Cooking and sleeping technically
Sitting in a small café, too late for breakfast so resigned to BLT purgatory; we’re sitting watching a clock slowly tick toward the moment where our dream is realized or rationalized away. Mustn’t forget the time zone difference, which in this case does make a difference. Too late, there’s been no reply. Head on down the road to town.
At least my triennial eye exam is over, using the latest in refractory detection systems (involving a red barn roof that I never actually discern). My new lenses will be ready in a few days, and I’ve caught up on news of people I haven’t seen since before the birth of son #2. Son #3 sleeps away his time, doomed to being a passenger on the parental express to unknown destinations.
The cell finally rings, and I receive a confirmation that we will have a new place to live, if we accept the counteroffer… I can’t make decisions like that alone, but within hours we accept at the original proposed price, and the plan is back on the rails (parental express version two).
I still think that everyone else has a better BBQ than me. Tonight I prepare a pile of red meat without burning anything, on a grill that actually gets hot enough to sear the flesh (mine and supper). I wonder if there’s any resale value in the big firebox we keep around the deck to ward off monsters. Maybe the secret is to never use sauce (the best way to blacken meat that I’ve found), and to reject the silly lava rocks that are as efficient as a lava lamp. Let’s see; throw away the cheap stones and let the gas flame through. That might be the key to a renewed love affair with steak and salad.
Now our mattress is playing “leaky boat”. Either we discover the secret to semipermanent inflation (something akin to the economy), or we get tougher spines.
