Something got me yesterday. Some bug that is. The itching was driving me crazy, so I got out of bed this morning and climbed in the tub, just to stop the itch.
Soaking in the tub, peaceably minding my own business, reading Pat Haley’s Nine Seasons Cookbook (Yankee Books, 1986), and enjoying myself. [I’m pretty sure I met Ms. Haley when I had the bookstore in Marlborough, at least I have a voice memory of her, and that usually only happens when I’ve actually met someone.]
The book is a compilation of Keene Sentinel columns and is filled with recipes and stories about the “locals” and since I know the area well, I was having a fine time.
Then the cat came in. She’s attracted to water like no other cat I’ve ever known. If I get a tub bath with enough water in it, she’ll come and drink part of my tub. Makes you feel rather like the main course at a cannibal’s carnival. Disconcerting.
Her entry brought with it air that wasn’t the warm, moist air I’d been savoring. It was cold. Okay, okay, I probably need to get out anyway . . . .
Then the little portable radio turned on. To add insult to injury it was an NPR station, doing a one-day fund drive.
Dripping, chilled, and annoyed, I get out of the tub, wrap myself in a towel then pick up the radio. I refuse to start my morning, which HAD been relaxing, with an endless plea for money! Turn off the power button.
The radio stays on.
Hit the “sleep” button. The radio stays on?
I did manage to hand the still-going radio to DH instead of throwing it, but it was a near thing. He got it to turn off, but I think he pulled a battery out. Don’t know, don’t care, he got it to SHUT UP.
My day continued, not quite so eventfully, but . . .
I transplanted leeks, got that job done. Got the lettuces & kales planted (first round for the lettuces, first and last for the kale). Raked up the leaves displaced by that industriousness.
Came inside, took a shower (blackflies and ticks out there right now), primered a piece of wallboard (to use as a test). Then decided I’d use up the minced rhubarb I’d pulled from the freezer stash last weekend, when we did the freezer inventory.
Okay, cake went in the oven,after a while, the house smells divine. Pull out the rack to get the pans out and one of them goes scooting off the rack, like it was an Indy driver or something and falls on the ground. Top down, of course. So, rather than being virtuous and having a rhubarb cake to put in the freezer, I put the 2nd rhubarb cake in the trash.
The other cake is still good!
Some days it feels like I’m just moving 1 step forward and 1.5 steps back, you know?