Month: August 2020

Working from home during the pandemic requires that certain patterns are maintained: work for 55 minutes, walk around for 5. Lunch at 12, finish up at 5 (or 6 or 7 depending). Go out for a walk in the evening, rinse and repeat until the week blends into a delightful mosaic of day into night into day. Ok, not that delightful as mosaics go.

Last week I was planning my lunch and, mindful of my Error With The Curry I stick to the basics: quesadilla, salad, cereal, pasta. Once in a while miso soup and rice or a bowl of bibimbap (see earlier writing).

As you can see my pandemic recipes are limited and variations are welcome. Dessert is a usually a bunch of green grapes … unless … what is this? A new treat in a bowl on the kitchen table, a pile of jelly beans calling out to me. The family has clearly been holding out on me.

I sample one and my body simply *rejects* the horrendous thing. I realize that I was attempting eat an aromatic wax pellet, this one apparently lavender. My overwhelmed and embarrassed olfactory system sent an emergency signal to my weary brain that fergodsakes, Fenton is at it again – he has begun to eat wax. If my brain could do a facepalm it surely would.

When I do things like this I am tempted to keep it secret, however in my defense don’t those things look tasty?

I had an odd dream the other night. It seems I was a mite peckish (in the dream) and decided to make some soup from scratch. I find soup oddly reassuring in that I can eat it entirely with a spoon and avoid those other odd and infuriating utensils. And chopsticks? Fuhgeddaboudit.

Anyway, I am thinking that lentil soup would be perfect; a rich hearty broth which screams “healthy” with every bite. Plus, the word lentil comes from the latin word “lens” because the little legume is shaped like a lens.

Anyway back to the dream. It takes a while to make lentil soup, what with all the slicing and dicing, but finally it is ready so let the health begin! I ladle out a big bowl and bring it to the kitchen table but, dagnabit! I proceed to drop the bowl on the floor, where it explodes into a shower of ceramic and soup; basically a gigantic mess.

I race to get a towel to start cleaning, but the only thing I can find at hand is my brand new flannel shirt. I hesitate but then decide: the shirt must be sacrificed for the greater good. While I clean I realize two things. This shirt will never smell the same, and flannel is really good a sopping up lentil soup.

This dream suffers from many obvious plot holes, namely, are you sure there was NOTHING else in the entire (dream) house to clean the mess? Apparently not, as my dreams exist to torture me with what-ifs. Next time here is my plan: