularly wonderful items are the breaded and fried avacodo and the baby iceberg lettuce salad. I am not a culinary writer, so I don't have the vocabulary to describe the taste experience, but if you are in the Okanogan and want to go out for a very nice meal, you should try it. The place is called "Local." We liked it so much the first night, we ate there again the second night just so that we could try something else on the menu.
It's always a little hard on me going to a nice place. I feel like I relate much more to the workers than to the other guests. I find myself wanting to help, to fix things that are not quite right (the toilet seat was loose, so I tightened it; I keep holding doors open for staff till I noticed that they were not going through but were looking at me uncomfortably). I guess I'm really the uncomfortable one.
Yesterday morning I noticed that the girl cleaning the rooms also worked as hostess at the restaurant. I asked her If she was the same one. She said she was and that she worked two jobs. Bonnie and I both said at the same time, "God bless you." She looked us in the face with a faint smile. There were puffy bags under her eyes. As we were walking away, I noticed a cross tattooed on the under side of her wrist. It was black and unadorned, like what prisoners sometimes do to themselves with a ball point pen. I can't get that hard-working girl out of my mind. I looked for her last night and this morning, but I haven't seen her. I don't know what I'd say to her except to say again God bless you.
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