“There is much I don’t understand . . . Much the world does not understand. But we should not be afraid. How else will we discover the answers?”
An uplifting quote from a graphic novel I’m reading*. Thinky thoughts with lovely artwork = Win/win.
I went to rehab Monday (treadmill 30 min, recumbent bike 20 min), stopped briefly at my mom’s house to lend moral support for the plumbing disaster that thankfully didn’t materialize, shopped all over Wal-Mart, shopped all over Market Street to get the things Wal-Mart didn’t have, schlepped it all home and put 95% of it away. I managed to muster the energy to eat something, crawled into bed about 9 p.m., crashed, burned, and slept through most of Tuesday.
Baked three small potatoes the other night. Wash the potato with a brush, dry it with a cloth, smear the skin liberally with olive oil and bake at 360º for 1 hour. When you bake them in the oven with the olive oil, the skins become so soft you can eat the whole tater. I bake them three at a time because energy efficiency. The oil baked into the skins seals in the goodness and allows them to be refrigerated for up to a week without losing their moist, flaky texture. I like to slice them open and lay them out in a soup bowl, throw all kinds of toppings (finely chopped meat, drained vegetables, butter, maybe a little Ranch dressing, or whatever else is handy) on them, top with sprinkle cheese and nuke in the microwave. I just finished hoovering one up moments ago, in fact. Serious noms.
Monday the 21st is my last session of cardiac rehab before Xmas, with two more sessions left in this annus horribilis. I’ve got three more Julekuler to knit before Monday (little tokens of appreciation for the cardiac rehab therapists). Won’t be hard. Snuggle into my knitting knook, deploy a lap robe, conjure up a little music, a little yarn, a little time . . . A pleasant interlude to stoke up on some serious Christmas spirit.
Next week, I get to mom-clean** the house and orchestrate a Christmas dinner for two. As I have mentioned on several occasions previously, my threshold for critical mess*** is a good deal higher than that of other members of my immediate family, and roundtoits have been a little thin on the ground of late. But now I have Bluetooth earbuds, and there is Psychedlik.com with 24/7 psytrance music. Yowsa. I find I can get busy better when there is appropriate music to get out and push. . .
Next week (Tuesday, in fact), I also get the long awaited crown seated which marks the final installment of the dental implant process that has been a work in progress for lo, these many moons. I’ll have seven molars again, just in time for Christmas Dinner! Oh, frabjous day.
I really, really need to haul the fold-up banquet table out from under my bed, get out my blocking squares and T-pins, the steam iron, an extension cord, a couple bath towels, a tea towel, and my spray bottle and block some shawls. These two are among the three made from acrylic yarn that I need to kill. Whether I will or not remains to be seen. As I mentioned, roundtoits have been rather thin on the ground of late.
Got my name in print. Thursday, I received my hardback copy of Trader’s Leap by Steve Miller and Sharon Lee, in which my name appears in the forward as one of the Mighty Tyop Hunters, as I helped proofread the E-ARC**** for oopsies, fingerfumbles, and say, what?’s — which I would have done anyway for no other reason than to express my gratitude for the many years of Liaden Universe reading pleasure I’ve gotten from the books of this literary dynamic duo. They are among the few authors whose books I keep in dead tree editions for post-apocalyptic rereading because, unlike ebooks, they require neither electricity nor technology to operate. Space opera at its finest.
Two weeks left in 2020. Thirty two days left before we get that dumpster fire out of the Oval Office. There is a vaccine! The VA will be getting and giving the Moderna flavor of it. I may have to drive to Amarillo to get it, but I will be able to get it. I continue to hope against Hope that the light we are glimpsing faintly at the end of this long, dark tunnel is not another train.
*Caveat: The one this quote came from is for the open-minded reader. **Clean enough for you is not necessarily clean enough for your mom. Still, a house ought to be mom-cleaned at least once a year. The only clean cleaner than mom-clean is feng shui clean, which happens in the week before Chinese New Year. *** critical mess -- the point at which your inability to stand the mess any longer sets off a chain-reaction of house cleaning. ****E-ARC - Advanced Reader's Copies are nowadays sent out as ebooks.