Pronghorn of Simmer
Aug. 5th, 2025 07:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ismoI haven't been in a mood to blog lately, perhaps because of not sleeping well plus bad air quality. I've been averse to social interaction. On Sunday this was fine because I didn't have to see anybody. We had been hoping to go to the lake, but the AQ was in the red zone, which didn't seem promising for things like walking on the beach. I was crestfallen. Yesterday my hermit tendency was irrelevant, because I was already scheduled for a chat with Queenie, a Zoom with writer friends, and a Zoom book club, during which a spirited discussion of what "virtue" means took place. I also made bread, and it came out well, which is often a sign of recovery. We had a restorative slice with a big juicy piece of tomato on top. After that, I took to my bed and watched Oskar Werner plot to murder his mother-in-law on an old episode of Columbo.
This morning, I finally made a quick trip to the grocery store. When I got home, I made lemon blueberry muffins with the blueberries we were given last week. I thought it would be a nice gesture to return some of them to the giver in an improved form. Then we had our weekly Zoom with Deb and the Prussian. The college student who did yard work for us last week came back and once again wrought wonders in our underbrush. He magnanimously declared his intention of not taking any pay this time. He said we had overpaid him last week. But really, this was too absurd. We couldn't possibly let him go without giving him some more money. We prevailed on him to take it, and he confessed that he was thinking of using some of it to prepare a nice dinner for a girl he knew. A most excellent use of the money! We persuaded him to take a little break at the end of the day to have tea and lemon blueberry cake with us. He used to play the piano, and had admired our instrument, so we invited him to try it out. From his appearance and demeanor, one would have expected something classical, but he gave us a stirring rendition of "Great Balls of Fire," and sang along. We sent him home with his cash and a bag of muffins to share.
At the grocery store, I got some cold cuts and salad. I wasn't really in a mood to cook either, and thought some summery sandwich meals might be a nice change. Tonight the Sparrowhawk fried us some bacon, and we had BLTs with more of those good tomatoes. It remains to be seen if my improved mood will survive a visit to Madame tomorrow . . . .
This morning, I finally made a quick trip to the grocery store. When I got home, I made lemon blueberry muffins with the blueberries we were given last week. I thought it would be a nice gesture to return some of them to the giver in an improved form. Then we had our weekly Zoom with Deb and the Prussian. The college student who did yard work for us last week came back and once again wrought wonders in our underbrush. He magnanimously declared his intention of not taking any pay this time. He said we had overpaid him last week. But really, this was too absurd. We couldn't possibly let him go without giving him some more money. We prevailed on him to take it, and he confessed that he was thinking of using some of it to prepare a nice dinner for a girl he knew. A most excellent use of the money! We persuaded him to take a little break at the end of the day to have tea and lemon blueberry cake with us. He used to play the piano, and had admired our instrument, so we invited him to try it out. From his appearance and demeanor, one would have expected something classical, but he gave us a stirring rendition of "Great Balls of Fire," and sang along. We sent him home with his cash and a bag of muffins to share.
At the grocery store, I got some cold cuts and salad. I wasn't really in a mood to cook either, and thought some summery sandwich meals might be a nice change. Tonight the Sparrowhawk fried us some bacon, and we had BLTs with more of those good tomatoes. It remains to be seen if my improved mood will survive a visit to Madame tomorrow . . . .
