ismo

Today's most salient feature was--SNOW! Both the Sparrowhawk and I experienced that sensation of waking up and feeling "there is something funny about the light . . ." and then the memory of why that is returns from six months ago. The flakes landed fluffily atop the faded golden leaves and gave an impression of tattered grandeur, like old tapestry curtains. They also piled up on the fallen leaf carpet, the pine boughs, and the still-green grass, but they didn't really stick to the wet pavement.

I quickly went to work on my epic pork butt (yes, I do get some kind of perverse thrill out of those words). I went and got the big red enamel cast iron dutch oven, but soon realized that I had exceeded its capacity. I had to use the plain cast iron one as well. I seared the chunks of spiced meat on all sides, poured beer over them, and put them in a slow oven. The house slowly filled with a delicious and enticing smell of spicy meat. By midafternoon they were done, so tender I didn't really have to pull them. The chunks fell apart of their own accord. I cooked the barbecue sauce for a few minutes to thicken it up, dumped the meat back into it, and stirred. Finished!

Alas, all day and most of last night, I was feeling like crap again, a new and different variety of crap. I am flailing at this point. I have no idea what is wrong with me. I continue to cling to the hypothesis that it's my new medication, because if not that, what the hell is it? Anyway, I decided I just couldn't handle going to the potluck. The Sparrowhawk still wanted to go, so I sent him off with the giant pot of meat. He said it proved acceptable and people ate almost all of it. It's good that he brought home enough to make some sandwiches with. For himself, not for me, I fear. My stomach would punish me.

I live with a person who restores one's faith in humanity by finding a little joy in every day. Last night as we were going to bed, he said, as he often does, "I am the luckiest man in the world." And I replied, as I always do, "Oh, why is that?" He said, in a tone of fond reminiscence, "Because I get to have mashed potatoes with butter. There are millions of people in the world who have never had mashed potatoes, but I am not one of them. And they are so good."