“Remoted” Day 335 (Sunday)

There was a burst of mild activity, but nothing that could be considered a Valentine’s Day festivity at The BungaLowell. There were no chocolates or flowers or cards or decorations because I don't seem to love myself enough or I am too cheap to shop for and shower myself with gifts. 

Due to the failure to fully remove snow from the storm early last week, the fortress of solitude is fortified by ice moats and naturally formed skating rinks at both parking spots.  The downspouts are frozen solid, anchored to the ground by pillars of ice. The gutters are dripping, resulting in an accumulation of ice on the concrete steps at the front door and a slick spot on the deck immediately outside the back door. The icy residential exterior now matches my frozen interior. The metamorphosis is complete.

The natural ice fortifications were further reinforced by contributions from the Canine Overlords of additional yellow ice patches and random poop barriers. The day included time spent outdoors harvesting the poop crop and attempting to chop ice. The ice was attacked with a vengeance and as much power as a plastic snow shovel can wield. It’s lucky the plastic shovel didn’t shatter. An interesting observation during the ice project is that frozen pee on asphalt looks just like regular ice until shoveled up and tossed on a snow pile, where the dirty lemon color is suddenly highlighted.

The picture on the box
 is not this soupy.

Before the impassioned ice chipping, there was a lunch of Hamburger Helper Crunchy Taco dinner made with the instructions for black beans. The directions called for an insane amount of liquid – 2.75 cups of water plus one cup of milk. The ingredients filled the specified 10-inch skillet with little room to spare. The recommended 20-minute cooking time yielded soft rice and looked like soup. The directions said to continue cooking for a few more minutes without the lid until “desired consistency.” 

There was not enough time in the day to get the mess to resemble the picture on the box. Defeat was declared and the mess was eaten soupy. This only convenience this boxed entrée offered over cooking rice, black beans, and taco seasoning from the pantry was not having to measure the rice and seasoning. Perhaps the only benefit was providing fuel for the hostile ice chopping. Today, the value of the specialized ice chopper tool became apparent. Of course, I don’t have one, so the appreciation is from afar.