Above: Janet’s house across the street. A ship captain had it built and it has five levels.
Confined for a week by the forces of nature, as well as a cold and very sore set of left leg muscles, I’ve been entertaining myself with my laptop and iPad. Mostly reading, checking bank balances, thinking about taxes, and working on my family tree which contains hundreds of records. My goodness some of my ancestors on my mom’s side were dirt poor as the proverbial church mice.
I tell myself this confinement is not forever, I will get better, and spring will come again.
January is a foul month, mostly good for sleeping. I like a cold bedroom, so while Troy the brick mason found the weather unsuitable for his work this past week, the subarctic temperatures produced the ideal conditions for me sleeping soundly at night. Oh Joy.
When I looked out my bedroom window yesterday morning I found the sky all pink and blue. Our skies in winter are so gorgeous.
Today while eating my lunch of almond butter and blackberry jam on toast, I thought about my eighth grade home economics teacher. She didn’t like me very much. Home Ec was a required course for girls in those days, but I didn’t learn anything…which should have told me I was not destined to become a homemaker. I barely passed the class, making a stupid frilly, furrfu apron which Ms. Blount graded a B-.
Ms Blount, pronounced Blunt, also told us to never, ever, under any circumstances put butter on our bread before we put it under the broiler. If you butter the bread before you cook it, you can’t digest it properly, she told us. Her rationale was that the saliva in your mouth begins to break down the starches in the toasted bread long before the butter reaches your stomach where further digestion occurs before the food moves to the small intestine where bile acid dissolves the butter.
I had never heard of toasting bread under a broiler, so of course I had to try it. The first toast I made under the gas broiler caught fire. The next time I made toast, I buttered it first and sprinkled it liberally with cinnamon sugar. After it was charcoaled, I tasted it and burned my tongue. It was delicious. I figured my saliva could start with the unbuttered side first. I haven’t died since, but it’s not an issue because I don’t use butter very often.
So I’m reading my AARP bulletin, and there’s an article on women who had children after fifty, and I think to myself, they are nuts. My very sensible daughter, who will be 54 this year, faced with the exit of the last child from her nest, did the best thing. She got another dog. The daughter who is leaving is taking her dog with her. Connie says she needs to round out her pack.
Two weeks ago Connie and Bill drove to Amish county in PA, just north of us, and brought the new puppy home. She looks like one of these, and yes, she’s a German Shepherd. Now I want one too….