Raccoon of Trill
Mar. 18th, 2025 10:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ismoWe slept late because of a night time incident that caused us to be awake for awhile in the night. I slept even later than the Sparrowhawk. When I finally came downstairs, he took the car to the dealer to have a new rear turn light installed. The old one died on the way home from the gym last night. Because of all this, the usual lack of doing anything occurred. We had a Zoom with Deb and the Prussian, slightly interrupted by the arrival at their end of some guys who had come to oust the mice from their house.
We succeeded in taking a walk. It was warm enough for me to go out in my shirtsleeves, and we made pretty good time. While on the walk, we discussed my writing-related problems. While the Sparrowhawk tried to be his usual encouraging self, there is an iron logic to my problems that renders them insoluble as far as I can see. I felt briefly too tired to cook the chicken I thawed, took a short rest and then went after it. I cut the chicken breasts into strips, soaked them in milk and egg, coated them with panko, browned them in olive oil, and then added a sauce made with a little sour cream thinned with water, plus pepper, thyme, and kosher salt. I added the mushrooms, onions, and shredded bok choy I had sauteed earlier, put a lid on, and let it simmer a little longer to make sure the chicken was cooked. The Sparrowhawk made a pot of rice. Sometimes there is just a certain thing you want to eat, and when you get it, it hits the spot. This simple dish was it for me tonight.
While preparing the chicken, it came to my attention that the ever-helpful Sparrowhawk had discarded my old spatula and replaced with something new and fancy. One might suppose I'd be grateful, but no! You cannot do that to a barbarian. "You confiscated my old and battered sword and threw it in the lake, and replaced it with some new-fangled shiny thing made by people who apprenticed with Elven smiths? I SAY THEE NAY! THIS SHALL NOT STAND!" Well, it's gone now, and the ladies in white samite have no doubt made off with it, so one must make the best of it. In ten or twenty years I may forget I ever owned another.
The Sparrowhawk went out to visit with his men's group, and once again I had plans to get stuff done. However, I then got into a conversation via text with Queenie. Ms. Science sent us email about the Flower Show in Pittsburgh. In some way or other, she says they are going to honor Mr. Science there. She wants to know if some or all of us want to go to the show with her. We could stay with her, she says, though I imagine she doesn't mean all six of us sisters plus husbands at the same time. It's a nice offer on the face of it, but fills me with dread for various reasons. Queenie and I agreed to sleep on it. It would be nice if I were a bouncy, enthusiastic person who would simply love to take a seven-hour drive to go see a flower show and have conversations about my dead brother. But if I ever was that person, I am someone different now. I will have to give this some thought. After that, I didn't have time for much except to start on the kitchen cleanup.
We succeeded in taking a walk. It was warm enough for me to go out in my shirtsleeves, and we made pretty good time. While on the walk, we discussed my writing-related problems. While the Sparrowhawk tried to be his usual encouraging self, there is an iron logic to my problems that renders them insoluble as far as I can see. I felt briefly too tired to cook the chicken I thawed, took a short rest and then went after it. I cut the chicken breasts into strips, soaked them in milk and egg, coated them with panko, browned them in olive oil, and then added a sauce made with a little sour cream thinned with water, plus pepper, thyme, and kosher salt. I added the mushrooms, onions, and shredded bok choy I had sauteed earlier, put a lid on, and let it simmer a little longer to make sure the chicken was cooked. The Sparrowhawk made a pot of rice. Sometimes there is just a certain thing you want to eat, and when you get it, it hits the spot. This simple dish was it for me tonight.
While preparing the chicken, it came to my attention that the ever-helpful Sparrowhawk had discarded my old spatula and replaced with something new and fancy. One might suppose I'd be grateful, but no! You cannot do that to a barbarian. "You confiscated my old and battered sword and threw it in the lake, and replaced it with some new-fangled shiny thing made by people who apprenticed with Elven smiths? I SAY THEE NAY! THIS SHALL NOT STAND!" Well, it's gone now, and the ladies in white samite have no doubt made off with it, so one must make the best of it. In ten or twenty years I may forget I ever owned another.
The Sparrowhawk went out to visit with his men's group, and once again I had plans to get stuff done. However, I then got into a conversation via text with Queenie. Ms. Science sent us email about the Flower Show in Pittsburgh. In some way or other, she says they are going to honor Mr. Science there. She wants to know if some or all of us want to go to the show with her. We could stay with her, she says, though I imagine she doesn't mean all six of us sisters plus husbands at the same time. It's a nice offer on the face of it, but fills me with dread for various reasons. Queenie and I agreed to sleep on it. It would be nice if I were a bouncy, enthusiastic person who would simply love to take a seven-hour drive to go see a flower show and have conversations about my dead brother. But if I ever was that person, I am someone different now. I will have to give this some thought. After that, I didn't have time for much except to start on the kitchen cleanup.
no subject
Date: 2025-03-19 03:36 pm (UTC)