Dithyrambling

Do you ever get a word stuck crosswise in your head? Sometimes, when I was a little kid, I would sit in my room and say a word over and over and over until it lost all meaning, became a random sound and I could play with volume and intonation. (Sometimes I wonder why my own dear mother did not pinch my head off.)

On Friday night, the word was dithyramb. It danced in and out of my calculations while I was working on my tax return. Finally I just had to pull up a fresh window and google it.

That was before my computer had to be rebooted half a dozen times yesterday. My computer is now de-McAfee’d, and it’s working just fine. And in the unbundling of cords which was necessary in order to schlep the CPU over to Secondborn’s, my speakers appear to have regained their integrity as well. I may now be able to listen to my Aussie boyfriend on Sticks and Strings. I won’t know that until tonight, or maybe later this morning after I put the finishing touches on my talk for church.

My pantry is restocked (my checkbook is weeping softly), and all of the grocery bags are hanging in a lump from the handle to the front door, so I will remember to take them to church today and give them to my friend who crochets them into market bags and other goodies which he sells on eBay or Etsy.

I had one of the Healthy Choice entrees for dinner last night. It might be healthy, but it was definitely not choice: the pasta was flabby, the pesto was insufficiently garlicky, and the blessedly minimal sodium appeared to be concentrated in the three pieces of chicken which enabled them to call it chicken pesto and not the other way around. I might have been a little less cranky about it, had I not been reading Marcella Hazan’s memoir about learning to cook with the miraculous pastas and veggies of her native Italy.

So, again with the meh, and a side order of oy to the veh.

I did, sortof, hear from NintendoMan last night. I popped up a chat window long enough to tell him that the computer was fixed and that I was logging off to work on my talk. Which I did, immediately. When I went back to Facebook before hitting the sack, there was an iHeart waiting for me. [I know: mush.]

OK, time to fire up some potatoes O’Brien and see if what seemed like a brilliant and inspired talk when I went to bed at a quarter to one, makes any sense whatsoever at a quarter to seven. Ordinarily, I have no problem coming up with a talk on an assigned topic and rambling on for as long as they will let me, but this time I am speaking as part of the Relief Society presidency, and it has to mesh nicely with what my counselors will have shared (I am batting cleanup) and put people in an I-can-do-this mood and be reverent and scriptural and not soporific.

Sigh...