Text from Everett at 5:49pm: “I am not feeling up to a visit tonight.”
He wanted me to drop off his mail though, so I did that and stood in his porch chatting for a couple minutes before driving to the store and picking up several bags of groceries. It doesn’t look like Scott’s been home and I’ve got the place to myself. What a beautiful night it is; you don’t want to come inside. Half a shiny moon — just dress warm and there are stars and white clouds floating about — it’s quite lovely.
I brought the three bags of groceries in and then took two loaves of storebought bread out to the freezer and returned empty cloth grocery bags to the car. I walked down the dark driveway and admired the stars and listened to distant traffic.
Came back in, tidied the kitchen in preparation for washing dishes, washed myself an apple and some carrots to eat with celery ready-to-eat in the fridge, poured a glass of chilled white wine, and came to the computer.
About five o’clock I had been peckish at work and slapped a slice of ham on a plain brown bun as I often do these past weeks for my lunch, and so am not big-empty-belly hungry, just the kind where you are happy to nibble. I do want a second glass of wine though. I don’t know what happened to that first one.
Instead of having more wine and sitting longer at this desk, I should get ready for bed and do my yoga and read a book before turning out the light and listening to CBC radio till I fall asleep. I know what to do, what I would be glad I had done, but will I do it tonight?
I am taking the turmeric test.
Dad found that a capsule of turmeric eased his neck pain.
Karen thought it made a difference herself.
I’m hoping it will fix my left arm; figure I must’ve pulled a muscle or else it’s the way I sleep on it. I want to sleep on it and can’t because it’s sore when I do.
Have only taken the turmeric for three days. The arm’s let me know from time to time for many weeks that it was there; only lately did I actually start really noticing that it would pain me if I move it a certain way.
Worth a try.
Friday 8:17 a.m.
I did have that second glass of wine. And some MsVickie's potato chips. And no yoga. And no reading.
Bad girl. (As in Not Doing What's Good for Me.) But I was in bed well before 11. Good girl. (As in "smart" one.)
My favourite discussion list for some reason was talking about the different ways the word "scone" is pronounced. I would read it "skone" ... and was never sure what it actually meant. Some kind of pastry, I thought. But Mom, when she made bread, would often take a hunk of the dough, stretch it, and deep-fry it; but she called it a "skon" and we found it a real treat. You'd put butter on it while it was hot, as I recall. Apparently these "skones" are the same thing.
Anyway, I was baking bread that day so figured I'd make one, and did. Made with dough that contains no white flour, my scone was heavier and didn't taste like the ones Mom used to make. But you can't go far wrong with deep-fried bread no matter what, can you?