2004 Story Set
| Date: November 24, 2004 Thanksgiving is a time for cooking - especially when your kid has been in the hospital for a couple of days with Shingles ---- adult Chicken Pox revisitation. He's had them before. After not eating (from the chemo) and spitting (a lot from the fungus that follows low counts) and Thrush (fungus) and all that, he is beginning to show an interest in food. Goody. Because he's dropped from 245 (too heavy) to 186 (too thin). So Tuesday we went to the kitchen to bake - bread - not on my schedule of course but he's been watching cooking shows and reading cookbooks. This is Call-ah bread (which was fine except I can't see the print and put in 1/4 cup oil instead of 3/4 cup) and some 1 Cup butter - 1 cup cheese - 1 cup flour thing he saw on TV. One bite and you need wine to wash it down. Crumble it on Salad. Put on eggs. Fat bombs. Now, it has been awhile, and my "new" stove, purchased in 1999, has a loose handle. And they never reminded me (or offered me) any extension on service. (Good going Sears - they claim they "called me" - like I was home.) They have been diligent about a $200 fridge and $200 freezer and a $200 DVD player, not the dishwasher, big fridge and glass-topped oven. $$$$ Cute. So I have never called for any. Service. I figured I would "get around to it". I saw that the oven handle was working its merry way looser and looser, but I was a bit surprised when it cut loose on one side. The screw, undaunted, fell inside the oven door. Bugger. While the bread was in the oven. Now - two potholders gripped at the sides will open the oven so that's not an issue. I can work around this - two days before Thanksgiving. And the handle was swinging free. For about five minutes. The handle decided it had had enough of this and snapped off. Without that bit of added detail, I could have cooled down the oven, grabbed an #2 Phillips screwdriver and fixed the thing. (I now have a new handle - and I must do exactly that.) I could have done that at any time - but ---- I've been just a little busy. New job. His relapse. New chemo. Living at the hospital again. I haven't even dealt with the tree falling down in the back yard. My contractor set it down on the ground (It was resting on the new deck cover). I will pay one of his guys to trim trees and cut up the monster - a 9-years dead birch tree that will make a nice log for a fire. Except my son cannot be around fires. Not for awhile. (Contractor forgot to come cut it up.) So I can burn it outside (we removed our indoor fireplace) and we can watch through the window. Mind you, that is up there with the three screen doors the dog has recently taken out (all need rescreening and new animal guards). The hall rug that needs to be ripped up and cleaned and reinstalled - or maybe just tile the floor. (The shampooer can get it - just will take me days and days.) And of course Little Bit's catching and enticing back into the house - considering that it is 33 degrees and lower at night. She eats and runs. She eats a lot. She looks thinner. It's her annual diet plan. In the house she looks like a white-footed low-slung tank. The Kirby, that must have shown up on my Visa bill this month - which I have mislaid - all nearly $7,000 of it - Good Grief - remains in it's box. I am still carrying around a tax return that belongs in the mail. (Must mail at post office.) But the turkey is in the fridge - which also has slipped out of warranty/service contract. The fridge not the turkey. All 21+ pounds of it. My son and I (he was pulling crab meat out of legs and claws from two crabs our contractor brought us - fresh off the boat) have a lot of fun cooking. Of course, I have to remember to warm up (3 hours) the Casperfungen and the IV bags I have to give him so we can stay home on Thursday and Friday (SLEEP!!!! SLEEP!!! Home Depot!! Rake the back yard!!). Egad. Self-propelled medical beach balls. Syringes that my arthritic hands have trouble pushing. And a rolling suitcase for the "babies" - the IV bags are heavy and feel like you just lifted a small child. I suppose it's a good sign. |
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