random truths – Day 1,019 (Saturday) – NYE

The week of not leaving the house crashed headlong into the point of “uh, what day is this?” I know it’s New Year’s Eve, but the specific day of the week was the part that got confusing. Being sick and losing the rhythm provided by workdays in the office and at home really has messed up the overall concept of time. Sleeping all day Friday didn’t really help, either. 

Despite sleeping through the night Thursday then all day Friday, I still slept remarkably well Friday night and didn’t wake up until 9:00 Saturday morning. I forgot this was even possible outside of a coma.

NYE party of one.

There was no plan for a New Year’s Eve supper for The BungaLowell party of one, but around the time of thinking about eating, the idea of contacting the preferred pizza purveyor for a no-contact delivery occurred. They sent an email coupon on Thursday for $4 off a $20 order. Unfortunately, they are closed tonight, a fact that would have been helpful to know before today, but I can order at 3:00 tomorrow. Too bad, so sad. This reminds me of the birthday discount coupon they sent the day before closing the shop for a week and the full duration of the coupon. 

Looks like it might be the final piece of cheesecake from the freezer for supper, now that I’m finally hungry again after the mushroom, onion, and cheese quiche baked for lunch. Assuming it thaws to an edible level any time soon. If not, there is an entire pantry to explore for ingredients to turn into food and a freezer crammed full of containers and foil-wrapped packets of who knows what.

random truths – Day 1,018 (Friday) – sleeper

Sometime during the night on Thursday into Friday morning, the roulette wheel of symptoms delivered a fresh batch of discomfort. The symptoms that might have been mistaken for a cold if not for the positive COVID test took on new properties. 

During the night, the stomach churned as through we were on the high seas. It woke me and had me wondering if I should go downstairs and fetch a receptacle for any stomach output. It was decided the bedroom wastebasket would suffice, if needed. Luckily, it wasn’t.

The alarm went off as usual, to herald a new workday and cycle of feeding and medicating Winston. There was no false hope this morning. My head throbbed and my stomach performed gymnastic routines. The bare minimum was accomplished upon arising. Food in bowl, insulin in dog, dog outside then back inside. I logged in to work long enough to submit my timecard, update the out of office autoresponder, and send an email. Then it was back to the blessed relief of the horizontal plane where the head throbbed less and the stomach settled a bit.

During the twelve-hour period from 8:00 am to 8:00 pm, approximately nine of those hours were spent sleeping. Brief moments of awake time scattered throughout the day were highlighted with a pounding headache that felt better only when laying down. The longest awake period occurred when it was time to feed Win his supper and for a couple hours after. And now it’s back to the comfort of lying down under a pile of blankets.

random truths – Day 1,017 (Thursday) – false hope

The morning sky was pale blue with wispy clouds delicately tinged in pink. Had Winston been ready to go out a couple minutes earlier, it’s likely the coloring would have been more dramatic. The air felt warmer than recent days. 

I felt somewhat better than on Wednesday. Another COVID test was taken because there are boxes of them in the closet, and I’m curious to learn at what point it will become negative. Neurotic? Scientific? Obsessive? We’ll see.

Emboldened by the early morning feeling of slightly more robust health and vigor, I dressed, caffeinated, and logged in for remote work. Emails were read and tasks were moved along and things felt good until about 45 minutes into the workday when everything felt a lot less good. The chills were back in force, fatigue had set in, there was a headache, and I conceded defeat. The earlier sense of physical vitality proved to be false hope and the virus won the day by a knockout. 

View from the infirmary.

The severely understaffed infirmary at The BungaLowell offers a couch, numerous toss pillows, two blankets, and an unobstructed view of the TV. Conveniently located in a quiet corner of the first floor, the infirmary is steps away from amenities including multiple bookcases, refrigerator, stove, microwave, fully stocked pantry, bathroom, and door to the front yard access to the mailbox and Canine Overlord Winston’s outdoor needs. It also offers the strongest cell phone signal on the lower level of the property as long as one does not stray from the couch. Or move. 

random truths – Day 1,016 (Wednesday) – oh fudge

Alarm, wake up, start the coffee, feed Winston, pause for breath, and realize that the symptoms and ailments of the day prior are all still fully present. The next course of business was to take out one of the several boxes of COVID tests and get busy.

Oh, fudge. Positively positive.

In the past 1,000-plus days, there have been two instances of testing. In both cases, it was after being a contact of someone who tested positive. Both of those times, the test results were negative. This morning’s test had a different result. At 8.5 minutes into the 10-minute processing time, was the fateful "oh, fudge" moment and the positive test line appeared through the tube without even needing step 10 of the instructions sheet, the analysis of lines. Positively positive. 

After all this time successfully evading and avoiding illness, my number was up and it was feeling like the year of the crappiest Christmas gift. COVID. The ‘Rona. The ‘Vid. The Virus. The Plague. Blech.

The isolation countdown clock is activated. It's not feeling quite as fun as the New Year's Eve countdown clock.

I have felt better. I have felt worse. The runny nose, queasy stomach, and aches are less awful when laying down. The most annoying current symptom is the chills. Feeling cold is my least favorite state of being, and sadly it is the most frequent. Now it is exponentially worse. Leave it to me to get an illness that had fever as a symptom and I get to freeze instead. It was a second sick day curled up on the couch under a blanket. Luckily, the freezer is loaded with containers of soup. 

Winston, Canine Overlord of Mystery.

While changing from the fleece pajamas into fleece daywear for convalescing on the couch, I noticed that the comforter, the duvet cover, and the quilt inside the duvet cover all had blood stains where Winston sleeps. This required mustering the strength to run multiple loads of laundry while in a state of illness. 

Winston, The BungaLowell dog of mystery, in his typical cards close to the vest style, was not revealing any hints as to the source of his own ailment. Despite carefully examining him as though I were a veterinarian, I couldn’t determine where the blood came from. It looks like there are two mysteries in the house – one for each occupant. What body part did the dog’s blood on the comforter come from, and how did COVID finally catch me?

random truths – Day 1,015 (Tuesday) – sick day

The alarm went off and the day began with the usual morning activities and flowed into the usual log in and start of the remote work day. The holiday meant few emails in the inbox, a Christmas miracle indeed. Actually, it less miracle and more of a promise delivered, as many of last week’s emails were about office closures for this week.

Winston is under there somewhere.

As the morning wore on, what had seemed like a minor stuffy/runny nose and dry throat that was believed would improve with liquids, morphed into chills, achy back, sneezing, and headache. In the brief span of just a couple hours, all I could think about was having a lie down on the couch. 

After a couple messages up the chain of command, that is what happened. I invaded the couch where Winston was completely hidden under a blanket, forcing a rearrangement of his comfortable situation to accommodate my horizontal comfort. 

Tuesday remote day had taken a turn for the worse. It became “call and reschedule Wednesday’s 9:00 am long-awaited dental appointment” and “sick day on the couch and napping under two blankets” Tuesday. The two blankets to combat the chills were twice as many as usual and the daytime sleeping was great. In a way, despite feeling like crap. it was a day of living the life of Canine Overlord Winston, without the blindness and diabetes. Next up is bed, and I’m looking forward to it.

random truths – Day 1,014 (Monday) – monday holiday

Christmas was on Sunday, and that made Monday a holiday in the banking world. The day off plan was to sleep late, drink coffee, and do not much else. “Late” turned out to be 6:45 instead of 6:15, so the sleeping didn't run very late at all. But after that, it was pure blanket-wrapped leisure of The BungaLowell kind.

Santa from Elf.

Unlike all-inclusive vacation leisure with wait staff, massages, and beach time, BungaLowell leisure involves coffee in the extra-large Luke’s Diner mug, reserved for the larger pot of coffee made on weekends and days off. Coffee consumption occurs on the couch in the living room with email, news, horoscope, Wordle, and Facebook before the magical moving picture box is turned on and the visual binging commences. 

Today’s viewing was dedicated to the Christmas movies that had been neglected all season long. The on-demand day started with the star-studded romantic comedy classic Love Actually (2003), and marched forward to Four Christmases (2008) with Reece Witherspoon and Vince Vaughn.

Chevy Chase as Clark Griswold.

The lineup included the classic National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation (1989). Clark Griswold reminds me of my brother, who loved that movie and could quote most of the script. He even had Clark’s rant about his boss as his phone’s answering machine message. You know, the impassioned “… I want to tell him what a cheap, lying, no-good, rotten, four-flushing, low-life, snake-licking, dirt-eating, inbred, overstuffed, ignorant, blood-sucking, dog-kissing, brainless, dickless, hopeless, heartless, fat-ass, bug-eyed, stiff-legged, spotty-lipped, worm-headed sack of monkey shit he is! Hallelujah! Holy shit! Where’s the Tylenol?” 

There was also the delightful Elf (2003), which has one of my favorite movie music soundtracks. Unaccompanied Minors (2006) felt like a Christmas airport version of The Breakfast Club. A Christmas Story 2 (2012), set five years after the original story, felt overacted as if they were all just trying too hard, but I still watched the whole thing. Bailing would have required the effort of finding something else to watch. And I'm not usually a quitter.

In between all the movies, there were attempts to conduct the glamorous, everyday life maintenance tasks. The trash barrel was brought in from the curb and the mail from the mailbox. Laundry was washed, dried, and folded. There was a quick trip to Market Basket for the Winston’s weekly roasted chicken. But mostly, the day was a mind-numbing stretch of varying levels of visual entertainment and eating the too-many leftovers from Christmas Eve and Christmas dinner. And it was good. Worth every second.

random truths – Day 1,013 (Sunday) – Christmas Day night

There was no white Christmas at The BungaLowell, except for the Bing Crosby - Danny Kaye movie watched a couple nights ago and the coating of chalky, dried solution used to treat the roads a few days ago for the temperature drop and icy conditions. The yard has a sad, scratchy, patchy, uneven and windblown coating of snow.

The day was chilly, but not brutally cold, with temps in the 20s. The sun was out, the traffic was light, and the heated seats and steering wheel made for a comfortable ride to Mom’s. Twenty-five miles to the west, it was minimally whiter, with the remnants of the snow that fell there with Friday’s storm. 

A few of us Whos met in Whoville for some roast beast with potatoes, vegetables, and too many pies. And now it’s time to deal with the leftovers and holiday bloat and weight gain. Between all the food from Christmas Eve at my house and then what Mom sent me home with after dinner, there is an obscene volume of leftovers. Not to mention the all the candy. Oy.

Compared to 2020, this was a calm day. On Christmas Day 2020 my old Honda died on Route 2 en route to Mom’s and it was AAA to the rescue with a tow and Mom and StepDad to the rescue with a ride to Mom’s and a loaner car to get back home. That was stressful and expensive.

Last Christmas Day, much like many before it, featured Christmas movies playing on Mom’s TV. My ideal Christmas Day today would have been sitting on my own couch wrapped in a blanket and watching Christmas movies, especially after waking up with a headache, but I could tell Mom was feeling a bit sad yesterday when I was undecided about coming for dinner today.

As I drove to Mom’s, I wondered if we’d have A Christmas Story playing in the background or some other movie. The joke was on me, though. The TV at Mom’s played National Geographic Channel or Smithsonian Channel or some other channel with no Christmas shows all day, even after I asked about Christmas movies a couple times. 

While eating and talking and playing Scrabble after dinner I pushed to the background the shows with a segment about Miami and the filming of Scarface and others about natural wonders and water supplies and other things I wasn’t interested in today. I wanted a stupid Christmas movie. Any one would have worked. 

Iced cookie!

The parental withholding of Christmas movies felt like some sort of psychological warfare and made me want to watch them even more. As soon as I got home, the TV was turned on and I finally got my Christmas movies on Christmas Day while stuffing my face with iced Christmas cookies baked, decorated, and sent by my niece in Vegas. It may not have been the ideal day I had yearned for, but at least I had the night.

random truths – Day 1,012 (Saturday) – Christmas Eve

Christmas Eve Saturday was very different than a regular Saturday. After the regular coffee, there was cheese cubing and meat slicing for the cheese plate. There was macaroni cooking and cheese chopping and sauce preparing for the baked macaroni and cheese. The kielbasa was sliced and par-boiled for the kielbasa and brown sugar sauce. Cookies were plated. Chocolate coins and dipped pretzels were plated. Bowls were designated for crackers and chips. 

Chicken broth was set on the stove to simmer with mushrooms, onion, and broccoli. To that, the kielbasa water was added, followed by the macaroni water and some barley. It was set to simmer a couple hours and timed to be ready when the family arrived. Bowls were set out for the soup.

To accommodate the food and create room for the houseguests, the dining table was moved from the center of the room over against the sliders. Tackling this project as a crew of one means it takes a lot longer and screws up the area rug while walking the table over a few inches at a time and rotating it. It turns out the sliders are very drafty.

Once positioned, the table was covered in the Christmas tablecloth of green leaves and red poinsettias, followed by a hot pad for the kielbasa and the stand for the baking dish with the mac and cheese.

When Mom, my sister, nieces, and a niece’s boyfriend arrived, they came bearing more food. The finger sandwiches with three fillings (ham and pickle, egg salad, and seafood salad) were planned, but there was surprise shrimp cocktail, cookies baked by my niece in Vegas, and a chocolate cream pie. The table was loaded with enough food for an army.

While checking in the cabinet for something, a small box of tea fell out of the cabinet for the 10,000^th time in about three days. I kind of lost it when it bounced off my head and I slammed it on the kitchen table. The kitchen always feels too crowded and too full. Finding anything in the cabinet is a major daily archeology excavation and avalanche hazard. And I freaked out Mom and my sister over a stupid box of tea.

We ate. We exchanged gifts. We laughed about how we neatly refold tissue and gift wrap and gift bags for future use, and the vintage shopping bag that had been decorated with wrapping paper cutouts decades ago and was used again this year, and is becoming a bit more fragile. A music channel on the TV played “Songs of the Season” until the last couple minutes of the Patriots game when we switched over to that.

As the time crept towards getting dark, we put everything away so they could head back to their homes before it got too dark. We forgot to have soup, which was okay because there was so much other food. We forgot to take pictures, which is much less okay, because we keep forgetting to do that a lot lately.

The day started with several hours of prep work and ended with a couple more hours of hand washing dishes and putting them away, running the dishwasher, and washing the tablecloth. The refrigerator and the freezer are impossibly jammed. The cabinets are jammed. It is a clear case of excess. Tis the season.

random truths – Day 1,011 (Friday)– blustery

Rain on Merrimack.

The cold weather being endured by much of the country is barreling into New England. Thursday and Friday while friends in Tennessee and the middle chunk of the country were enduring sub-zero temperatures, it was 50 degrees in Lowell. The wind was in full force and blustery and rain whipped about from every direction. 

The parking garage, while covered, nearly always has a surprisingly crazy amount of water pooled on the floors and pouring from the seams in the concrete levels. Today it was extra puddly and drippy.

The walk from the garage to the office, which is usually not too horrible, felt extra long and miserable. The wind seemed strong enough to launch a Mary Poppins flight pattern, which was both exhilarating and terrifying. Had I only known that the folks on our team with assigned parking spots in the lot immediately outside the building were working remotely, I could have been spared the brutal quarter-mile footrace against the elements and parked several blocks closer. But hey, arriving to work soaked and windblown is good for building character. Or something.

There was a quick stop at the coffee shop on the way into the office, knowing full well there would be no interest in going back out with the weather. The clerk failed to put a sleeve on the cup, and about ten steps beyond the door, while wrestling with the umbrella in the wind tunnel between two of our buildings, my hand was burning. So now it was wind, rain, a scalded palm and fingers, and an umbrella threatening to either turn inside out or be wrested from my grasp and blown away.

At the door to the building, the degrees of difficulty were mounting. There was the extra challenge of grabbing the security card hanging from my neck to tap the access pad and unlock the door, then open the door while still juggling the umbrella and the hot coffee that was now squirting out of the sip hole in the cup lid and pouring all over my hand.  Scalding coffee is a great reminder that one is still alive. Good times.

There were two of us on the entire floor of the building for the day. For the next eight hours the weather was enjoyed from the safety of the dry office. The rain blew sideways and slammed against the skylights and the windows. There was a brief break in the clouds in the afternoon before they regathered and the rain resumed again. Close to quitting time, the lights flickered. 

Fortunately, the rain stopped long enough for the walk to the garage, where the lights were out. Thank goodness for the flashlight feature on cell phones. I picked My way up the dark staircase by cell phone light, and then entered the abyss of the parking levels where not a single spot of light could be seen beyond the small ray emitted by the phone. At least the traffic lights outside were operating and many of the buildings near the garage were still illuminated.

At home, the wind had knocked over the neighbor’s basketball hoop where it blocked part of the street and blown off yet another one of my fence post caps. It was nice to be safely ensconced in the house and begin the official “family is coming over tomorrow” holiday stress level. There was vacuuming, hot soup, and then a near complete abandonment of all other preparations. Tomorrow morning will likely be frantic and powered by extra doses of coffee. And fully powered by electricity, fingers crossed.

random truths – Day 1,010 (Thursday) – French toast

Frozen.

There is nothing like an 8:10 am medical appointment to get a day rolling. The office appointments actually start around 7:30, which is hugely convenient for squeezing in an appointment before work, but 7:30 is just a little too early for this office, as they are about 20 minutes away. 

The medical office is located on a sort of busy road with a couple shopping plazas and restaurants. There is a collecting pond at the edge of the parking lot, and this morning it was iced over and looked like the perfect vision for the first full day of winter. 

After the appointment, I was slated to visit one of our branches that is just a couple miles from the medical office. It was still 15 minutes before their opening time when I was in the parking lot, and I didn’t want to be the first person bursting through the door when they opened it.

Luckily for me, there was a little café in the same plaza as the branch. I popped in for a coffee and then added some French toast to the deal when I realized I was oddly hungry. I love French toast, but rarely bother to make it. It was relaxing being in a café, seated at a window counter, enjoying French toast with maple syrup and hot black coffee. It felt special and a little decadent. Generally, I'm not hungry until around 10:00 and if I eat breakfast at all it's usually a dry granola bar or an only slightly less dry cereal bar.

French toast!

By the time I was done with breakfast, the branch was open and I could complete my mission – taking a couple photos of some installed elements. It was nice chatting with the branch team. I rarely see them for 10,000 reasons including the time-space continuum and the fact that our roles rarely put us in the same meetings.

The rest of the day continued at the remote office with logging the photos from the branch, sending portraits to bankers that were done last week, and many other desk-bound activities. Next week there are a couple more branch visits on my calendar and I’m looking forward to it. It’s been nice getting out to the places where the customer magic happens.

random truths – Day 1,009 (Wednesday) – party time

Yankee Swap gift
and breakfast pizza.

Instead of our monthly big team meeting this morning, we had a holiday gathering. There was breakfast pizza, muffins and Danish, coffee, and trays of cookies. We also had a Yankee Swap, where the hot item this year was a beautiful wood paddle shaped charcuterie board, stolen twice during the game. The gift I brought was a small slate painted with a chickadee and lilacs, and the gift I got was vanilla fragrance Bath and Body products and a tub of “Crazy Aaron’s Thinking Putty,” which is allegedly a “great tool for relieving stress; acting as an attention aid; and assisting in physical therapy for wrists and hands.” This should be fun.

I drank too much coffee and ate too much of everything. It was awesome. There was full self-awareness of the excess consumption, but I didn’t let a little thing like that get in the way of an overindulgent good time. When the sugar and caffeine jitters kicked in, the water intake was increased in an effort to dilute it, based on nothing more than a hunch. It wasn’t a surprise when a stomach ache arrived around 3:00.

The stage at MRT for A Christmas Carol.

After work, it was a rush home to attend to Win, and then back out the door. The bank had a block of tickets to Merrimack Repertory Theater’s production of A Christmas Carol. A colleague and I met before the show for a quick drink. The original plan had included dinner, but that was before we spent all day eating at the office.

The show, like most shows at MRT, was great. In a local twist, there was a brief intro by Charles Dickens, who talked about his visit to Lowell and how it influenced his writing. As usual, the cast played multiple roles and did it well. Overall, it was a pretty great day. The only “bah humbug” was on the stage, and well delivered at that.

random truths – Day 1,008 (Tuesday) – kamikaze canine

Over the weekend, there was a purchase of possibly the greatest invention for front stairs in winter. The “Sure-Step Stair Tread” holds great promise with the rubber treads for added traction, deep groove design that allows rain and melting snow to drain, and black rubber that absorbs heat to melt snow/ice quickly.

This miracle of modern marketing seems like the answer to the problem of the icy concrete front steps. We’ll see. They haven’t been weather tested at The BungaLowell yet.

The kamikaze canine at rest.

The tags were removed and the treads aligned on the steps. They looked pretty good. There was comfort in the idea of not falling on my arse when the weather gets wintery. There was a small feeling of satisfaction over the $18 investment. 

Canine Overlord Winston, however, is far from satisfied. He has done everything in his power to avoid stepping on them. He recoils when his paw touches one of them. He tippy toed down the steps to the yard along the couple inches of uncovered concrete on the edge of the step. When he would go down the steps at all, that is. A couple times he stood there like a statue until I carried him down the stairs.

Monday night, after several trips down and up the stairs over a couple days, Winston stepped out gingerly. At the middle step of the three, he hurled himself off the side of the set of stairs to the bricks below. He yelped. I shrieked. He went about his potty business, made it up the stairs, reentered the house and reclined in his bed.

Later, he whimpered when he moved. A couple times it was an outright yowl. It was a scary. At bedtime, Win somehow made it upstairs on his own while I was still brushing my teeth.

The stair treads
 that inspired a leap.

The usual bedtime routine is the practice of the doggy commands sit, stay, come, and paw, which earn cookies. It started years ago when Moosie would wake up during the night with a bad stomach, sometimes to the point of being sick. Bedtime cookies seemed to help keep the acid at bay. It was cruel to give cookies to one and not the other, and the game developed.

Monday night, Win wouldn’t let me take his stylish and seasonal sweater off him. He yelped. He let me put him onto the bed, but he whimpered and yelped as he positioned himself to sleep. During the night, he whimpered and woke me up a couple times. This morning, there was more whimpering with position changes, and yelping when I tried to pick him up. I ended up coaxing him into his bed, which was folded around him like a soft taco shell and used to transport him downstairs. Once downstairs, he didn’t react when I gently tried to check for pain spots so I couldn’t even tell a general area that caused him pain.

He spent most of the day sleeping behind my desk chair or in front of the heat vent under the sink cabinet. A couple times when he moved and squealed, I wondered if I should have called the vet. Luckily, he seemed better as the day wore on. Hope isn’t exactly a plan, but I hope he is just bruised from his blind leap off the stairs.

The stair treads have been edged over to provide more space for canine footing, essentially defeating their purpose for human usage. Maybe I can sneak them over bit by bit with time. He went down the exposed part of the concrete steps by himself after his supper, and then back up again with no whimpering. Hopefully, the little kamikaze canine is on the mend.

random truths – Day 1,007 (Monday) – plans

Once I got around to the Christmas baking, a plan was made. Recipes were flagged and ingredients were gathered. Tasks were divided across a couple days. Sunday – make stuff. Monday – make more stuff. Tuesday – package the stuff made Sunday and Monday. Wednesday – bring some of the stuff to work.

Tonight, after a traffic congested drive from work, the workday ensemble was traded for the I’m not leaving the house fleece pants and top. Sunday’s dough logs were pulled from the fridge. The recipe said to cut the logs lengthwise, roll them in sugar, and then slice them. The sugar was supposed to colored yellow and orange with food coloring to mimic citrus rinds, but I neglected to get food coloring in the multiple baking ingredient shopping trips and the sugar remained white. 

The first log yielded two cookie sheets of small, sort-of citrus slice shaped cookie and they were set into the oven while the second log was halved, sugared and sliced. There were about 8 dozen slices by the time the knife was set aside.

Oops. Not quite like
the cookbook photo.

The oven temperature was reduced to account for the dark cookie sheets and as an extra precaution, the timer was set to check on them a bit early. The recipe said seven to nine minutes or until the edges are golden brown. The cookies were checked at five minutes. No edges were golden. They were given a smidge more time in the oven. 

Suddenly, a burnt aroma was detected, and the first 48 cookies were yanked. the edges were golden and the tops looked ok, but when they were loosened with the spatula, the bottom of every single cookie was black. They did not look like the picture in the cookbook, but they would be perfect substitutes for coal for all the naughty kids. 

The second two sheets went into the oven and were more carefully monitored. Basically, I crouched at the oven door, peering through the little glass window, watching the cookies. A watched pot never boils, and in this case, the watched cookies never get golden brown edges. But the bottoms were, and at least the second oven batch looked edible.

The cookies from the first two sheets were set aside but I couldn’t bear to just toss them. They became dinner. Such a time saver. Speaking of time, I wonder how long the charred flavor will last.

After the disappointment of the million burnt cookies, there was no desire to start another recipe, but enough was done on Sunday to make up for it. The crew is now on a break, currently watching White Christmas and admiring the old-timey clothing. Dang, I love men in suits. And the dresses! Swoon. It is so obvious I was born into the wrong fashion era. 

Maybe another recipe will happen tomorrow, like the saltine bark for which two boxes of crackers and two pounds of butter are standing ready. Or not. We’ll see.

random truths – Day 1,006 (Sunday) – hell’s sprinkles

The kitchen sweet shop sweat shop opened today. A review of the Ass O’Lard cookbook resulted in an ambitious baking list and yet another shopping list. There was a trip to Market Basket with a list of 11 items, and in the magic of the American super market, there were 26 items in the cart when I finally rolled up to the checkout and a 27^th added while I stood in line waiting.

As usual, I got to conduct the weekly training of another bagger who needed guidance on common sense and correct bagging technique. First, the knucklehead was jamming my bag of impulse purchase chips into a bag with the same effort I use to stuff a pillow into a pillow case. I managed to hold my tongue, but then he set the dozen increasingly expensive eggs in the bottom of a bag and put the fresh out of the rotisserie hot roasted chicken on top of it. Seriously? I’m not sure if he was trying to hatch the eggs under the hot chicken or smash them, but either way, I wasn’t happy and spoke up.

The baking wasn’t so much baking today as it was melting chocolate and twirling pretzel rods in it, and spooning little pools of chocolate to make coins. Then there was the sprinkling of décor – slivered almonds, chopped craisins, and the curse of the kitchen, the just bought little sugar sprinkle things.

Sugar sprinkles:
the glitter of the baking world.

During one shake, the tiny, round sugar balls I was trying to gently shake out of the large container into a small dish exploded onto the counter and the floor. They bounced on the floor and landed as far away as the office, some six or seven feet away from the scene of the explosion. Meanwhile, the chocolate was beginning to set and the sprinkles weren’t on it yet.

When I finally was able to address the explosion of the little sugar balls from hell, they were wedged in the little cracks in the floor and the ribs of the rug. They crunched underfoot as I went to fetch the dustpan and brush. While chasing them all around the kitchen, and later, when trying to scrub the stains from the counter from where water splashes and sugar balls met, it occurred to me that the stupid little decorator balls are the equivalent of craft glitter. They will likely be found in the kitchen for the next ten years.

After a break, peanut butter cookies were baked and another recipe was mixed and rolled to be refrigerated for a couple hours. The rolled dough logs will rest there until tomorrow after work before being sliced and baked. It was getting late, and the third sink full of dishes needed to be dealt with. Tomorrow, the crew of one will be back at it. Later in the week, operations will shift to cheese trays and food prep for a family celebration on Saturday. It's going to be a busy week.

random truths – Day 1,005 (Saturday) – stuff got done

The day had a mysterious energetic burst and stuff got done. There was the usual shower and lingering over coffee while whispering sweet nothings to Winston, and then it got busy. By 10:30, the bed was stripped and the sheets were in the washer, along with other color-sorted items. Laundry is usually a Sunday task, putting it a full day ahead on the weekend life maintenance chores. It was exhilarating.

After a late breakfast /early lunch of mac and cheese excavated from the freezer, it was time to hit the road. The dashboard display had been indicating the tire pressure was low for a few days. Thanks to a stop at the nearby gas station and the miniscule investment of $1.50 for peace of mind and road safety, they are back to the correct level of 35 psi, or 240 kpa as shown on the display – whatever that is. Thank goodness for the door sticker with the info that matches the numbers on the air machines.

From the service station it was a quick trip the post office to drop a couple things in the drive-up mailbox. The parking lot was packed, and thank goodness I didn't need to go inside the building.  Then it was off to Fitchburg to pick up a couple Christmas gifts available only in the ‘Burg. 

Additional stops at Barnes & Noble and Ocean State Job Lot provided a couple other gifts and some household seasonal items. Pet safe ice melt – check! There was the discovery of rubber treads for the concrete front steps that have been a treacherous nightmare for six winters. I never knew such a thing even existed until today, probably because I am great at avoiding shopping. Winston is a little weirded out by the rubber treads, so it could take some time for him to adjust to the new feel, but with a little patience, we'll get there. I hope. 

The only minor hiccup/disappointment of the day happened when Aldi didn’t have the Brenner Tea Co turmeric and ginger tea I recently fell in love with from there. Maybe I should have checked a couple weeks ago when I was nearby, but that day I thought, “nah, I don’t want to go into Aldi for just one item.” Today, I was stopping for two items, and came away with a cart full. Not unusual.

Driving home, there was a sense of relief. Not just mental, but a physical loosening of tension. Seems like a Christmas miracle. Or something. Whatever it is, it feels pretty good. 

Now the focus can shift to the baking. The Land O'Lakes cookie cookbook has been consulted, where each recipe is carefully crafted to use a ton of butter, causing my sister to accurately dub it the "Ass O'Lard cookbook." The baking grocery list was drafted for the odd ingredients not on hand like orange peel, mini marshmallows, and food coloring. That's when the steam ran out and I couldn't convince myself to go to Market Basket tonight. Hopefully, Sunday morning will feature the same energetic start that today had.

random truths – Day 1,004 (Friday) – no more cuddles

In the personal history day calendar, December 16 is a Winston anniversary. On this date in 2011, Winston came to my home in Tennessee (aka “The 402”) to stay with me and Moose for an overnight visit to see if we would all get along. Spoiler alert, we did.

Cuddle puddle, Dec. 16, 2011.

That night, valuable lessons were learned. It seemed none of us knew how to play. There was no rope tug of war. No ball chasing. No rolling about on the floor. Toys were ignored that night and every day and night afterward. Instead, we laid on the couch. Or, more accurately, I laid on the couch, and they laid on me as if I was some sort of doggy furniture. When I shifted them off me and got up from the couch, they both followed me everywhere we went. We were a content and happy cuddle puddle. 

Dogs laying on me and following me everywhere happened constantly when there were three of us. It was the case in Tennessee, the three years living at Mom’s after I moved back, and then for nearly five years at The BungaLowell. I liked it.

Now that there are only two of us, there is no more cuddling. No cute little critter follows me around the house. Winston lays in his bed, or on the couch out of my reach. I miss the old  level of attention, even if it was motivated primarily by canine rivalry.

random truths – Day 1,003 (Thursday) – ugly Christmas sweater

In 2009, I wrote a blog about how much I hated Christmas sweaters. I wrote (in my best movie announcer voice), “They are everywhere. It's like a science fiction fashion nightmare. They came from nowhere … soon they were everywhere … of Biblical proportions … it was the annual plague of the Christmas sweaters…”

Then, I continued with, “I refuse to go there. If my options were wearing a Christmas sweater or going naked and freezing at Christmas dinner, I'd choose freezing. Or skipping dinner altogether. There are very few things I take a hard stand on. This is one of them. It might actually be the only one. I swear (and I beg) if you ever, ever, see me in a Christmas appliqué sweater adorned with ornaments and/or Scottie dogs in berets and/or Christmas trees and/or little jingly bells, please, please just shoot me on sight.”

By 2012, my harsh stance on all things Christmas sweaters had softened. Maybe I became more mature or something. Or maybe it was the invitation to an Ugly Sweater Party that had me searching for one. I wasn’t going to attend a themed party and not play along. Any sweater at all would do, but none could be found where there had been entire racks of the things a couple weeks earlier.

DIY Ugly Sweater.

The solution ended up being a DIY project involving a green cardigan from a thrift store that looked like it landed there straight from the community room of some nursing home. I could picture the previous owner bundled in the sweater, rocking in a chair near a picture window. 

Thanks to Mom teaching me how to sew when I was a kid, the cardigan was decorated with a red bra from the same thrift shop and festooned with white yarn for candy cane straps, strings of Christmas tree beads and red glittery tree clips that said “Ho Ho Ho.” The effect was something like a geriatric belly dance hooker on the loose. 

The monstrosity was worn to a house party on December 15, 2012. Luckily, nobody had read or remembered reading the plea to shoot me on sight if seen in a Christmas sweater, or they weren’t feeling especially violent. And I came in second in the prize awarding, behind a quite amazing sweat pants, sweatshirt combo that was fully wired with Christmas tree lights. My mad design skills earned me an adult alcohol and hot cocoa kit.

Another party guest admired my sweater and asked to borrow it for another party. I gave it to her. I was going to be moving soon, and it was one less thing to move. It was a night of lessons. Opinions can change. Christmas themed sweaters can be worn and I won't burst into flames. I can be generous. That's quite a lot from a thrift store cardigan.

random truths – Day 1,002 (Wednesday) – lucky cat

The calendar indicates that there are not that many days left until Christmas. Some years, at this point, I'm kicked back biding time and waiting. This year, I’m not ready. I've barely begun. 

The cards are done except for one that needs an address check. The two gifts that needed to be shipped are handled. Those are the successes. Focusing on the positives in this situation is not really helping.

Stress is blooming with a fury over the rest of the list which includes all the family, a couple friends, and the office Yankee Swap gift. Over the past three weeks, hours have been spent after work looking at potential gifts online until I’m so torqued up and stressed out that I have to go to bed. When I wake up, the realization that another day is lost in the gift mission hits like a cold slap of water in the face. 

Lunch hour shopping is out of the question. The lunch "hour" is only 30-minutes. There are practically no stores downtown near work. The only store near home close enough to get to and back in 30-minutes is Family Dollar.

I visited Dollar Buy, one of the few downtown stores, on Monday. The cluttered little store has been a source of amusement for me for several years with the crazy translations and incorrect product descriptions. It's where I bought a “movable stick,” more commonly called a rolling pin. Monday I saw a package labeled “sewing kit” which was actually a package of buttons. The Dollar Buy melamine dishware, assorted hardware items, slippers, and kitchen tools do not scream the names of anyone in my family. 

It's a certainty I’m the only one in my family who finds the shiny gold Asian Lucky Cat with the waving arm to be charming. The discription on amazon includes the helpful info that "The cute cat's profile design and smiling eyes are full of happiness and auspiciousness, making people feel happy, a raised right paw supposedly attracts money, while a raised left paw attracts customers. Traditional Japanese-Chinese decoration for the 21st century. Bring you health, wealth and wisdom. Whatever you do, the good luck will follow you." 

This delightful item, while both available and affordable during my visit to Dollar Buy, would not be well received as a gift by anyone on my list, and I'm pretty sure it wouldn't be the item everyone wants to steal in the office Yankee Swap. 

The baking isn’t started, and I don’t even know what I’m going to bake. Or when it’s magically supposed to happen. The menu isn’t planned for Christmas Eve, so the family and I may be eating a sleeve of saltines and staring at each other that day. At least I already have a box of those. Unless, in desperation and panic, I end up wrapping those cracker sleeves as gifts.

Work is so much easier than real life. At least there, I know what needs doing, and there are teammates who help, when needed. At home …. that is a totally different story where the plot has lots of holes and poorly developed characters. There could be a plot twist in this year's Christmas story where I decide to say "screw it," not shop, not cook, tell everyone to stay home, and hide under the covers. 

Maybe I should have bought myself the Lucky Asian Cat at Dollar Buy for the wisdom and good luck. I wonder if the product benefits would kick in immediately if I bought it tomorrow.

random truths – Day 1,001 (Tuesday) – 1,001 nights

The day after the 1,000 bits of writing, the thing that was stuck in my head was "1,001 nights." Except in my head, it was less about the collection of Arabian fairy tales 1,001 Nights (also known as Arabian Nights). 

Instead of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves or Aladdin's Wonderful Lamp, my head kept appending it as One Thousand and One Night Stands, the title of an autobiography of Ted Shawn, “America’s greatest male dancer.” I read it while in high school and mostly remember it as being about a touring with the dance company and sleeping in a different town every night. Whether this is an accurate memory is debatable. But the idea of being on the road and living out of a suitcase for 1,001 nights sounds awful to me. 

Then my brain changes the pacing of the words and it becomes “one thousand and one nightstands” and imagines row upon row of night tables and ponders how much physical space would be required to hold that many pieces of furniture.

The next evolution becomes “one thousand one-night stands,” which seems like it would be quite a lot of one-nighters and I have to wonder if I know anyone who has that kind of stamina and track record. But if we’re talking about Wilt Chamberlain and his claim of sleeping with 20,000 women, then 1,001 is less intriguing.

This happens a lot – playing with words, the accent, and phrasing. I remember once when I was a kid and saw the word “canary” and couldn’t figure out if it was pronounced like the bird and the color “canary yellow” or was it actually “cannery row,” a place I heard of in a movie, but did not see in print until much later.

This is how I amuse myself sometimes when doing the laundry or changing the sheets or cleaning the house. Small entertainments can be the stuff that get a person through a day. Canary, cannery. Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 1,000 (Monday) – one thousand

For better or worse, this little writing amusement never had an exit plan. Heck, there was never even an entrance plan. It spontaneously sprung forth as a way to process the mental shift of the sudden transition from working full-time in the office to full-time remote work from home. My launch to remote work had two hours notice to grab what was needed from the office before leaving for the day and beginning to work from home the next morning. The supplies grab consisted of a notepad, a few printouts from a current project, a blue pen, a red pen, a highlighter, and not much else. 

There wasn’t even anyone at home to talk with about the situation at hand, global or hyper-local. There still isn’t. The void is mostly okay, but felt especially keenly when there is good news to tell and nobody to share it with. The writing took over, which was mostly me talking to myself. 

My team and I thought working from home would be a two-week long scenario. In the early days of the pandemic, nobody knew what was going on and it was an intriguing and almost intoxicating blend of stressful, mysterious, and a dash of exciting with a hint of adventure. Remote life, hunkered down in the BungaLowell during the pandemic, was little more than working, eating, sleeping, ordering food deliveries, and writing. It lasted a solid 18 months before reverting to the hybrid schedule and regular, outside human contact and often awkward in-person conversations (at least on my part).

Snow tracks.

Through it all, the daily logging of the minutia of one little life became a habit with no actual plan to either continue or to stop. Today's tidbits are, in a nutshell, it snowed last night and there were little critter tracks this morning; work included the Mortgage team's presentation of a Christmas story (The Night Before the Night Before Christmas) with breakfast pizza; the Post Office was visited at lunch to buy stamps; it was soup for supper. 

Perhaps the biggest surprise was that day after day, people kept reading. Sometimes, friends reached out if a posting seemed late. People commented on posts in real life conversations. And as the calendar began to close in on 1,000 days, a couple people asked if there was anything special planned for the milestone. Fun fact – very little, if anything, about this entire bloggy adventure was planned. Most of it has been cranked out in a nightly span of one to three hours propelled by a state of panic.

The approach to 1,000 days and the sense that there should be something special to commemorate it made it feel more stressful than usual. There was no plan. It has all been a stretch of “flying by the seat of the pants” and there is still neither a continuation plan nor an exit strategy. The best I can come up with is a revision of the title because while life is no longer “Remoted,” it still often feels random.

Maybe it’s time to let this revert back to the original “random thoughts,” words chosen deliberately back in 2009 to allow for randomness of both topics and timing. As for keeping the daily counter, I guess we’ll see.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 999 (Sunday) – closet work

A task that has been on the house to-do list for nearly six years was done today. Not by me. I was playing Scrabble with Mom. It was StepDad to the rescue again, slaying the tasks for which I lack the tools, knowledge, and skill set to handle myself.

There is a closet that sits between the two bedrooms upstairs, with a door to it in each room. It seems it may have belonged to the spare room, but at some point, the doorknob was removed and the door was covered in the same paneling as the room. When that door was opened, it exposed the backside of a plywood backwall.

From the main bedroom, two louvered doors opened to reveal the ductwork for the central heat and A/C and four slanted shelves that seemed like shoe racks, which was exciting until attempting to use it. It didn’t take long to discover it was possibly a good concept with poor execution that made it mostly a waste of space. The shelves were twice as deep as any shoes, and held about five individual shoes which didn’t sit well on them and just fell over or slid off. Because the shelves were angled, they weren’t very useful for anything else.

Today, StepDad and StepBro were over and in about three hours, they reconfigured the closet while Mom and I visited and competed over the board of letter tiles. The closet access is now from the spare room and the shelves are level, making them much more user friendly. From the main bedroom, the louvered doors open to reveal not much more than plywood right now and space to hang things like belts and scarves, but a full-length mirror may be installed there. No rush.

Now I need to figure out what to store in the newly functional spare room closet that will have the greatest impact on the mess in the room. For now, one shelf holds a dozen or more binders of slides and negatives from my prolific early days of traditional photography. The top shelf holds four or five assorted vintage and recent costume hats, with at least twice as many more still scattered around the room. Over there is a top hat. There’s a stack of fedoras. There are a couple boleros. Between hats and vintage purses, I could open a shop. Getting rid of stuff will help, but that may require intense psychological counseling to plow through.

Snow!

Within a half hour of the closet work being done and the family unit heading out, it was a surprise to see the snow falling around 3:30 and the car lightly coated. The weather reports I saw over the past few days seemed to indicate that the snow was expected later in the day, and not really in my area. Or I read it wrong, which wouldn’t be the first time. Maybe instead of Finnish language classes I should focus on finding a class in weather report comprehension. 

There was the weekly run to fetch Winston’s roasted chicken and the freshy printed holiday cards were picked up. Upon arriving home in the steady snowfall, it occurred to me I should have bought some snow melt. The remaining half bag from last year has become solid and the scoop broke. The snow was falling steadily. The phone weather app said it would snow would continue “for 120 minutes,” which has been the message for four hours now.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 998 (Saturday) – holiday progress

It was a bit of a shock a few days ago upon realizing that Christmas is in two weeks. Time has really pulled a ninja style sneak attack. The sudden awareness occurred when working on an ad schedule and was accompanied by an audible “oh sh*t, Christmas is in two weeks.” At work. In the office office with witnesses. Since that moment, there has been an exponentially escalating stress level over the lack of preparedness.

Despite trolling websites and cyber window shopping since Thanksgiving, which already feels like it was forever ago, only one gift is done, and it still needs to be wrapped, packed and mailed. The rest of the list is tragically absent of ideas. There have been multiple attempts to take new photos for the Christmas card and a dozen test prints done which were lackluster and boring and the idea count sat solidly at zero. The card has featured an original photo for the past skatey-eight million years and this hardly feels like the time to just stop, so the jaw has been clenched and the teeth grinding over it. I don't think I was aware of the precedent being set all those years ago in photography class. 

After the angst, tonight, there was finally movement on the holiday front. 

The black foil tabletop tree is set up and decorated in the living room. Wreaths are hung on both sides of the front door and on the coat closet door. A stocking is hung on the linen closet door. The card image has been chosen, the cards are ordered, and they will be ready for pickup tomorrow. Thank you Walgreen’s photo and the 50% off coupon that I got to use just under the expiration date wire. If only the postage stamps could be gotten for half-off, but that fantasy is probably just pushing things.

Progress feels good and my shoulders may soon return to their natural position below the earlobes. With luck, the gift situation will be blessed with some sort of inspiration so the focus and the gears can shift to baking.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 997 (Friday) – pet parent origin story

On this date in 2009, the story of how I met Moose was written. It was a case of love at first sight. At the time, I lived in Tennessee and had a live-in boyfriend. 

December 9, 2009 

For months Wade has been saying he wants a dog. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not been an everyday topic of conversation, but he’s mentioned it enough times for it to be pretty darned clear he wants a dog.

The refrain was repeated after Thea and Paul visited in July with their sweet dog Lilly. It reached a crescendo over Thanksgiving when we were in the company of the adorable Sir, Desiree and Sagi’s miniature pinscher from New York City, and Zoe, Carmen and Justin’s sweet-tempered dog in Virginia. So, of course, after returning home from Thanksgiving, the topic was reintroduced. This time, we took it so far as to explore breeds and criteria – not a large dog, not a breed that sheds. A big step in the process, my opening the door for the conversation. The conversation, once rolling, included who would get custody of the dog should we break up. We were dog paddling in some serious waters.

While never opposed to the idea, I was also never jumping with joy over it. For one thing, I’m more of a cat person. The lazy kind of cat person – as in, if one starts showing up on my doorstep, I’ll give it kitty massages between its little shoulder blades and talk sweetly to it and feed it kitty food and lactose-free milk so it won’t barf on my floors. It can come inside whenever it wants and leave just as easily. Independent, low maintenance, can use a litter box and not require regulated walking and sweaters and booties. Perfect.

Consequently, I had reservations about the dog thing. Major reservations. There’s the dog walking and the potential for scratched hardwood floors and chewed shoes. But the biggest reservation, the one that sends cold chills down my spine and causes my stomach to turn, has to do with a feeling of obligation – of being tied down by another creature that depends on me to provide food, water, fresh air, attention, walking. Every day. I cringe at this sense of duty. I reel with dizziness at the cramping of my free-wheeling lifestyle of weekend trips, spontaneous activities and not having to come straight home from work.

I imagine this is the same panic that causes guys to blanch and freak out when a girlfriend mentions the words “commitment” or “marriage” and they are facing the perceived loss of, well, all freedom. Yes, that bad. Then I remembered. In three years I have taken maybe 7 trips, none longer than a week – not quite what I’d call the life of an active traveler. My passport is expired. I don’t get enough vacation time to be jetting off all the time. I don’t make enough money to be jetting anywhere ever. I’m too lazy to plan a trip. I hate traveling alone and Wade works every weekend. I was still living in the vapors of the fantasy life I had outlined for myself but never got around to executing.

The face I fell in love with on Petfinder.

So, after months of resistance on my part, I started looking at the pictures of dogs on the Humane Society website. I read about the personalities and shedding of different breeds. I took an online quiz that analyzed personality and recommended potentially compatible dog types. Last night, I browsed the doggies on the Humane Society site again – and there he was. A sweet chocolate brown face peering at me from the list. “Moose.” Adult Male. Jack Russell Terrier / Min Pin. I clicked for more information. I was smitten. 

Today at lunchtime, Wade and I went to the shelter (conveniently located around the corner from my office) to check out Moose. He was as cute in real life as in cyber. An amorous boy, he was trying like heck to hump the pug in the pen with him, but when we took him out of the pen, he was calm. He was cuddly. He was a perfect little gentleman. We liked him and he seemed to like us. When Junior got out of school, the two guys went back to the shelter for another visit, an outdoor walk and some playtime. If Moose wasn’t good with Junior, it would be a deal breaker. They got along fabulously.

The paperwork is completed, the adoption fee paid, and Moose, (soon to maybe be called “Jack,” but we’ll have to see about that) was shipped off to the vet for his mandatory neutering. We can pick him up tomorrow from the vet (conveniently located near the house). There is already a welcoming gift awaiting his arrival home, courtesy of the shelter – doggy treats, a cute bandanna, a stuffed chewy toy and lots of coupons for dog care and grooming. It’s going to be a Merry Christmas. 

December 9, 2023: Moose and I had a great run that began December 10, 2009 when he came home after his vet visit, until August 7, 2021 when he breathed his last breath while I stroked his head. He was stubborn, cuddly, charming, and endlessly amusing. He didn't bark for the first month he was at the house, but once he found his voice, he had a lot to say. Now, when I look at his pictures from the online listing, I see it is his worried face, one of many facial expressions in his repertoire. And I miss every one of them.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 996 (Thursday) – santa rampage

North Pole Coal, Caretaker
 of Santa's Naughty List.

On December 8, 2012, hundreds of Santas walked into a bar. More accurately, they descended upon Nashville, Tennessee for a barhopping event called “Santa Rampage.” My friend and I were there. We had heard about the event just one day prior, and being single girls with nothing to hinder us on a Saturday night, were all in for some Santa fun. Nothing provokes inspiration like a sudden deadline. 

We gathered costumes and off we went. She was a cute and sexy Santa helper in a red velvety dress with white fur trim, a platinum blonde wig, and a Santa hat.

My approach was a bit different. Not feeling especially Santa-ish, it was “North Pole Coal, Caretaker of Santa’s Naughty List” for me. It was an excuse to wear mostly all black. Red in my closet? Hardly ever. Black? Now we’re talking. Except I went out and bought a bunch of new black stuff anyway. A black fake fur jacket and a tiered shimmery skirt from Target girls department were paired with a beaded top, blue wig, black beret, and tall boots with buckles. 

A blue Christmas stocking held lumps of candy coal and the “Official Naughty List” fashioned from a long scroll of gift wrap paper. After a beer or two, I managed to have people adding their own names to the Naughty List. I used to be fun. And size large from the girls department small.

Santa Rampage! Nashville, 2012

After gathering near a giant Christmas tree for a photo, the mob of Santas, assorted angels, elves, reindeer, snowmen, and I poured into the streets visiting bar after bar. Santas bellied up to the bar at Riverfront Tavern and filtered into Hooters. Santas danced on the bar at Coyote Ugly. 

It was crowded. It was practically impossible to get close enough to a bar to order a drink, which helped prevent drinking too much. It was fun. We said we’d do it again. 

We didn’t know it at the time, but that was my last Christmas season in Clarksville. My house finally sold a month later, after being on the market for about a year. It’s what I asked Santa for, so I must have gotten myself off the naughty list that year. The corrector tape on the list I was entrusted with must have worked. 

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 995 (Wednesday) – cooking

Thank goodness the interest in cooking is coming back. It’s a lot more fun when it doesn’t feel like a chore. Tonight’s supper, inspired by what was in the fridge and the cabinet was tasty.

Supper!

It started with a pat of butter and a splash of olive oil, chopped onion, green beans, carrot, and mushroom. An excavation of the freezer yielded linguini and the cabinet had a jar of pesto. While the linguini cooked in the saucepan, the veggies were in the fry pan with a bit of garlic. It was all mixed with a splash of milk, a splash of the linguini water, a solid shake of grated parmesan, and it was supper in a bowl, with a couple Kalamata olives. Delicious. And there are leftovers to look forward to. And the one slightly out of focus photo taken.

The downside to the operation is always the sink full of dishes. Tonight it’s the fry pan, the saucepan, multiple knives, the cutting board, the bowl that held the chopped vegetables, the other bowl that held the meal, all still waiting for me to return and take care of them. 

The dishwasher is still full from being run last night. The cycle continues. Cook, make things dirty, eat, clean. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Adulting is not nearly as fun as I imagined it to be when I was a kid. Well, the part about eating whatever, whenever is pretty cool.