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Aldebaran of Bluster
Mar. 1st, 2025 09:41 pmI can't believe it's March 1 already. This date looks so dignified and special when it's written out. It also looks very hopeful and promising. March! OMG that's when spring begins! Isn't it? Isn't it?? Yeah except it was 19 degrees again when I poked my head out this morning. I walked down the driveway barefoot, as is my wont, to get the paper, and it was FREEZING. Later, my phone app told me it was 23, but "felt like" 4. Good grief.
After I gave the Sparrowhawk his First Breakfast and we drank tea together, we decided to listen to a podcast we wanted to hear together at 11:30, when he would be wanting lunch and thus sitting down anyway. My, that seemed a long time away. But not to worry--I will fill up the time with doing ALL KINDS OF THINGS, you betcha. Well . . . I took a shower, put away the Sparrowhawk's laundry, changed the sheets and put the old ones in the wash, and wasted a few minutes moping around a filing cabinet looking for a file I particularly wanted, but could not find. And then guess what, it was 11:30 already. And then, before we listened to the podcast, we got into a conversation about something else, and another hour flew by. THEN we listened to the podcast finally, and went about our business. I took the leftover chicken apart and boiled the bones, and then it was time for afternoon tea and an attempt to write something. This is what life is frequently like around here, shockingly.
We went to church, and as we were coming out, tiny flecks of snow were flying through the air. It petered out without turning into anything, fortunately. After we got home, we had leftover spaghetti and sauce with salad and some quickly steamed broccoli. Then we watched "Stagecoach," because neither of us had ever seen it, and the Sparrowhawk wondered if it was any good. While that was going on, I trimmed the fat off a nine-pound slab of pork shoulder, cut it into manageable chunks, and rubbed it with spice mix. Tomorrow is potluck day. It will sit overnight in the refrigerator and hopefully get nicely imbued with flavor, and I'll put it in the oven tomorrow morning, to become pulled pork by mid-afternoon. About "Stagecoach," I will say this: Yakima Canutt is a thing of beauty, both as a name and as a stunt worker.
After I gave the Sparrowhawk his First Breakfast and we drank tea together, we decided to listen to a podcast we wanted to hear together at 11:30, when he would be wanting lunch and thus sitting down anyway. My, that seemed a long time away. But not to worry--I will fill up the time with doing ALL KINDS OF THINGS, you betcha. Well . . . I took a shower, put away the Sparrowhawk's laundry, changed the sheets and put the old ones in the wash, and wasted a few minutes moping around a filing cabinet looking for a file I particularly wanted, but could not find. And then guess what, it was 11:30 already. And then, before we listened to the podcast, we got into a conversation about something else, and another hour flew by. THEN we listened to the podcast finally, and went about our business. I took the leftover chicken apart and boiled the bones, and then it was time for afternoon tea and an attempt to write something. This is what life is frequently like around here, shockingly.
We went to church, and as we were coming out, tiny flecks of snow were flying through the air. It petered out without turning into anything, fortunately. After we got home, we had leftover spaghetti and sauce with salad and some quickly steamed broccoli. Then we watched "Stagecoach," because neither of us had ever seen it, and the Sparrowhawk wondered if it was any good. While that was going on, I trimmed the fat off a nine-pound slab of pork shoulder, cut it into manageable chunks, and rubbed it with spice mix. Tomorrow is potluck day. It will sit overnight in the refrigerator and hopefully get nicely imbued with flavor, and I'll put it in the oven tomorrow morning, to become pulled pork by mid-afternoon. About "Stagecoach," I will say this: Yakima Canutt is a thing of beauty, both as a name and as a stunt worker.
