bumping the grinder

Yesterday my telephone rang.

That is news only because it almost never does. And, when it does, it is usually a wrong number -- or news of another death. My smartphone serves duty primarily as a mobile computer. Three calls a month constitute heavy traffic.

But it was not a wrong number. It was Ramon, the Barra de Navidad postmaster. After the usual pleasantries, he informed me I had a package at the post office, and I could pick it up whenever I liked. Apparently, delivering it to my house was not an option.

His call was not a surprise. I had ordered several items from Amazon last month. Everything else had arrived long ago at my house through the great services of DHL.

For some reason, though, Amazon had dropped this part of the order into the sloth-like hands of the United States Postal Service who had then passed it off to the Mexican postal service.

Amazon has a very efficient and timely tracking system for my DHL deliveries. I always know where my package is. The postal service tracking system hearkens back to its pony express roots. I often do not know which country my mailed package is in.

I had calculated from the scant evidence I had that my order should arrive this week. When I checked with Ramon on Monday, it was not in his office. That changed yesterday.

Through the passage of time, I had almost forgotten what I had ordered. Then, it came to me. It was a traveling pill container.

I do not take much medication. But, what I do take, I like to sort for daily doses on Monday, the first day of each week.

I bought my current pill container in Bend a couple of years ago. And it has served me well. It has seven daily containers that stack on one another. It is a perfect fit for my backpack.

It turns out the plastic it is made of is not quite as perfect a match. When the back pack flexes, the plastic does not. The result is cracked containers and spilled tablets.

I saw a replacement (or, at least, I thought it was a replacement) on Amazon. And the labels for the days of the week were in Spanish. A double bonus. Because of my past experience of breakage, I ordered two.

When Ramon handed me the package, I was a bit surprised how large it was. It felt as if I had been shipped two flashlights. And I was not far off.

The pill containers I ordered were almost as thick as a soda can. If I wanted to open up a pharmacy, I had the perfect place to store my inventory. But, as  traveling pill containers, they were not up to the job. There is not enough space in my backpack (where it would share space with my electronic companions) for a container this large. I will need to buy something else.

Now I had the problem of what to do with these new containers. Then, it hit me. When life serves up lemons, cook up a veal piccata.

Just before I left on my last round of trips, Amazon delivered a spice grinder. Jennifer Rose is the godmother of that purchase. She re-ignited my love of cooking with seeds.

Over the past few months, I have gleaned a healthy inventory of whole seeds. They are far more common here than I originally thought. At least, for some seeds. Cardamom pods are still as rare as fresh legs of lamb.

Grinding one's own spices completely changes how foods taste. That is not news to cooks. We get in the habit of buying pre-ground spices because it is convenient. And the quality of of our cooking is sacrificed on the altar of Kronos.

I can grind individual spices (coriander, cumin, fennell, Sansho pepper, Szechuan pepper) in small quantities. And I now have a place to store them for short periods.

The reason I bought the spice grinder initially was to make my own garam masala. There are plenty of recipes; some being better for specific dishes than others. I will grind up a batch to occupy another container in my spice condominium.

Maybe my telephone should ring more often.