I baked a cake today. It’s probably the first time in twenty years or more that I’ve done that. I love to cook, but I am not a baker. Baking requires precision—the recipe I followed today advised measuring ingredients. I dutifully hauled out my kitchen scale and measured the bittersweet chocolate bits--three ounces is a lot more bits than I thought. But measure flour? Naw, not me. There are too many other things to be done. But I did try hard to follow the directions step by step and not succumb to my usual slapdash method of thinking I could outsmart the recipe. The thing that got me into this is that I have been intrigued by the idea of olive oil cakes--I expect them to be flourless cakes. Time will tell, because this cake is for dinner guests tomorrow night, and I have done no more than sniff the finished product and satisfy myself that it smells quite chocolatey. It’s also a cake in a springform pan—I even bought a new such because my old one is warped and unusable—it leaks. I didn’t exactly buy the pan to make this one cake—I frequently find recipes that call for a springform and I’ve been ignoring them. But in a way, this cake is why I bought it right now. What I really needed was another good-sized pan to fit into my oh-so-limited cupboard space.
Baking this cake weighed on my
mind all day. I was on the phone with Colin today, discussing business things
and trying to figure out why my phone won’t talk to my TCU email account—or why
the account suddenly cut off my phone. We were both frustrated—he because he
couldn’t see what I was doing on my phone, and me because baking the cake
hovered over me. No one else gave me that deadline—it was self-imposed, but it
might as well be cast in stone.
Truth is, we are still not
settled in after the chaos of Christmas. Take, for instance, the new composter.
Jacob came out at noon today to unpack it, but it proved more of a chore than
either of us anticipated. It has, according to his estimate, a thousand screws.
And he got the frame mostly put together before he announced the parts were
wrong and it wouldn’t work—and oh yes he had something to do at one o’clock. He
left, with parts of the tumbler spread all over the couch and the coffee table.
I looked at the frame for a long time, and I suspect he has one part in the wrong
place. I was prepared to ask Katie, my dinner guest, to help me shove it all on
to the couch, but Jordan came out and did it. I could have left the thing in
the box where it would have taken up a lot of room in the cottage, but school
starts next week, and I thought if I didn’t get us started on it, the composter
would still be in its box come Spring. Besides I cooked a lot this week and was
struck by how much I put in the garbage that could have been compost. Lots of
vegetable scraps—peelings from onions and garlic, almost half a head of lettuce
that had been in the fridge too long, some cabbage, and so on.
The composter isn’t the only
problem. Tonight I finally got the computer cords so that I can recharge my
remote keyboard and mouse—but I need help to connect them. This cord business
is a real puzzle—we re-hooked the computer after I was away at Thanksgiving, and
all was in order; got to Santa Fe at Christmas and I didn’t have the right
cords. Once home, they are nowhere to be found, and the cords I have don’t fit.
Colin told me what to order, and that’s what came today. They fit—but the back
of the computer is in the same narrow space as Sophie’s crate, so my walker and
I can’t get in there. I will pounce on the first person who comes out here
tomorrow.
Then there’s the problem of
canned dog food. I am out. For days Amazon has been warning me they couldn’t
fill the standing order. But they said they’d send my first-choice substitute. Apparently,
they forgot that part because I’ve had only a notice chicken and wild rice is
unavailable; no notice of shipping a substitute. Cricket’s supply is out too. Jordan
bought one can today at the grocery. Sophie is not fussy and wolfed down her evening
supper. But tomorrow will come—and I shudder to think of my strong-willed dog if
she doesn’t get her meat for supper. Kibble is not going to do it.
My sense of chaos was
lightened by friend Katie who came to dinner. Her late husband, a man I thought
was wonderful, was a cook; Katie is not. So she’s always pleased with my
dinners. I told her I thought I was in a rut, serving her casserole and salad,
but she pointed out she’s never complained. And she went home with a baggie of
tuna casserole. Katie and I have kids and grandkids about the same age, and we
share an outlook on life—including on national and Texas politics. So we always
have lots to talk about. It’s good to share, though her outlook on the upcoming
elections is not quite as optimistic as mine. Still, I am grateful to her for
good company and for taking in stride the chaos and making it, in my mind, a
little less urgent. Besides, she Is a Sophie fan.
Friends are, always, a permanent
blessing; chaos is temporary. Thanks be to God.
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