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Consumables
Apr. 8th, 2014 10:57 amLast night the yogis had to come home unyog'd, due to evil cancellation of class: so they spread their mats in the back yard and performed their routines 'neath the orange tree. Which is at that lovely stage where it still has perfumed blossoms, while it already has teeny-tiny baby oranges, while it still has adult oranges from last year pendulous among its boughs.
So they stretched and bent and so forth out there, while the cats gazed at them yearningly through the insect-screens (for all the windows were open), while I curried chicken and okra (which I am starting to pronounce oh-kra as they do here, rather than the ock-ra of my native tongue: this is alarming to me) and kale from the garden, with my notorious lemon-rice-without-the-lemon. Oh, and I made a lovely mint raita (with a green onion from the garden) and then forgot to serve it. Welcome to the world of me.
This morning I went to coffee club as ever, and came home to packages: there were salt and tea and books. I'm still not sure about this internet shopping thing: it is monstrously convenient not to have to take the train to Burlingame for my favourite sel gris, but there is little satisfaction in shopping by the clicking of buttons and the ding of the doorbell. I actively like handing over money and receiving goods in exchange. As we know, it is the first rule of the nursery that presents are to be carried home from the shop and never delivered. Also, one of my books is not as described: when a front cover is entirely torn from its binding, this is not what I would call "good condition". Bah humbug.
Also, I am gloomy and there is small therapeutical value in this kind of retail. I am in hopes that gloom too will prove to be consumable, and possibly susceptible to sunshine.
(Oh, and speaking of consumables, the BBC tells me that a woman accused of murdering her boyfriend in Spain has been arrested on suspicion of a "consumed intentional homicide". I have no idea, none, what use or meaning they ascribe to the word "consumed" in that sentence.)
So they stretched and bent and so forth out there, while the cats gazed at them yearningly through the insect-screens (for all the windows were open), while I curried chicken and okra (which I am starting to pronounce oh-kra as they do here, rather than the ock-ra of my native tongue: this is alarming to me) and kale from the garden, with my notorious lemon-rice-without-the-lemon. Oh, and I made a lovely mint raita (with a green onion from the garden) and then forgot to serve it. Welcome to the world of me.
This morning I went to coffee club as ever, and came home to packages: there were salt and tea and books. I'm still not sure about this internet shopping thing: it is monstrously convenient not to have to take the train to Burlingame for my favourite sel gris, but there is little satisfaction in shopping by the clicking of buttons and the ding of the doorbell. I actively like handing over money and receiving goods in exchange. As we know, it is the first rule of the nursery that presents are to be carried home from the shop and never delivered. Also, one of my books is not as described: when a front cover is entirely torn from its binding, this is not what I would call "good condition". Bah humbug.
Also, I am gloomy and there is small therapeutical value in this kind of retail. I am in hopes that gloom too will prove to be consumable, and possibly susceptible to sunshine.
(Oh, and speaking of consumables, the BBC tells me that a woman accused of murdering her boyfriend in Spain has been arrested on suspicion of a "consumed intentional homicide". I have no idea, none, what use or meaning they ascribe to the word "consumed" in that sentence.)