Nothing actually stands between saying, “The river sang,” and “It was as if the river sang,” other than a set of rigid rules that forbids the former from being more than a metaphor. -Fr. Stephen Freeman
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Hot Potatoes
This is a part of my daddy's garden earlier this year. I was always amazed at what my dad could do with vegetables.
Today I amazed myself with what I could do with vegetables.
I put sweet potatoes in the oven when I left for work, set it to 350, calculated the hours, and left.
Had a good morning at work. At lunchtime, was able to attend a luncheon with Lauren Winner as guest speaker. (She is as much fun to see and listen to as she is to read.) Bought Mudhouse Sabbath, had her sign it, and walked out into torrential rain. Picked my way carefully across about a quarter mile of parking lot, avoiding the creeks that had formed in the unintended asphalt creekbeds, and got into my car, bringing a lot of water with me. I think the new book was the only thing that stayed dry.
Drove back to work, had a good afternoon.
Around 5:40, I was getting ready to leave work and go teach a piano lesson, when I realized with not just a gasp, but an, "Oh, no!" heard by my co-worker in the next office--that I had not gone home after lunch to turn off the oven.
Postponed piano lesson, drove home. The house had not burned down, but the sweet potatoes were literally burnt to a crisp. I've heard blackened catfish is good, but blackened sweet potatoes are another matter.
So much for the ready-to-eat supper plan.
After teaching piano, leaving my student's house, and having to return to retrieve the purse I'd left there, I started contemplating dying my hair back to its original blonde. Just to have an excuse for this sort of thing.
Oh, and this morning I found my glasses after a week of looking for them. I had called my dentist's office twice, the grocery store once, talked to more than one piano student, started budgeting for a new pair. They were in my car the whole time, right next to my seat.
Does it have something to do with the paint fumes that have been in our house since the day after Christmas?
Or maybe I should have eaten more of some memory-related vegetable from my dad's garden all those years growing up?
Anybody ever have a day like this?
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