Things
didn’t get better. I locked myself out of a computer account and had to call for
help. That was an omen for a day when I got nothing done. Oh, I posted to my
cooking blog and I sent an Angelo’s roast to our Jewish brother-in-law/uncle as
a Hanukah present from all the Texas Alters. But it seemed like I got nothing
done and spent to much time putzing around on the computer.
I tried
a recipe I’ve been saving—actually it was a non-recipe, posted on the New York
Times Cooking Community Facebook page by a chef/friend of mine. It’s one of
those that seemed complicated because I’d never done it before. And because I
should have had the ingredients all ready before I started. The result was creamed
spinach with flavors of onion, garlic, and chicken broth. I’ll do it again.
And
late last night I wrote 500 words on my novel. A prolific and famous writer
recently confessed that 500 words a day is her goal. If she makes that, she’s
happy; if she makes a thousand, it’s a bonus and she rejoices.
Today
dawned a much brighter day—until I tried to give Sophie a Benadryl for her
coughing (allergies). The drawer was stuck. The drawer which only incidentally
holds Benadryl but also cooking utensils, baggies and the like, and all the
everyday dishes. I went back to bed to contemplate this problem. Color me proud—I
opened it the half inch it would go, kind of poked around with a spatula, and
then gave a good tug. It opened! I think the culprit was an Oxo tool that’s
supposed to open jars but doesn’t—I put it in the bottom drawer where it can do
almost no harm.
Things
didn’t get better. My son sent me some money through a payment service called
Zelle, which I knew nothing about. Mind you, this son banks at a branch of the
same bank I do, so he could have just transferred funds. Dutifully I tried to
register, but it seemed to me I was opening an account with the bank—and I already
have several. So I called the bank, and a consultant patiently walked me
through the process until we got to where they needed to send me a verification
code. It didn’t come, so I tried again. It didn’t come. The consultant
consulted her boss and finally decided I should have Jamie cancel it and use
PayPal or a direct transfer. It was a whole lot of work and time for forty-two
dollars that I didn’t get.
I
guess my story isn’t as bad as my friend who had a rat in her house—her first clue
was a big bite out of a banana and another out of a sweet potato. Then she
actually saw the critter. So she bought a new, modern trap—and caught her
finger in it. Had to go to the doctor for antibiotics. Then she called an exterminator.
The report this morning is the rat is dead and the finger is better.
The news
didn’t add to my day. When my kids were at “that” age I did everything I knew
to squelch bathroom humor. And I know today we’re a bitterly divided nation
with many of our cultural norms—like common courtesy and good manners—thrown aside.
But have we sunk so low that the fact that a lawyer passed gas (you may supply
the f-word) in court is a news headline? I am not a fan of Rudy Giuliani, and I
think it’s sad that a man who was once admired as a leader has debased himself,
but if that happened, I’m sure it was something he couldn’t help and an
embarrassment. Ten years ago, everyone would have just looked tactfully away
and never mentioned it.
And
one final bit of absurdity: I was reading a cooking magazine and came across
directions for making a hyper-realistic eggplant cake. Who wants a cake that
looks like an eggplant? I want my chocolate cake to look like cake! If I want
eggplant, that’s a whole different thing.
I
think I should go take a nap and start this day over. Stay warm and safe.
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