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WoodDuckDrake of Bluster
Feb. 25th, 2026 07:44 pmLast night, a remnant of the women's group came to my house. It was just me, Math Fairy, and our newest and youngest addition, La Pucelle. Strawberry Star was on a rather ambitious trip to accompany her vision-impaired dad to Florida to visit another family member. Calaveras had some family event starring one of her numerous grandchildren. Cabernet is still absent due to illness. Wood Elf didn't say why she was gone, but it may have been an errand of mercy to a friend who was preparing for surgery. We had some good conversation and fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies. I had intended to bake the cookies earlier and be prepared, but when I tried to turn the oven on, it wouldn't. I gave it three or four tries, but no. Luckily, I hadn't put the baking soda in yet, so I just kept the dough. An hour or two later, I tried the oven again, and this time, it turned on. So I quickly added leavening and baked the cookies. We're still calling the repair person, though. Much to my surprise, the stove is 12 years old now. I still think of it as the "new" stove, because we replaced it shortly after we moved in. My sense of time is askew.
When the door was opened for them to leave, I was astonished and displeased to see that it was snowing again!! In the morning, all the world was once more veiled in white. A very thin veil, to be sure, but I still found it so discouraging. Still, I set off to see Madame. I was a little late, and it just occurred to me that I might as well skip bringing the coffee and cake that I usually provide. After all, the point of a visit is the visit itself. My decision proved correct. When I got there, her side table was already strewn with the remnants of various unfinished beverages, and it was almost time for her to be called in for lunch. A contribution from me would have been superfluous. The staff kindly offered to bring lunch to her room, as they usually do. Alas, while they were setting the tray down, something slipped, and peas and meatballs tumbled all over the rug. A catastrophe! I helped clean up, and another plate was brought. Unfortunately for me, they brought a plate for me, too. I had politely turned it down, as I always do, but on this occasion, they forgot. And Madame simply would not hear of eating lunch unless I also partook. So, to get her to stop fussing, I was forced to consume pseudo meatballs, probably ground turkey, but quite possibly mingled with latex, pasty mashed potatoes and fake gravy, some canned peas, and a roll that I managed to nibble but not eat. Also a dessert (?) that I think might have been jello blended with cottage cheese and a few canned cherries. It was a lurid pink. Madame happily scarfed the lot, as I amused her with random chat. Honestly, if I had to face a dining experience like that every day, I would lose the will to live. The Sparrowhawk is always saying that I'm a saint, and I normally pooh-pooh this notion with some vigor, but that lunch was a step in the direction of martyrdom.
I got the car home in time for the Sparrowhawk to go to his PT appointment and then to the eye surgeon for a final check, at which it was pronounced that everything was healing up nicely. Next month he'll go to the optician to see if he still needs any prescription glasses. I'm hoping that he might not.
When the door was opened for them to leave, I was astonished and displeased to see that it was snowing again!! In the morning, all the world was once more veiled in white. A very thin veil, to be sure, but I still found it so discouraging. Still, I set off to see Madame. I was a little late, and it just occurred to me that I might as well skip bringing the coffee and cake that I usually provide. After all, the point of a visit is the visit itself. My decision proved correct. When I got there, her side table was already strewn with the remnants of various unfinished beverages, and it was almost time for her to be called in for lunch. A contribution from me would have been superfluous. The staff kindly offered to bring lunch to her room, as they usually do. Alas, while they were setting the tray down, something slipped, and peas and meatballs tumbled all over the rug. A catastrophe! I helped clean up, and another plate was brought. Unfortunately for me, they brought a plate for me, too. I had politely turned it down, as I always do, but on this occasion, they forgot. And Madame simply would not hear of eating lunch unless I also partook. So, to get her to stop fussing, I was forced to consume pseudo meatballs, probably ground turkey, but quite possibly mingled with latex, pasty mashed potatoes and fake gravy, some canned peas, and a roll that I managed to nibble but not eat. Also a dessert (?) that I think might have been jello blended with cottage cheese and a few canned cherries. It was a lurid pink. Madame happily scarfed the lot, as I amused her with random chat. Honestly, if I had to face a dining experience like that every day, I would lose the will to live. The Sparrowhawk is always saying that I'm a saint, and I normally pooh-pooh this notion with some vigor, but that lunch was a step in the direction of martyrdom.
I got the car home in time for the Sparrowhawk to go to his PT appointment and then to the eye surgeon for a final check, at which it was pronounced that everything was healing up nicely. Next month he'll go to the optician to see if he still needs any prescription glasses. I'm hoping that he might not.
