25 October 2004
We have done it again. We have thiefed Roo's spoon, fork, and cuppie. It's a miracle the child even wants to come back here. Perhaps the promise of Auntie Mrissa's piano and Uncle Tim's piano will do the trick, but with the repeated cuppie thefts, I just don't know.
We're pretty nefarious, is what.
Mark and I were up at a nefarious hour to get him to the airport, and I actually managed to get back to sleep after I got home. Impressive. Of course, I had breakfast at five-something this morning, so I'm prodigiously hungry long before it's reasonable to have lunch.
I made aeblekage yesterday, and it was good, but I had to fix the recipe. Apple cake ought to have cinnamon and probably nutmeg. This is the way of the world.
I feel chattery, but I don't feel topics welling up in my head. I'm once again too focused: time to organize my book notes and do the brand-new chapter 11. I have pages of hand-scribbled notes that apply to two books together, and some of them are very timing-specific and some are not, and I need to go through and figure out what goes where and what goes everywhere, if that makes any sense.
Having disorganized notes -- some on Post-Its and some scribbled in lists in no particular order -- seems to be vital to some parts of the process. I need to be able to just throw things in the mental equivalent of a large drawer. Sometimes when you're cleaning the kitchen, you just need the clean dishes off the counter, and if they're jumbled into the cupboards, at least you'll end up with a clean counter. But then at some point you'll need to go back and sort through so that the measuring cups are together and not spread all over hell's half-acre through the pots and pans and cutting boards and plates.
Right then. Been cooking too much lately, I think. Time to write.
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