About Me

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Four 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!

Saturday, February 06, 2010

Remember the veggies from yesterday?

[Which reminds me of the French saying, Où sont les neiges d’antan?] You will have to imagine the proper accent over the u in , because I don’t have time to hunt one up in Word. Literally, where are the snows of long ago? (Où with the proper accent means “where”; ou without it means “or”. And I just realized that in the time it has taken to explain that, I could have gone into Word and found the stupid symbol and inserted it. So I did. And I have put it into my generic draft template so that I won't have to put y’all through this again.) Translations: What’s done is done; you can’t go home again [and thank you, Thomas Hardy Wolfe, not to be confused with Tom Wolfe of the white suits]; the fat lady has sung.

Where was I? Oh yeah. Veggies. The ones I nuked for breakfast and then forgot about and had to throw into the fridge. They were waiting patiently for me when I got home last night. So I put six of those wonderful little frozen meatballs into a bowl and nuked them for a minute, then buried them under half of the veggies and nuked for another minute. Woohoo! A two-minute meal for the one-minute manager. Bliss in a bowl. Accompanied by a couple slices of toast.

I am having more of the same for breakfast. Well, maybe not the toast. And I am contemplating a mug of milk, because my head is suspiciously clear, and I am barely coughing. The thing I hate about having an episode of congestion, whether allergic or contagious, is that I really have to gear down on the milk intake if I want to be done with the misery sooner, rather than later.

It is such a lovely, simple blessing to be able to taste things. Well, probably not as simple as I think, the human body being as intricate as it is, but definitely lovely. Potatoes that taste like potatoes; green beans that are fresh and crisp; rosemary infusing the sauce. Mystery-meat-balls, always a little too salty, but they turn a bowl of veggies or pasta into a meal.

The foot medicine seems to be doing its thing. I was a little dismayed yesterday morning to open the bag with the new prescription and find salve instead of powder, because dryness goes a long way toward killing off the athlete’s foot beastie. On the other hand, it is easier to get salve everywhere it needs to go, rather than aiming a shaker at the offending spot and hoping for the best. And I am being rigorous (thus far) in dosing my foot three times a day.

If you want to know where I am at 6:00am, 2:00pm, and 10:00pm, you will find me perched in the loo with my socks off, slathering. Leave a message.

Though I am half an hour late this morning, and I need to get going, because I am picking up my secretary in about an hour, so that we can be in our seats 15 minutes early for a 9:00 meeting that does not take place in our local chapel.

I have no idea what I will be wearing; my first priority is finding clean socks and unmentionables in the pile, and then making myself presentable. I am hoping that we are not meeting in the chapel, because I know I do not have any clean pantyhose, and there isn’t time to run to the store for them (I’ve been a little busy coughing up lungs this week). I may do a long skirt with socks, or I may just brazenly flaunt convention and wear slacks. [This is an aspect of LDS culture that I simply do not get, though I comply. Why are skirts in a chapel reverent, and nice slacks (I am not talking worn blue jeans) not? I do not mean for sacrament meeting; I mean how some people spazz if you simply walk through the back of the chapel and your legs are ensconced in two tubes instead of one.]

Milk. I am going to get some milk, and then I am going to get going. And, I fear, this afternoon I am going to be doing laundry, unless the Good Housekeeping Fairy shows up here while I am in leadership training.

1 comment:

Jenni said...

I would love to be able to wear slacks since I am in Primary and it makes sitting in the miniscule chairs and wrestling five year olds infinitely easier.