Mother's Day in Oracle...

This morning, my husband and I headed to DeMarco's Pizzeria, the de facto local sandwich shop, for breakfast. DeMarco's is one of two eating establishments in Oracle. The other is Rivera's, a Mexican restaurant where one can find huge burros stuffed with some rather good carnitas or carne asada, as well as on occasion albondigas soup.

Oracle's eatery list might also include the a road stop on 77 called the Chapparal (no seating, a rickety old fan, fluorescent lighting, deep freezers full of no-name ice cream and thin grilled hamburgers). There is also the rough-and-tumble Cadillac Chapparal (no relation) – located some 15 miles away in the middle of barren scrub land, which some refer to as Bikersville. There one encounters not just bikers, but hardscrabble families and a bar filled with the widows of old cowboys. It remains a comfortable and friendly place, even while recently relocated into a huge corrugated hangar. One notes the discernible absence of Saddlebrooke retirees.

The Cadillac Chapparal, while not that old, remains one of the few "old time" places extant. They'd of course look askance if I used the word "extant" but, be that as it may, the steaks – done on an enormous outside grill – are worth the trip, as are the 1950s-style homemade pudding cakes (both the chocolate and pineapple-orange are recommended).

Other than that, there is a putative Italian restaurant in Oracle but, in spite of a recent expansion (including the installation of a gleaming white fountain), the food within remains without merit. One can only surmise that the Grandmother for whom the restaurant is named was a most ungenerous cook. A guess at the stable of ingredients used in a pasta sauce might include corn starch, canned peas and powdered garlic. The pasta is so well cooked, it dissolves on contact. Unlike the Chapparal, this restaurant has a devoted Saddlebrooke following, no doubt made up of those on restricted diets.

Anyway, this morning at DeMarco's there were large families gathered at tables with pink helium-filled balloons. We chose a table next to one at which a middle-aged woman sat by herself looking over a menu. She had small eyes and a snub nose set into a pale, slightly flaccid face, which in turn sat under under a bowl-styled bob of straight silver-blonde hair. She wore shapeless dark green pants with a white cotton turtleneck and appeared to be reading a newspaper.

In no time, however, she became glued to a cellphone – her flat wheedling voice wheeling out and overpowering all other adjacent conversation. So while we managed our intake of bacon and eggs, we (along with a good portion of the room) could not help but listen in. The following snippet occurred during the second or third call:

"Yes, well I'm up here in Oracle. You know so many people want to move here now and I'm thinking of selling some of my properties. ...

"Oh so I wanted to get in touch because I had the most amazing dream. That was why I took the other call because I thought it might be Reynaldo and I also wanted to tell him too about the dream. So this is it. I dreamt you were going to Africa – no, you were already set up there in Africa. And I dreamt I went to see you only I found out that you had committed suicide. Yes, suicide – you committed suicide and left a note about how unhappy you had been. And I was just sooooo sad – I kept thinking there were still so many things I had wanted to say and to do with you. ...

"Well, I'm so glad to hear you're feeling better and – you know – you've got your life all together now. ...

"Yes, well, I'm here in this restaurant but I had no idea it would be so crowded on mother's day. There are all these large parties, yes, with 7 or 8 people. And people coming in. ...

"No – I'm here by myself. I was supposed to meet Reina to talk about the properties, see and it's Mother's Day.

"Yes, I really should go – something's come up, I've got to get off the phone now."