Rare, Collectible, & Otherwise

Tag: oklahoma (Page 79 of 115)

De-sign is up!

Some of you will recognize this intersection. Some of you will notice the buildings on the right have changed dramatically. Some – particularly those of you from out of state who may have landed on this webpage from an internet search – won’t know the buildings at all. Downtown Broken Arrow is undergoing some changes currently.

There are renovations that have already been completed. Among them, the buildings at the northwest corner of Main and Commercial, including the one housing McHuston Booksellers. The image is from Google Earth, and shows the intersection as it appeared some years ago, before the makeovers were completed. The awning still says Francy Law Firm.

Change can be tough. A voice or two expressed disappointment over the demolition of the two structures down the block. Like everything else, some amount of upkeep is required to maintain viability, and no doubt the two old buildings were just too far gone to save. A bookstore visitor told me the other day that “they’re just tearing everything down.”

It just isn’t true. On either side of Commercial Street are buildings – the ones in the image – that are owned by the same person, a fellow who has done more than his share to help preserve the original BA Business District. You know him – some of you – but I won’t mention his name here, although I’d publicly sing his praises any day of the week.

He’s re-doing another building across the street, one that he had restored earlier. These new changes are to accommodate an incoming business, and the gossip (you didn’t hear it from me!) says it will be an upscale wine and cigar bar – the sort of thing you’d find in Chicago or Dallas. I like the idea of it being located in Broken Arrow’s Rose District.

As a fan of history and things historical, I appreciate efforts to maintain our heritage, and consider myself fortunate to have my little business in one of Mr. S’s buildings. No one works a major enterprise alone, but part of his legacy will be the west side of the intersection and the buildings he has saved – buildings in which you’ll find Main Street Tavern, Glamour Gowns, and McHuston Booksellers.

It’s my opinion that Main Street Tavern ranks right there with some of the upscale establishments I’ve visited in Dallas, San Francisco, and New York.

The same applies to Glamour Gowns, my next door neighbor. Her window displays and the quality of her merchandise rivals that of any major metropolitan retailer.

I’m not there with the iconic bookstores of the nation, obviously. I don’t even get a mention in the “Best Of” balloting that Urban Tulsa conducts annually. That’s okay. Someday, maybe.

When I moved the bookstore to the new location, I told the leasing agent that my old shelves wouldn’t be making the trip. I wanted nicer fixtures more appropriate to the renovated interior. Sometimes there are miracles. Just short of the move-in date, my son called with news that a nearby bookstore was shutting down and the owner offered her fixtures at a great price. The former Barnes & Noble shelving fits in nicely. I’m proud of how the shop is coming along, although it is nowhere near the point I’d hoped it to be by now.

I’m certainly thrilled to be in this building and part of the new Rose District.

As for other things “Coming up Roses…” Nephew Ryan installed Kristen’s outdoor sign-plaque this morning, another item on the long list of things I’ve been working on for the shop. They both did a great job and the store, I believe, is better off for it. Click on the image for a better look if you like…

Come visit!

McHuston

Booksellers & Irish Bistro
Rose District
122 South Main St. Broken Arrow OK!

Water Water Everywhere.

It was sort of like one of the zombie movies. Empty parking lots. McDonald’s – closed. Starbucks – closed. Main Street tavern – lights out, windows dark. Hanging on the front door, slightly tilted, a sign: Closed.

The water is running again. The news came too late for me. Probably should have gone to the internet at the break of dawn to check the status of the boil-the-water order, which prompted the Health Department to close all the Broken Arrow restaurants.

It doesn’t take long to realize how much we take those taps and faucets for granted, and how many people can be affected when the supply dries up.

The call from BA’s robo-dialer came about 10:30am, and since everything is prepped daily, there wasn’t enough time to make the stew and the soup and the mashed potatoes before the lunch hour. It was a sandwiches-only day.

Ironically, no tap water is used in the food preparation here. When the kitchen remodel was first completed and the hand-sink faucet was tested, the water had a chemical odor. Smelled like chlorine to me. Same water as everyone else’s faucets, but it seemed different in the new kitchen. I figured if I could smell it in the water, it could probably be tasted as well. Some tea and coffee brewers are directly attached to the plumbing, but our machine requires the water to be poured manually.

Buying the pure-filtered water is a chore sometimes, but I’ve had people comment about the great flavor of the tea – which I believe starts with unadulterated water. Same thing for the stew and soups. Using bottled filtered water didn’t save me from being shut down along with everybody else in town, but least I had books to sell and didn’t have to close completely like so many others.

I’ve done some vegetable chopping this afternoon. Getting a head-start for Friday morning. The water is running again. The dishes are washed and sanitized.

Bring your appetite.

McHuston

Booksellers & Irish Bistro
Rose District
122 South Main St. Broken Arrow OK!

Heck’s Kitchen

Installed a new microwave in the kitchen today and it made me think of my old high school buddy Faron. We were roommates for a time after graduation and had a little crackerbox of a house over by the state prison.

He played bass guitar and I had just switched from guitar to keyboards. We had some practice sessions that never really came to anything, but he was a great wood-worker. He built some arena-concert-sized speakers that wound up attached to our living room stereo when we gave up the band idea. There was a microwave in the kitchen.

That was a pretty new appliance back then (not to date myself, but I suppose I just did…). When the glass-lined door was opened it revealed a cooking area about the size of a shoebox. Next to the door handle was a big round clock-dial to set the minutes and a big square button to set off the nuclear cooking.

Not that we did much of that.

As one of his home improvement projects, Faron brought back some rough-sawn cedar and hauled it into the living room and set it down where the couch might have been if we’d had one. (I had never heard the term rough-sawn at that stage of my life, and I don’t believe I’ve had occasion to repeat it since then – until now.) Faron took that wood and measured and cut and nailed. He added some decorative trim and then cut holes and added plumbing, somehow.

We were the only eighteen-year olds in town with a personal wet-bar in our living room. It was a thing of beauty.

It might have been our frequenting that part of our abode that led to the chicken-rustling incident. We were tapped, financially, and we were coming into the holiday season. For both of us, it was the first independent observation of the big three holidays. Money, as I mentioned, was tight.

New Year’s would be taken care of. (You haven’t forgotten the wet bar in our living room already, have you?)

Christmas would be tougher for Faron than for me. He had a girlfriend, requiring a present. I – on the other hand – had no social life of that sort, and could plead poverty with my family in the way that I have since perfected. He was making time-payments on the gift.

Thanksgiving would naturally be spent with our separate families, but – being the first of the Big Three – we both thought it appropriate that we have some sort of moderate feast, if only to put the bar to good use.

Chicken-rustling isn’t exactly accurate. They were turkeys in those buildings. I had no idea such things went on, but somehow Faron had discovered that a farmer south of town had signed an agreement with Campbell’s Soup and had several long, narrow buildings filled with those big birds. Apparently, Campbell’s Soup would back up a truck filled with tiny turkey chicks and herd them into the stock-barns, then – after they were shoulder to shoulder and jostling around for dancing room – the trucks would return and pick them all up. They wouldn’t miss one turkey, Faron said.

Faron: They won’t miss one turkey!

Me: Are they in plastic wrappers?

Faron, laughing – thinking I was joking: Yeah, sure. Frozen and sliding around like hockey pucks.

Me: Maybe you should take an ice chest.

Faron, laughing – thinking I was joking: Okay, buddy. One Thanksgiving turkey on ice, comin’ up!

Me: I don’t suppose they’ve got the boxed dressing mix, too…

Faron brought back a bird. It wasn’t a turkey. Those, as you well know, are the Butterball things with the pop-up timers built in, with gizzards and such in a bag in the middle. This thing – well, it was a bird. Feathers. Feet. Spindly legs.

By the time it made it into the kitchen, though, Faron had worked some kind of culinary-prep magic on it. I knew he was a fisherman. Apparently, there was hunter in his DNA as well. It may have been lacking plastic wrap, but Faron had plucked and cleaned the bird until I recognized it as something cook-able. (Not to imply that I had ever cooked a turkey at that point. Or even a pot roast. Hey! We were eighteen and on our own, and had a wet bar in the living room!)

It barely fit into the new microwave.

We had no dishes or plates that would accommodate such a cooking endeavor, so I improvised. The bird went into a black plastic trash bag, all dashed and splashed with spices and aromatic things. I left an opening, figuring that there might be steam and a need to vent. Microwave ovens didn’t have instructions about Thanksgiving turkey preparation back then. (Still don’t.)

All those visits to my grandmother’s house gave me the foundation: I knew it took a long time to cook a turkey. My mother and her mother got up early. We ate late in the day. I figured that this new microwave thing would cut down some of that time. Maybe half. I set the timer.

There was a smell before the realization hit. When Faron and I yanked the bag out of the micro, the plastic was clinging. We pulled it open and looked inside.

A big black charcoal briquette sat where the bird once was. I’ve had Thanksgiving turkey that was a little dry. This was dryness that was a little turkey. We opted for burgers and onion rings at the new Sonic.

There aren’t many calls for a microwave with the menu here at the store, but for emergencies, thawing, and the like – it’s good to have one. I made a plate of nachos with the newly installed appliance, the shiny stainless steel one, and based the cooking time from experience with the old one. They came out a little more edible than the turkey was – but it is clear that technology has improved. Bam! Cheese melted!

Styrofoam plate, too.

Faron told me the farmer chased him all the way back to the road while he kept that angry bird under his arm. Over the years, my memory has embellished his story. I’m not even sure what the truth is, but as I recall, the turkey-man was wielding a shotgun, or a hatchet, or a carving knife. Faron escaped.

The granite stone over his grave has a notation: Free Spirit. That he was. Faron died in a car crash just shy of twenty years ago. A roommate and bandmate and friend, for altogether too short a time.

Here’s a promise. There won’t be any trash bags filled with turkey birds inserted into this new oven, but I’m sure to remember that holiday season – as I always do, each time that part of the year comes ‘round.

No turkey on the menu here. Come visit!

McHuston

Booksellers & Irish Bistro
Rose District
122 South Main, Broken Arrow OK!

« Older posts Newer posts »