I am sure that we all have those days when we come away from a brief encounter only to ask ourselves: "Does what just happened say more about me than about him or is it the other way around or does it say anything meaningful at all?"

A few days ago, I was enjoying a cup a coffee and reading my latest read (Baghdad without a Map by Tony Horwitz) in the downtown coffee shop. I was in search of an hour of personal time. My wife had a guest so I left the house after putting up a pot of tea and setting out the last of the oatmeal raisin cookies.

Another patron, whom I have known for some 20 years and with whom I share the same professional credentials in addition to some common activities over the years, stopped to say hello and to exchange a few pleasantries. It soon became clear that he had me confused with someone else. I helped him straighten out persons, places, and things. As we sorted through the mis-facts and facts, it became clear that he did not remember the name of the person with whom he had me confused. This is also someone with whom we both had worked during the past two decades. We left our conversation at that; the dude was "waiting for a phone call." I would wager a cappuccino that he hadn't remembered my name either.

Let me just say that I took the dude's number off my speed dial list.

P.S. The dude's number along with his real name was never on my speed dial list.

I guess it is possible to be a subversive grandparent, that is, to undo, at least in part, some of your adult children's best efforts at acting like fit parents.

A friend recently related an example of his own having to do with peanut butter sandwiches. Number two son and his two sons were visiting. Unbeknownst to grandpa, son in his dad role had packed the standard peanut butter sandwich lunch entree for his children. Thinking that the young ones were lunch-less, grandpa offered to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches all around. The grandkids quickly took up grandpa's offer and could not be swayed when their dad insisted that the lunch he had so dutifully brought from home would do. The grandkids held their ground that peanut butter and jelly sandwiches made by grandpa were far superior to anything coming out of their home kitchen. This matter required further exploration and verification. Were the grandkids just trying to butter up grandpa in order to set him up so that he would be in no position to reject a petition at some future date or were they speaking truth to power--rightfully acknowledging a superior PB&J sandwich?

As grandpa went about the culinary task of assembling the sandwiches, the differences quickly became clear. The grandkids were given the opportunity to observe the creative process first hand and the crucial components of a superior PB&J sandwich were promptly noted. First off, there was a new ingredient--butter--applied to the bread prior to the application of peanut butter. Secondly, there was the choice of peanut butter. The co-op brand of peanut butter was not to be seen in grandpa's kitchen. This is the kind that is all peanuts and nothing but peanuts. In grandpa's kitchen, Skippy remains the unchallenged lord of the nut butters. True to the tasteful memories of his own childhood, grandpa refuses to transition away from the taste acquired during his own childhood--nut butter augmented by some ingenious particular process and some secret and other not so secret ingredients. Apparently, the bread and jam components were not contributing elements in the superior rating of said sandwiches.

I hope to discover at some future date, if there has continued to be two versions of the PB&J sandwich for these youngsters--the home kitchen version and grandpa's kitchen version--or if one version becomes the standard for both kitchens. I am putting my "ants on a log" on grandpa's version.

A few years back, when I was dispatched to do the grocery shopping in advance of a grandson's visit I augmented the cheerios on the grandma prepared list with a small box of Trix. A little color is a celebratory thing. At grandpa's house a cheerios snack was thereby able to take on added pizazz. What happened to the last of that box of Trix? They were commingled with cheerios in a small zip lock bag for snacking in the car during the trip home. That becomes another level of subversiveness, when grandpa proposes to exercise influence beyond the confines of grandma and grandpa's house.

There are any number of issues which could be the topic of a post. I haven't been able to organize the chatter that has been tumbling in my internal revolving drum. The bits and pieces include:

A Thousand Splendid Suns
The Unknown Known
Flash Boys
Ukraine
Syria
Ebola
MA370
Afghan elections
NCAA Men's and Women's Tournaments
Minimum wage legislation
McCutcheon vs. FEC
Baseball's opening games
Drone warfare
Senate Intelligence Committee Report on CIA Interrogations
NSA Surveillance
Vermont's single payer health care program

Yesterday afternoon I decided to make a batch of oatmeal raisins cookies rather than sort through this clutter and put together a post. Here's how that turned out. I misconfigured the recipe and made an error in reconfiguring sticks of shortening (roughly half butter and half margarine) into cups. Rather than 1/4 cup plus 6 tablespoons, I started with 1/2 cup plus 6 tablespoons. That is the difference between 1 and 2 sticks plus the tablespoons. Come to think of it, I am not sure why the recipe is so particular. Wouldn't 1/2 cup work as well as 1/4 cup plus 6 tablespoons? That is only the difference of 2 tablespoons. We aren't making a piano (as a former boss would say) or mixing rocket fuel. The end result is a batch of soft cookies which browned up real nicely. They also balanced out well with the way-to-healthy wholewheat muffins that I made on Saturday morning.

Let's see. Chop suey is on the menu for supper. I best clear my mind so that I don't end up serving pork vegetable soup.