When I got home last night, I couldn’t open an attachment I had sent from work. Frequently I will make notes in Word, either for things to do once I get home, or notes for a future blog post. Last night I kept getting a refreshed, unopened page. This morning I couldn’t get any closer to opening my document, but I did wade through links until I found a form to report the problem.
It had the makings of a brilliant post. If all else fails, I will have to print off that document and drag it home tonight.
In technical difficulties of another sort, the pork roast was nearly a fiasco. I came home and warmed up a wonderful bowl of chicken tortilla soup to fortify myself, and then I got cracking in the kitchen. Sliced up the second half of that large, sweet onion I bought a couple of weeks back for the mac-and-cheese-and-cauliflower casserole. Threw in two individual packages of baby carrots. Cut up a Granny Smith apple. Cut up my last three smallish red potatoes. All of this smothering the pork tenderloin. Baked it at 425°F [218°C] as the packaging required, for half an hour. Ended up with dry-looking veggies and a roast that was still oinking. Put it back in the oven at 350°F [177°C] for another half hour. Oink. I guess that timing is only for roasts that are cooked without accompaniment. So I pulled the roast out of the pan and cut it in half to confirm, No, I’m not eating that. Scooped all the veggies into my standard-sized crockpot and transferred the meat in on top of them, then opened two geriatric cans of O’Doul’s over that, put on the lid, and let it simmer overnight.
Petrified vegetables are not my idea of a real good time. Neither is food poisoning. If I am going to eat pork, I want it well and truly dead.
So I did not get to the meatloaf muffins last night, but I did make a batch of pigs in blankets, and I shredded a lot of old pay stubs while everything cooked. It definitely was not an evening wasted. I just popped the lid off the crockpot, and the contents look much more plausible than they did when I departed the kitchen last night.
I stayed up far too late, reading a good chunk out of my second library book.
I am home again tonight, and I suspect that I will spend most of the evening in the kitchen and possibly finish reading the book. Or I may just sit on the couch while the meatloaf bakes, and work on the January Mystery Socks and listen to another CD of To Kill a Mockingbird. I might even get the bookcase moved into place.
Brother Sushi’s yarn did not arrive yesterday. [Two-day service for $3.49 would have been amazing.] Maybe today.
The receptionist took the day off, so I spent my day at switchboard. I very nearly zeroed out her desk. I stayed busy all day. It was a good day. There are two tapes waiting for me today, and another one in the works; I am ready to let those fingers fly. [The front desk is a nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there.]
I put another six rows on the Clapotis en Soie yesterday; still making increases at the end of every row, and the ball is not appreciably smaller. I need to find the other yarn bra that is this size and weigh it, so I can weigh the ball occasionally and know when I’ve knitted up 20% of it and then start on the straightaway portion and its dropped stitches. This is going to be a seriously long-term project.
Yes, it does say “glutton for punishment” on my forehead. With footnotes that read “meshugeneh” and “oy! with the poodles!” [Gilmore Girls reference].
- Five years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!