You'll always find me in the kitchen on Mondays

[desperance]

It's a holiday here: Labor Day, I believe. Some pinko commie celebration: just what you'd expect, really. Our yard guy is hard at work outside the house (making me feel guilty in all possible directions all at once, because really I should be doing that stuff, mowing the grass and so forth, I could do that; but then I'd be taking work from someone who needs it, and it is the business of the wealthy man to give employment to the artisan, and so forth; but I feel trapped for an hour inside my own house, and I hate that; and, and, and) and Karen and I are both doing our own work at opposite ends of the house, in our own separate studies.

Actually an hour ago I was thinking, "Maybe I could declare this a day off?" I've been up since six, and I am making sourdough bread and fed m'beloved and myself on French toast with bacon and put together a slow-cooker stew of lamb shanks and many veggies in a sauce of red wine and mustard lifted with a little balsamic, and basically I spent all morning in the kitchen when I wasn't out shopping; but then I had to open TextMaker to give me access to a pound sign (this here US keyboard doesn't seem to have one, can you believe it?) and while I was there I thought I might as well take a look at something I'm writing, and... Yeah. Not a day off, then.

Though there is something terribly tempting about it, when you open a bottle of wine before midday. I put a judicious cupful into the slow cooker, and a judicious stopper into the bottle. Not before five on a workday. Harrumph.

Also, boys are cute in boxes. I'm just sayin'.



(Barry observes that he is not at all cute, no sir, he is a furocious predator, possibly lying in ambush; and I totally did not see him earlier skittering about with a rolled-up ball of paper. That must have been some other idiot cat. Barry was undoubtedly sleeping at the time, as any sensible predator would be. Conserving his power. Yes.)

Comments

[movingfinger]

Getting up early isn't unheard of around here; someone has to check on the food situation and make a timely complaint if said situation is unacceptable. Or a protest, in which a great deal too much water is drunk and then regurgitated explosively.