Wear Sandals In the Snow

Apple butter: 1980, Rhubarb pineapple jam: 1991, Blueberry jam: 1990. Two kitchens, three decades. Do not eat these artifacts, crazy people!

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The Keys To Your Ferrari

Before work every morning, I walk around in circles, read the toothpaste ingredients, try on three different coats, hunt for my keys. To offset this and get my shapely fanny to work reasonably on time, I lay out my clothes in the bathroom, make my breakfast and lunch and pack my book bag or paniers at night. Last night, I dropped my clothes on a shelf in the bathroom and skipped off to do something fanciful, because as you know I am pretty goddamn carefree. This morning, as I put on my shirt, the collar was wet. I hadn’t noticed, but the container of disinfecting wipes was open and through the magic of capillary action, liquid climbed out of the container and was now resting against my neck. Since overly clean was the exact opposite of dirty, I’m still wearing the shirt and my lemony freshness may or may not clash with my grapefruity eau de toilet. Fragrant!

Apropos of nothing, Joe Biden did exactly what I have been shouting from the rooftops must be done, specifically to Dick Cheney, but Republicans generally: undermine their authority and zhush their gravitas with a confident game of Point & Laugh. They can’t stand it when we can see the emperor’s union suit.

Stare Out At the Auburn Sky

Pete made a fantastic broccoli quiche with prosciutto, fennel and a sharp Vermont cheddar for dinner, so afterward, he went upstairs and I tidied up. After a minute or two, I heard voices. They were not telling me to do anything, so I assumed they were real voices, but I couldn’t locate them. They seemed very near, too near to be the neighbors. I looked out through the windows and the kitchen door and couldn’t see anything, so I wondered if maybe our housemate had left a radio on. It didn’t seem very important, but then I head the voices again just as two people ran across my backyard. And where most people would run to the phone and call the police, I threw open the backdoor, ran out on the porch and shouted, “CAN I HELP YOU WITH SOMETHING?”

“We saw your garden and, truth be told, enthusiasm overtook us,” said a rather elderly gentleman. So I stopped shouting and talked to him and his daughter, who has just moved in next door and is only trespassing by about twenty feet, about the composter, the solarizing bed, the greenhouse shelves and the raised bed garden. He was very impressed, so I showed him the neighbor’s chicken coop and talked about how easy it is to take classes at the agricultural extension – all the cool kids are doing it. There’s a beekeeper right down the street, even! By the time Pete, who had also heard voices not telling him to do anything, came outside to find out what was going on, I was laughing because my teeth were chattering. We said goodnight. It was at that point that Pete and I noticed I had gone out there without a cast iron frying pan or a chef knife and we wondered if I was out of assault and battery practice.

Chase, the next door tenant’s ambassador to the chicken kingdom.

My Spheres Are In Commotion

I can’t believe I heard about Dance Your Ph.D. today. It’s been going on for years! Be careful, some of this science is a little loud.

Look at this brilliance!

I don’t understand this at all, but I love unitards and enjoy a good hat.

On a personal note, this is as good an explanation of arthritis and joint replacement as you will find anywhere.

You Don’t Have To Be A Star

This morning, I was looking in my bathroom closet for body wash because I was out of body wash and I wasn’t going to forget – again – that the bottle of body wash was empty. No, I was going to find body wash in a closet that didn’t contain any body wash. I called down to Pete and said, “Somehow, we are out of soap.” And I continued peering into that body washless closet, lamenting that I had failed to buy more body wash when a bar of soap inches from my right hand said, “Well. Isn’t this awkward?”