Forward into the past
Jan. 17th, 2003 07:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pameladeanI wonder if even I will be able to untangle the chronology. I think the order in which I recall things is terminally odd.
Thursday I got up late and was immediately behind on everything. I did manage to put together a double batch of Barbara Tropp's recipe for Hoisin Explosion Chicken, only I used chicken-style seitan, more cashews, and peapods instead of bamboo shoots. It was very nice. Eric arrived in plenty of time to prepare the peppers and peapods, and to help stir when the load got too heavy for me. Over dinner the four of us discussed daily events, the upcoming Minneapa collation, the angelfish, the upcoming anti-war protests, and almost certainly cats.
Eric and I snuggled on the couch for a bit, and he read me pieces from Gibbon, mostly about the Monophysites. I went upstairs and put together a very hurried Simon's order for the Not Cooking that I anticipate so eagerly. I must have said, "And that is yet another reason that I am taking a vacation from cooking," at least three times during the course of making dinner; the only reason for which I remember saying it is that I growled at David for putting his glass on the cutting board for a whole thirty seconds. (The putting, not the growling, took thirty seconds.)
I did some laundry and dish puttering; Eric left, his hat and gloves being dry enough. I went upstairs and had some conversation and snuggling with Raphael; packed my stuff, went downstairs and had a big hug from David plus a look at, I think, Page 2 of the last issue of "Gray Lensman," slowly, slowly, slowly printing away in all its glory; and just made my bus.
Eric kindly did the rest of his Gibbon reading in bed where we could snuggle more. I had forgotten my book, so I picked up a copy of Linda Nagata's VAST and was unexpectedly absorbed. We had a nice date.
This morning, I took the bus downtown and picked up my medication. There's got to be a way to get the different prescriptions synchronized. At least the automatic refill stuff all worked right. I thought for a while that it had not, but as it turned out, the combination of my cold-benumbed pronunciation and the slight hearing impairment of the pharmacist made him look for me in the wrong part of the alphabet.
I bussed home on the 18G, which meant walking from Grand Avenue back over to Blaisdell. This is seldom a difficulty, but I was to see that stretch of street a lot today. After a mixup with the Kitty Klinic (sic) had been straightened out, I walked over there to pick up an interim amount of Tapazole for Minou, and home again. Then I had a discussion with David, who was busy denuding the downstairs of extraneous objects, about whether my cooking would help or hinder the general effort. We decided it might hinder, especially the getting the kitchen even dirtier part, so I then consulted Raphael and called Saigon and walked over there (the fourth trip between Blaisdell and Grand) and came back (the fifth trip) with mock duck and potatoes, curried mock duck, and tofu with mixed vegetables. Mmmm.
I've got some laundry to do in aid both of the meeting directly, and of David's mother spending the night with us after the family birthday party. The house doesn't look so awful that I feel impelled to do any cleaning additional to what David and Lydy will manage. Well, not the part that the meeting will be in, anyway. The less said about the upstairs the better. But that's for next week.
I need to go actually write something so I can take tomorrow off with a clear conscience.
Pamela
Thursday I got up late and was immediately behind on everything. I did manage to put together a double batch of Barbara Tropp's recipe for Hoisin Explosion Chicken, only I used chicken-style seitan, more cashews, and peapods instead of bamboo shoots. It was very nice. Eric arrived in plenty of time to prepare the peppers and peapods, and to help stir when the load got too heavy for me. Over dinner the four of us discussed daily events, the upcoming Minneapa collation, the angelfish, the upcoming anti-war protests, and almost certainly cats.
Eric and I snuggled on the couch for a bit, and he read me pieces from Gibbon, mostly about the Monophysites. I went upstairs and put together a very hurried Simon's order for the Not Cooking that I anticipate so eagerly. I must have said, "And that is yet another reason that I am taking a vacation from cooking," at least three times during the course of making dinner; the only reason for which I remember saying it is that I growled at David for putting his glass on the cutting board for a whole thirty seconds. (The putting, not the growling, took thirty seconds.)
I did some laundry and dish puttering; Eric left, his hat and gloves being dry enough. I went upstairs and had some conversation and snuggling with Raphael; packed my stuff, went downstairs and had a big hug from David plus a look at, I think, Page 2 of the last issue of "Gray Lensman," slowly, slowly, slowly printing away in all its glory; and just made my bus.
Eric kindly did the rest of his Gibbon reading in bed where we could snuggle more. I had forgotten my book, so I picked up a copy of Linda Nagata's VAST and was unexpectedly absorbed. We had a nice date.
This morning, I took the bus downtown and picked up my medication. There's got to be a way to get the different prescriptions synchronized. At least the automatic refill stuff all worked right. I thought for a while that it had not, but as it turned out, the combination of my cold-benumbed pronunciation and the slight hearing impairment of the pharmacist made him look for me in the wrong part of the alphabet.
I bussed home on the 18G, which meant walking from Grand Avenue back over to Blaisdell. This is seldom a difficulty, but I was to see that stretch of street a lot today. After a mixup with the Kitty Klinic (sic) had been straightened out, I walked over there to pick up an interim amount of Tapazole for Minou, and home again. Then I had a discussion with David, who was busy denuding the downstairs of extraneous objects, about whether my cooking would help or hinder the general effort. We decided it might hinder, especially the getting the kitchen even dirtier part, so I then consulted Raphael and called Saigon and walked over there (the fourth trip between Blaisdell and Grand) and came back (the fifth trip) with mock duck and potatoes, curried mock duck, and tofu with mixed vegetables. Mmmm.
I've got some laundry to do in aid both of the meeting directly, and of David's mother spending the night with us after the family birthday party. The house doesn't look so awful that I feel impelled to do any cleaning additional to what David and Lydy will manage. Well, not the part that the meeting will be in, anyway. The less said about the upstairs the better. But that's for next week.
I need to go actually write something so I can take tomorrow off with a clear conscience.
Pamela
