For the next few weeks, we'll be seeing magnets from Ned & Marta's refrigerator door.
Marta and Ned magnet.
Some kitchen facts
Note that flies will not seek out a horse that is smeared with butter or old salted grease.
The best broth is made from the jowel of an ox, rinsed two or three times in water, and then boiled and well skinned.
Cooks distinguish between sticking and larding. Sticking means to stick with cloves and larding means to lard with pork fat.
Here are some of my theatre reviews, if you're interested.
WHAT I'M READING...
WHAT I WATCHED...
First YearsGideon's Crossing
That's it for today!
SOMEBODY STOP ME!!
3 April 2001
Stop me before I clean again!!!
Iím out of control. I had taken Peggyís challenge of "one bag a week" (actually sheíd said "one bag a day," and I modified it to "one bag a week") of junk into the trash as a way to get this place slowly cleaned up, rather effortlessly.
Well, I seem to have been producing not one bag a week, but one or more bags a day! This is getting entirely out of control.
Do you know there is actual CARPET on the floor of my office? I mean--seriously! I had begun to think that the paper, old socks, and discarded photos were really what the floor was made of, but no--there actually is a rug under all that stuff and I. have. found. it!
Not only that, but I can now open the doors of a cabinet which have been blocked for literally years. (In so doing, I finally found the program disk to FrontPage 97 Iíve been looking for, since I prefer 97 to the later versions).
I have tossed an incredible amount of stuff, including all of my old issues of PC†Computing, which are about as useful now as old Consumer Reports. I threw out mountains of old paperwork. Photos are now at least in the same box and not anywhich where.
Of course the experience was not without its emotional moments. Like when I came across the programs from Davidís and Paulís memorial services, for example. And the ubiquitous programs, posters, and photos from various Lawsuit shows.
But then Iíd find something like a book of picture puzzles that Jeri put together when she was in grammar school. Iím not sure how old she was, but the book was such fun to look through. Can you read this one?
I figured Iíd stop for the day when Iíd found the rug and vacuumed it, but then I decided I was tired of stepping around a couple of overflowing boxes at the entrance to the office, and so I filled up yet another bag. I saved almost nothing out of the box of junk, which makes me wonder why Iím saving anything around here (my god, Iím starting to think like Peggy!).
Some decisions took a little longer than others. I came across a rather fat manilla envelope and opened it to see what was inside. Inside were all the letters my father had written to me over the years. All the letters I would tremble as I opened, wondering what would hurt me this time. The letters which even after his death I had to read, holding them at armís length as if somehow the distance from my eyes to the end of my finger tips would make them less painful to read. The letters which told me over and over again how bad I was, or how I didnít measure up, or what I had done that displeased him. All interspersed with "Iím only telling you this because I love you," you know.
As I realized what was in the envelope I thought about it for a second. These were, after all, the written word of my father. Could I really toss them out?
Yes, I could.
I remembered that in June last year, I finally put all the pain, the hurt, and the anger behind me. I realized Iíd been hanging on to those letters for 13 years and that it was finally time to dump them, and so they went into the garbage, where they belonged. Under the used kleenex and the dog food cans and the coffee grounds.
End of another chapter of my life and another step toward growing up.
Sometimes cleaning up can really be cathartic.
Some pictures from this
Created 4/2/01 by Bev Sykes