Tonight, Pete reclined with his feet up and eyes closed while I tried out making compound butter without him. I had questions.

Tata: What if the butter’s too cold to combine smoothly?
Pete: Turn up the speed.

A minute later.

Tata: The mixer and I have had a disagreement.
Pete: What’s all down the front of you?
Tata: Dill and lime juice. I smell tangy and floral!

A minute later.

Tata: Get up and come taste the compound butter!
Pete: I don’t like dill.
Tata: Is it balanced or what?
Pete: It is! Want me to wrap it up?
Tata: Sure. I don’t know whether to wash the bowl or scrape it and moisturize.

Cosmetic issues aside, the butter is refreshing and I’m shocked. I thought it would be harder to do but it just isn’t. Plus: since everyone else in the whole world seems to know this already, you’ve stuck zillions of wildly exciting recipes all over the intertoobz. Clever you! I can’t wait to sample your handiwork.

Pete and I live under towering oaks, which means we’re also up to our knees in drifting leaves.

Pete: We’re gonna blow the leaves to the driveway and you’ll push them into the backyard.
Tata: So…there’s nothing for me to do until you’re done with the leaf blower?
Pete: Not really, because I have two. Would I hog all the fun?

For two hours, we blew leaves all over the place, though it seemed much longer because “Scenes From An Italian Restaurant” was stuck on the mental jukebox and I fucking hate Billy Joel. I was hoping for “Ghostbusters” but not such luck. Anyway, we had a blast tossing a giant pile of leaves into the leaf shredder and dumping piles of mulch around our trees for the winter. Hooray! Before we went in for the afternoon, I cut a daunting pile of fresh herbs, then we fell down and took short naps, during which I cursed Bill Joel’s ancestors.

Many moons ago, I fell in love with the idea of making compound butters, but lacked the nerve to try it. Pete tossed the cleaned and stemmed herbs into the food processor, and two pounds of butter into the stand mixer; he combined the butter, herbs, some ground pepper and white wine and took it for a spin. We tasted it and opted for more wine and ground pepper. Pete wrapped three separate portions in parchment paper (though we could just as easily have glopped it into Gladware), labeled it and shoved it into the freezer.

I had absolutely no idea it was that easy to make. No idea. Pete says for decades he’s put all kinds of things like sun dried tomatoes, shallots and spices into compound butters. Tomorrow night, I want to try making compound butter with tomatoes I dried in the dehydrator and herbs from the backyard. Suddenly, I see what I might find at the farmers market in a new light.

And now I’m much too tired to come up with a punchline.

The other day, an old friend was early to a meeting and sat down in my cubicle to chat. We talked about his son, now in a special program at Fort Dix. It’s a miracle the boy survived childhood, so knowing his future opens before him is special indeed. We talked about how a mutual friend tried in vain to teach me to use a sewing machine, about Miss Sasha’s headstrong toddler, about my experiments in jarring and canning. I mentioned Dad had left a dehydrator without instructions and early this summer, storage became a real issue when everything I dried turned blue and grew fur. Gene actually pointed at me and laughed.

Gene: What color fur?
Tata: Blue. Duh! So I bought a food laminator contraption, which is driving me nuts. I steam greens to freeze them but even drops of water bollix the thing.
Gene: Freeze the greens first, then use the gadget.
Tata: …No water into the machine. Thanks, Gene!

After he left, I suddenly realized I should have known all along he’d know what to do. He always learns something five years before it crosses my field of vision. He could tell my what he’s studying now so I might pencil that into my datebook.

So. Gene has answers to my questions. I am going to make a tremendous nuisance of myself.