I Remembered How To Work After All

I'd been off for so long (12 days) that I wondered if I remembered how to do stuff or remembered the alarm code but I did, and I even had 3 paying customers.  Three!  And not in a clump either.  Mr. Boss came in to try to introduce the backroom laptop to the new printer but he didn't have any luck.  I remembered that I had to go through one of the wetsuit price lists to fix the costs and discounts so we actually make more than fifty cents when a staff member buys something and Mr. Boss showed me a way to streamline the process a little bit.  It was a small thing but it made a difference in the sheer annoyance factor of the task.

Durwood baked a totally yummy Cornish hen for supper.  He stuffed a lemon wedge sprinkled with dried thyme (didn't have sprigs) inside it and smeared a teaspoon of butter mixed with more thyme under the skin.  The only hitch was that he baked it in a dish instead of on a rack so the juices that oozed out sizzled on the hot glass and filled the house with smoke.  It was so smoky that I had to get a box fan out of the basement to blow it out so we could see our plates.  (no, it wasn't really that bad, you know how I exaggerate, but it was pretty smoky)  He baked a potato in the oven at the same time and steamed some fresh beets.  Yum.  Every night after supper we share an orange and last night's was particularly sweet and juicy, all in all an excellent meal.  (you so wish Durwood would come to your house and cook for you, he's awesome)

I wore a skirt to work yesterday.  My pal Lala wears skirts all the time (except in the dead of winter) and a couple years ago I decided to give it a try so I whipped up a few elastic waist ones out of prints and plaids to wear with my plethora of plain t-shirts.  I like 'em.  My legs are fish-belly white but I figure everyone's are after the goofy spring (or not-spring) we've had plus I don't really give a rat's ass (and I have a necklace that proves it).  Yesterday I wore a red tee with a brown gauze skirt with red, white, and green flowers on it; today I'm thinking I'll wear the blue and tan plaid patchwork one with a yellow shirt.  Naturally my socks don't match but I do select them so they blend.  It's an art.

May 30--Henry Ossawa Tanner, Flight Into Egypt.  Sand is deceptive, soft underfoot and stinging when blown into your face by the wind.  Marian settled deeper under the robe and tried to find a comfortable position between the seat and the car door.  She hadn't believed that it got this cold at night, not when it was so blazing hot during the day.  Eva's sobs had settled down to an almost inaudible mewling.  For a while after they set out long before first light Marian wished Eva had been the one arrested but she knew that if anyone could talk his way out of trouble it was Nigel.  She wouldn't be surprised to see him sitting on the veranda at Shepherd's puffing on a cigar with a glass of gin in his hand when they drove up.  Nigel always joked that Egypt was where he wanted to be buried.  She hoped he wouldn't get his wish too soon.

Okay, then.  That is not where I thought I was going when I set out.  I kind of like it, don't know where it's going but I like it.  Also, have you ever noticed how difficult it is to write the word "egypt"?  Write it in cursive, I mean, there's all those tails and loops that make my pencil dizzy but I persevere because I like the images the name evokes in my feeble brain.  Time to go read the funnies, eat granola and yogurt (I'm a paragon of healthy breakfasting), put on my second-favorite skirt, and go to work so that on Monday my paycheck is bigger than a gnat's navel.  See ya.
--Barbara