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If you're happy and you know it
As reported earlier in these pages, today's weather is stunningly beautiful. I could have ignored that fact -- had intended to ignore that fact, because my ghod is there stuff that needs doing around here! -- but commonsense and a certain disinclination to stay inside and do chores while feeling progressively more ill-done-by prevailed.
I went to Belfast, yes I did; Route 9 (so as to stop at the post office and reap what spoils might be there) to Route 7. There were surprisingly few vehicles on the road, though about a third of those fellow travelers had their deer with them, sometimes visible as just a couple of hooved feet sticking straight up out of the bed of a pick-up; twice on a skidder towed behind said pick-up.
The rain that had drowned East Winslow Thursday, Thursday night, and all day Friday had last night changed to snow along the higher elevations of Route 7, the resulting white cover was far more impressive from a distance than up close.
Belfast was, well -- a sample is
-- which made me happy.
In addition to visiting the sea, I walked up into town and stopped by Coyote Moon, which pretty often makes me happy, because I'm a big, big fan of ooh! shiny! Usually, I treat Coyote Moon as a museum; today I bought earrings -- two pair! -- which made me happy. The last pair of earrings I bought was from the art show at Noreascon Four. The nice lady behind the counter wrapped each pair for me in a piece of tissue paper the color of the sky over Belfast Bay.
I also bought a pair of socks, because socks make me happy; and a set of glass-and-metal mini-windchimes to hang in my office at work, because the sound of windchimes makes me happy, though perhaps the same isn't true of the guy in the office next door. I tried on a black dress with jet beads sewn to the jacket, and a Spanish skirt, but it didn't make me happy, so I left it there.
After that bit of retail therapy, I moved on to the Good Table, where it was my intention to buy a plastic measuring cup for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kinzel. Alas, there were none, but -- I bought a cookbook (I heard that, you in the back), which I hope will eventually make me happy*.
That accomplished, I walked around to the Belfast Co-op because the smells, the shelves and watching the patrons makes me happy, bought some onions and a loaf of multi-grain Borealis bread, returned to the car and so to home.
Arrived, and the packages enhoused, I made myself dinner. I chopped up the smallest of my onions and started it frying in olive oil (which made me happy; I love chopping onions; I adore the sssssssss sound they make when they hit the hot oil; and the aroma), added some canned green beans and then a veggie burger (which, yes, does demonstrate the need of that cookbook). When everything was cooked, I removed it to a white china plate, put provolone cheese to melt over the top and buttered a slice of Borealis bread. All of which, believe it or not, made me happy.
The cats checked in when I got home, and Mozart shifted his base of naperations to the rocker in my office when I sat down to write this blog entry. Scrabble has gone back to Steve's office, the better to Hold the Fort.
I still have chores to do, but they don't seem anywhere near as onerous -- and which I'd better get to.
*One of the things I haven't sorted out yet about the day-job is the vexed question of meals. During my years working at home, I'd gotten accustomed to eating dinner in the middle of the day, and a sandwich in the evening. This makes more sense than at first seems: Steve and I both tend to write best at night, and a sandwich is much easier to eat at the keyboard, if necessary, then a plate of spaghetti.
So, anyhow, since the day-job, I've been taking brown rice and veggies to work -- which is fine; brown rice is one of my comfort foods, but it gets a little boring -- which I eat at my desk while I work, then I come home and get to work and sometime around seven or eight, I have a sandwich...I miss having a real dinner sometimes, is what I'm saying here.
Which brings me to Not Your Mother's Slow Cooker Recipes for Two. We have a crockpot, which has been languishing lo! these months. My hope is to have a hot meal when I get home (before I start writing for the day) a couple days a week, which will make me feel less like a grumpy extension of my keyboard and more like a human being.
And now -- those chores.
I went to Belfast, yes I did; Route 9 (so as to stop at the post office and reap what spoils might be there) to Route 7. There were surprisingly few vehicles on the road, though about a third of those fellow travelers had their deer with them, sometimes visible as just a couple of hooved feet sticking straight up out of the bed of a pick-up; twice on a skidder towed behind said pick-up.
The rain that had drowned East Winslow Thursday, Thursday night, and all day Friday had last night changed to snow along the higher elevations of Route 7, the resulting white cover was far more impressive from a distance than up close.
Belfast was, well -- a sample is
-- which made me happy.
In addition to visiting the sea, I walked up into town and stopped by Coyote Moon, which pretty often makes me happy, because I'm a big, big fan of ooh! shiny! Usually, I treat Coyote Moon as a museum; today I bought earrings -- two pair! -- which made me happy. The last pair of earrings I bought was from the art show at Noreascon Four. The nice lady behind the counter wrapped each pair for me in a piece of tissue paper the color of the sky over Belfast Bay.
I also bought a pair of socks, because socks make me happy; and a set of glass-and-metal mini-windchimes to hang in my office at work, because the sound of windchimes makes me happy, though perhaps the same isn't true of the guy in the office next door. I tried on a black dress with jet beads sewn to the jacket, and a Spanish skirt, but it didn't make me happy, so I left it there.
After that bit of retail therapy, I moved on to the Good Table, where it was my intention to buy a plastic measuring cup for
kinzel. Alas, there were none, but -- I bought a cookbook (I heard that, you in the back), which I hope will eventually make me happy*.That accomplished, I walked around to the Belfast Co-op because the smells, the shelves and watching the patrons makes me happy, bought some onions and a loaf of multi-grain Borealis bread, returned to the car and so to home.
Arrived, and the packages enhoused, I made myself dinner. I chopped up the smallest of my onions and started it frying in olive oil (which made me happy; I love chopping onions; I adore the sssssssss sound they make when they hit the hot oil; and the aroma), added some canned green beans and then a veggie burger (which, yes, does demonstrate the need of that cookbook). When everything was cooked, I removed it to a white china plate, put provolone cheese to melt over the top and buttered a slice of Borealis bread. All of which, believe it or not, made me happy.
The cats checked in when I got home, and Mozart shifted his base of naperations to the rocker in my office when I sat down to write this blog entry. Scrabble has gone back to Steve's office, the better to Hold the Fort.
I still have chores to do, but they don't seem anywhere near as onerous -- and which I'd better get to.
*One of the things I haven't sorted out yet about the day-job is the vexed question of meals. During my years working at home, I'd gotten accustomed to eating dinner in the middle of the day, and a sandwich in the evening. This makes more sense than at first seems: Steve and I both tend to write best at night, and a sandwich is much easier to eat at the keyboard, if necessary, then a plate of spaghetti.
So, anyhow, since the day-job, I've been taking brown rice and veggies to work -- which is fine; brown rice is one of my comfort foods, but it gets a little boring -- which I eat at my desk while I work, then I come home and get to work and sometime around seven or eight, I have a sandwich...I miss having a real dinner sometimes, is what I'm saying here.
Which brings me to Not Your Mother's Slow Cooker Recipes for Two. We have a crockpot, which has been languishing lo! these months. My hope is to have a hot meal when I get home (before I start writing for the day) a couple days a week, which will make me feel less like a grumpy extension of my keyboard and more like a human being.
And now -- those chores.
no subject
If your local store inexplicably stops carrying Mexican-style tomatoes, as mine has, you can use plain and add a second jalapeño.
Serves 4, in theory. (I was extra-hungry last night. Ahem.) If anything it's even better reheated.
This goes great with cornbread, not that I've found the time to make a batch of that recently...
no subject
Enjoy!!
no subject
I made a simple chicken soup today, which made me happy. Also I baked cinnamon-almond muffins, which made me very happy. And we cleaned out our two paperback bookshelves, which believe it or not made me very happy because I'm tired of living in a mess. We just went through and did the "I don't want this any more, do you?" "Do you want to keep this?" routine. NB: My husband picked up Agent, Carpe, and Conflict, and said, "I don't even need to ask." I hope that makes you happy. :)
Crockpots!
(Anonymous) 2007-11-18 09:36 pm (UTC)(link)I'm *good* with a crockpot. I have recipes for almost everything from a bean dish for people who don't know how to cook at all, to a lasgana that's a lot of work but really, really worth it.
Not to mention how well it makes real steel-cut oatmeal, as well as cornmeal mush (cooked overnight; ready for breakfast when you get up, no work, yum yum!)
Would be happy to post some recipes if you can give me an idea of what you eat, and perhaps how long you are willing to spend in the morning setting things up.
--Susan
no subject
(Anonymous) 2007-11-20 09:28 pm (UTC)(link)Lynda
no subject