![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
It's bitter cold. I am so fed up with cooking that I'm taking a six-week vacation from it starting after my birthday. It's not that I won't cook at all, it's that my cooking will no longer be the default. I'm hoping I'll be able to get something else done, including finding new recipes to add to the repetoire so I don't get so bored.
I'm still reading STEALING THE ELF-KING'S ROSES.
And still watching Season Six of "Buffy" with varying degrees of hope and infuriation.
Lydy has put some angelfish and some cory-catfish in the tank in the dining room. A recent dinner conversation in their presence was interrupted in layers; first David remarked on how oddly the angelfish moved and speculated on what the evolutionary aspects of that movement were, and then I interrupted him because Benson, the black one, kept coming across the same bit of dead vegetation, slurping it up, and spitting it out when he realized it was not food. At least my housemates and guests don't do that.
That dinner was okay. Dal, brown rice, curried eggplant, aloo gobi. We had to scrape a bit at the bottoms of several old jars of chutney. I must make more tomato chutney soon. Everybody likes it except David; it's too much like ketchup for his tastes. Early in my relationship with Eric, I told Raphael that Eric liked my cooking and liked the chutney, and Raphael told me solemnly, "Look, I'm fine with your having sex with him, but we really can't have anybody else eating the tomato chutney." (Lydy got the recipe from Elise's friend Sam, some time ago now. The first time I made it Sam had to lend me a handful of fennel seeds. I'd never used them before.)
Eric's been asking a lot of provocative questions about my book, resulting in my making a lot of notes and lists. Writing had better happen soon, though. I'm momentarily stymied by the unsystematic nature of Liavekan naming conventions, and also by the necessity of deciding whether I am actually going to add two more viewpoint characters.
I so don't like this time of year. The days are getting longer, I will say that. My cyclamen is resurrecting itself again and beginning to bloom.
Pamela
I'm still reading STEALING THE ELF-KING'S ROSES.
And still watching Season Six of "Buffy" with varying degrees of hope and infuriation.
Lydy has put some angelfish and some cory-catfish in the tank in the dining room. A recent dinner conversation in their presence was interrupted in layers; first David remarked on how oddly the angelfish moved and speculated on what the evolutionary aspects of that movement were, and then I interrupted him because Benson, the black one, kept coming across the same bit of dead vegetation, slurping it up, and spitting it out when he realized it was not food. At least my housemates and guests don't do that.
That dinner was okay. Dal, brown rice, curried eggplant, aloo gobi. We had to scrape a bit at the bottoms of several old jars of chutney. I must make more tomato chutney soon. Everybody likes it except David; it's too much like ketchup for his tastes. Early in my relationship with Eric, I told Raphael that Eric liked my cooking and liked the chutney, and Raphael told me solemnly, "Look, I'm fine with your having sex with him, but we really can't have anybody else eating the tomato chutney." (Lydy got the recipe from Elise's friend Sam, some time ago now. The first time I made it Sam had to lend me a handful of fennel seeds. I'd never used them before.)
Eric's been asking a lot of provocative questions about my book, resulting in my making a lot of notes and lists. Writing had better happen soon, though. I'm momentarily stymied by the unsystematic nature of Liavekan naming conventions, and also by the necessity of deciding whether I am actually going to add two more viewpoint characters.
I so don't like this time of year. The days are getting longer, I will say that. My cyclamen is resurrecting itself again and beginning to bloom.
Pamela
