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Friday, December 18, 2015

A Kitchen Disaster

Some days are like this one.  So busy.  Too many things to do.  So much on the mind.  Running here. Running there. Trying to get everything done at this hectic time of year.  Just goes to show!

A friend was going out of town for several weeks so I stopped in to say hello and goodbye and safe travels.  So wonderful to see her and visit for a while. Off to several stores for some supplies and tools to use in making Christmas gifts.  One thing I rarely do is stop for fast food.  Today I did.  I think it rotted my brain as well as swelled my waist.

When I returned home Christmas cards were ready to stamp then get to the post office before the cut-off time.  A couple more stops at local stores then home again.  I was so tired I did not make supper for Dear One.  Instead I took a tiny nap in the rocking chair.

When I awoke I was alone in the living room so I made up some nice-ish fried potatoes for him to snack on then decided I really had to get the elderly apples into a pot for applesauce before there was nothing left but compost.  After putting the apples on to cook I immediately took the peels and other debris (orange peels and pepperoncini stems along with a couple of egg shells that were waiting in a bowl) out to the compost pile, feeling very virtuous that the apple chankings, at least, were not staying around in the kitchen for any time at all.

Returning to the house I went to the computer to prepare the pamphlet for the memorial service for a friend then printed a copy to see if it looked ok.  While I was upstairs I was drawn to the pile of afghan squares for the Barbara Walker Learn To Knit Afghan I have been working on for more than six years and which I had started sewing together a couple of weeks ago. 

Sitting down on the couch beside Dear One who was watching one of his favorite Netflix programs I realized that I had sewn together several squares which were not the same size so I took them apart.  I then rearranged the squares so all similar sizes were together. Now it was time to start sewing the seams.  I was nearly through the second strip when I remembered the applesauce.  It had been about an hour by that time.  At my request Dear One rushed downstairs to see what disaster awaited since he could get there faster than I.

Just as he started down the stairs I finally smelled the applesauce.  What a disaster!  The apples were black as soot and burned an inch and a half up the side of the pan.  There is almost no chance that we will be able to save the pot which we received for a wedding gift nearly forty-three years ago.

Often I can feel philosophical about things that happen.  This time I guess I need that feeling again.  Let me think:  I guess I can say that it is bearable because it is one less pot to take care of. And no leftover applesauce to have to store...

And, no, I am not going to share a photograph of the pot. It is bad enough to share the story.  Showing a picture would put me over the edge.

Just yesterday I was speaking with another dear friend about possible memory loss.  Maybe I spoke too quick...

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