So That Happened

It has been brought to my attention (by me) that I rarely post photos anymore, and it must be dreadfully tedious (do I sound like a Jane Austen novel? That was my project for today!) to read my posts when they're so dense with words. Who does that? This week I will break up items in my list by inserting pictures of things I find amusing. You're welcome.

Killarney, Ireland (aka my future homeland)

 1. My cat loves melon. We've had a honeydew ripening on the counter for a few days, and yesterday my mom and I were betting on how much time would pass between her cutting into it and my cat wailing for a chunk. I guessed 15 seconds, my mom guessed a minute. She had barely stabbed the knife into the rind when Taffy, who was asleep in the middle of the dining room, perked her ears up. In less than seven seconds she was in the kitchen at my mom's feet. If only she could use those remarkable powers for good.

This is a painting by Frank Loudin, an artist featured prominently at Crow Valley Pottery on Orcas. One afternoon this summer I was hanging my laundry on the clothesline in the yard and my mom told me I looked like a Frank Loudin painting. It was one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me.

 2. Today is a day that shall live in infamy as the day Olivia unwittingly gave her watch a bath in the washing machine, followed by a spin in the dryer, only to recover about half of it, in pieces, with the second hand still ticking. If you knew how much this watch and I have been through together, you would be weeping right now at its untimely (ha--get it?) death. I've lost metal links, the battery has died multiple times, and when I arrived in Australia last year the four had dislodged itself and was floating around in the face like a lost child at a carnival. RIP, dear watch. Time would have been nowhere as easily kept if it weren't for you.

This is, of course, entirely necessary. I love very few things in this world more than I love Huddy.

 3. Here's one from a while ago that I just found in my journal but realized I never posted: A couple months ago I went downstairs to find my dad eating at the kitchen table in nothing but a t-shirt and his underwear. I asked if he enjoyed eating without pants on, and he responded, "I don't know. I thought I'd try it out and see."

I should have posted this when I mentioned how images of baby porcupines never fail to brighten my spirits, but I wasn't smart enough to think of that. Just look at that face!

 4. My family has coined a sort of language, if you will, in regards to the enchiladas my mom makes for Michael's annual grape crush. These enchiladas, known in our household and among our friends as woman's single greatest contribution to the culinary world, are made by layering fried corn tortillas, red sauce, cheese, onions, lettuce, another tortilla, more sauce, cheese, onions, and lettuce, and a topped with a fried egg. This is the standard model, known in our house as the double-single (two layers, one egg). There is a variety of possibilities, though, from which people may choose based on their hunger level. We've known friends to have single-doubles or double-doubles. I myself have an interesting relationship with eggs--I find them vile and revolting unless hard-boiled or scrambled with so many toppings that you can't taste the egg--so I go for the double-zip.

     Now, if you ask any of our annual crush attendees, they'll tell you that it's generally ill-advised to take on more than a double-double because consuming another bite might send you to the brink of bursting. But one of Michael's friends, who'd been hard at work all evening, finished his double-double and followed that up with a single-single, thereby making his total for the night a triple-triple (which is, in our house, unprecedented). 

     This year for the first time ever we had enchilada leftovers the night after the party. Having heard about his friend's edible undertaking at the crush, Michael placed an order for a triple-triple--a straight-up triple-triple (three layers, three eggs) as opposed to his friend's collective triple-triple. After cleaning his plate, he pronounced himself the winner and texted his friends to gloat, writing something along the lines of "I just massacred a triple-triple!" One friend, famous in our house for referring to a slab of steak as "spotted owl rare but not unicorn rare," responded to Michael's text with two simple words: "Holy shit!" I cannot express to you how happy it still makes me that he knew exactly what Michael was talking about.

Thanks for tuning in this week. As my good friend GK says, "Be well, do good work, and keep in touch."