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desperanceI have this lovely big thick heavy block of wood as a chopping-board. Every now and then I think to scrub it down and oil it. And then oil it again, and again; I don't do it often enough, and it suffers a lot (sitting as it does between the cooker and the sink: it gets baked from one side and soaked from the other, weeks and months on end between oilings), and drinks up the oil every time I think to do it.
It is not the only one. I oiled it this afternoon, and wandered out of the kitchen; and wandered back to find Baz up on the block, happily lapping up the oil.
(Also? I really, really need to sort out - this largely means "throw away" - the contents of my kitchen cabinets. Biologically, this is probably more urgent than sorting out my office, which was due to be the immediate post-novel project. But: I am a man who was nearly reduced to tears of frustration this morning, simply by the state of my desk and my inability to do anything about it. My kitchen cabinets are altogether beyond me, out of my stars...)
It is not the only one. I oiled it this afternoon, and wandered out of the kitchen; and wandered back to find Baz up on the block, happily lapping up the oil.
(Also? I really, really need to sort out - this largely means "throw away" - the contents of my kitchen cabinets. Biologically, this is probably more urgent than sorting out my office, which was due to be the immediate post-novel project. But: I am a man who was nearly reduced to tears of frustration this morning, simply by the state of my desk and my inability to do anything about it. My kitchen cabinets are altogether beyond me, out of my stars...)