On Tennis, Briefly
As far as metaphors go, I like the Godot one better than the zombie one.
2010-06-24
(no subject)
1. I am figuring out how to de-vegetarianize a jambalaya recipe. It's an odd process and feels vaguely naughty as well, but definitely educational.
2. If you look at things a certain way, this week's soccer results mean that the US has a better team than France, Italy, and, in a sense, England too. (How I would have liked Slovenia to advance and have England eliminated in karmic retribution for that EASY tabloid cover! But I will take finishing in front of them in the group as a consolation prize.)
3. I could have been a part of three different Pride contingents this year. But, you know, babies plus the World Cup means I am flaking again. Next year we're gonna go as a family, though, I swear. In the meantime, I'm still planning on the Dyke March and should probably coordinate with some folks, eh?
4. April's ear infection and this week's attendant exhaustion means I think I have missed all of the Pride Month events outside the marches proper that I was planning on attending, too. Oh well.
5. All of this--soccer-watching, baby-tending, lots of work--means I am feeling a little insular and isolated. I think I need more afternoons in the park. And tea. At least work meetings and things mean I get out of the house...
2. If you look at things a certain way, this week's soccer results mean that the US has a better team than France, Italy, and, in a sense, England too. (How I would have liked Slovenia to advance and have England eliminated in karmic retribution for that EASY tabloid cover! But I will take finishing in front of them in the group as a consolation prize.)
3. I could have been a part of three different Pride contingents this year. But, you know, babies plus the World Cup means I am flaking again. Next year we're gonna go as a family, though, I swear. In the meantime, I'm still planning on the Dyke March and should probably coordinate with some folks, eh?
4. April's ear infection and this week's attendant exhaustion means I think I have missed all of the Pride Month events outside the marches proper that I was planning on attending, too. Oh well.
5. All of this--soccer-watching, baby-tending, lots of work--means I am feeling a little insular and isolated. I think I need more afternoons in the park. And tea. At least work meetings and things mean I get out of the house...
(no subject)
btw, the second photo on this page is a good illustration of why I tend to think that West Coast morels are dinky (but tasty) little things.
(no subject)
Trying to fill out the East Bay Express' Best Of The East Bay survey did not help my sense of being a little out of touch these days.
Entry tags:
Pasta with Morels, Leeks, and Peas
The lads requested I preserve tonight's dinner recipe, so here it is.
Put on a big pot of salted water on to boil.
Meanwhile, saute two leeks in 2-3 Tablespoons of butter until soft. Add as many morels, rinsed and sliced into strips, as you can afford. Cook until soft. Sprinkle on a little chopped fresh thyme and cook for a minute more to release the aroma. Add about a half cup of creme fraiche. Thin with a little milk if needed, and warm through.
When the water is boiling, cook 1/2 lb. capellini pasta. Just before it's finished (and it cooks fast!), throw in two handfuls of frozen peas (I bet fresh would work just the same). Bring back to a boil and drain.
Put the pasta in the skillet with the sauce and combine well. Season with salt and pepper. Top each serving with a little grated parmesan if you like. Eat.
Put on a big pot of salted water on to boil.
Meanwhile, saute two leeks in 2-3 Tablespoons of butter until soft. Add as many morels, rinsed and sliced into strips, as you can afford. Cook until soft. Sprinkle on a little chopped fresh thyme and cook for a minute more to release the aroma. Add about a half cup of creme fraiche. Thin with a little milk if needed, and warm through.
When the water is boiling, cook 1/2 lb. capellini pasta. Just before it's finished (and it cooks fast!), throw in two handfuls of frozen peas (I bet fresh would work just the same). Bring back to a boil and drain.
Put the pasta in the skillet with the sauce and combine well. Season with salt and pepper. Top each serving with a little grated parmesan if you like. Eat.
Antibiotics...
So this evening I lay April down on the couch and asked, as I have asked every dose, three times a day for two and a half days now, if she would please open her mouth so I could give her her medicine. I prepared to hold her arms down and tilt her chin up and braced for the wrestling and crying and pink stuff all over hands and shirt and couch and everything. That's the way it was this morning, and at lunch. I've tried giving it to her on a spoon. I've tried using the syringe to squirt water in her mouth to show her it's OK. Yesterday she took the water but today at lunch she refused it. On Tuesday she took her first dose without complaint but every one since then is a fight. Meanwhile Simone begs for a chance and I have to explain to her that no, the pink stuff is for April but she can have some water from the syringe if she wants. I give her two or three squirts and then go back to April and say, "See? Your sister likes it. Do you want to try it?" I've done this three times now to no particular effect.
This evening, April lay on the couch and listened to me talk to her. I asked if she was ready for her medicine, if she could open her mouth, please. She didn't fight. She didn't clamp her jaw shut or turn her head away. Instead she pursed her lips and sucked on the syringe, tentatively. I pushed slowly. She made a face but didn't spit it out. I let her swallow and pushed again. She pursed her lips again and let me squirt that goopy sweet pink stuff into her mouth. I finally got the entire dose in, minus some dribbles out the side of her mouth.
No crying. No wrestling. No refusal at all. Quiet curiosity and patience. From nowhere.
And trust.
Afterward she asked (mostly body language) if she could hold the syringe. So I let her carry it around with her until bedtime, more or less.
We'll see what tomorrow brings.
This evening, April lay on the couch and listened to me talk to her. I asked if she was ready for her medicine, if she could open her mouth, please. She didn't fight. She didn't clamp her jaw shut or turn her head away. Instead she pursed her lips and sucked on the syringe, tentatively. I pushed slowly. She made a face but didn't spit it out. I let her swallow and pushed again. She pursed her lips again and let me squirt that goopy sweet pink stuff into her mouth. I finally got the entire dose in, minus some dribbles out the side of her mouth.
No crying. No wrestling. No refusal at all. Quiet curiosity and patience. From nowhere.
And trust.
Afterward she asked (mostly body language) if she could hold the syringe. So I let her carry it around with her until bedtime, more or less.
We'll see what tomorrow brings.