scones and eggs

I made some scones--the recipe was called Brown Bread Scones. They were definitely good, but not the best.

One problem was that the recipe called for unsalted butter. We only had salted butter. So we used that and decided to compensate by not adding the salt into the recipe as called for--big mistake! They were definately not salted correctly.

Also, the texture was biscuit-like rather than flakey as a scone should be. Don't ask me why! So they were more like biscuits, and that's fine. We put honey and butter and devonshire cream on there, and I have to say, they were great.

But next time, they'll be even better. I got another scone recipe I might try instead with applesauce and nuts.

Maybe the texture is never going to be right because I'm using whole wheat flour for half the flour.

Erik called unemployment, and Kitty decided to howl for a while. I giggled. I imagined them accusing him of not working so he could stay home to take care of the cat.

I made Erik some scrambled eggs with the last of the squash, fresh garlic, chili powder, cumino, and a little cream cheese. And salt. He really liked them. And thank god, all that squash!

cleaning house

The plum tree in the middle of the apartment complex courtyard has bloomed. It's very rainy here, and I like it.

We've instituted a new policy in response to Erik's blatant disregard for the need to close cabinets after opening them. Any time I find a cabinet open and close it, he owes me one kiss. Every time he closes a cabinet, I owe him one kiss. (This is my favorite situation.)

Doing errands we drove by Loaves and Fishes, the homeless hangout area. I didn't give anyone my ginger snaps.

I threw out a bunch of old teaching stuff today, mostly what I used with little kids for poetry. I just made the ______est sandwich in the world. My sandwich is heavy as a _________. It smells like ________. When I eat my sandwich, _______________________________. From HOT circa 1999. My heart's broken at the accumulation of failures that my life sometimes seems to consist of.

Kitty's a troll who lives on the photocopy machine in the bedroom and demands a pet.

I think the universe owes me some money. Every time I hear a neighbor scream the f word at her family, I should get ten dollars. Where do I send my form?

Eating raspberry yogurt, trying to stay alive until the next the next the next tomorrow.

walk

I've been on my period for three months. Erik said, "That must be draining." I'm sick of it and know why it's happening. But I'm going to the doctor if it's not done in... one more month. You hear that, uterus?

We went for a walk before it started to rain in earnest, the route that passes by the old folks home. Several old folks were at the big windows. Some were sleeping, and some were looking out. A men's table and a women's table. I felt so young and alive. Do they envy me for being young and healthy, or do they insult me for being fat, or do they hate the sight of me? Do they look outside for the trees or cars, or are they wanting someone happy to pass by like me? I don't wave, but I kinda smile.

We brought the umbrella with a wooden handle to play with. Erik has ways of playing he learned from being a boy. The umbrella is to twirl or be a sword--the umbrella is a lazer to zap things. I have ways I learned from being a girl, or from movies. I mostly just swing it by my side.

Erik was explaining to me the nature of reality. I said, "What are you talking about? Your shirt's on inside out." So he turned it right side out and found seven dollars in the pocket from the last time we went over a toll bridge and paid with a 10.

I'm working on a poem called "teacher" that may or may not be too chatty and may or may not go into the waste paper bin. I post a picture of Erik in the redwoods.

perfect satisfaction

I got what I wanted. My eggplant moju, cauliflower and cashew, mushroom soya, dal, brown rice, papadam, paan, and carrot salad garnish could not have been better.

In Big Basin, we went for a long, slow walk and saw many kinds of mushrooms, including brown, yellow, and red cap with a white stalk. It was cold and wet out. We sat on a footbridge for a long time looking down into the creek below. I smelled the bridge's railing, and it smelled like a mushroom.

At night, our fire was what I needed it to be. We had some good carboard for kindling and huge freecycle logs that were dry and burned nice. And we put our Christmas tree on there for bright surprise.

Today, we went to Fry's for two ethernet cards and some crossover cable so hopefully our two living room computers can become friends. Standing outside Fry's waiting for Erik who was in the bathroom, I saw a guy with a Raiders tattoo on his calf, and his buddy was wearing Raiders pajama pants.

There was a homeless-looking dude drinking a Coke and muttering to himself in what sounded like Russian. He was pacing restlessly and would stop in front of me like he was going to talk to me, but luckily didn't.

The house is in disarray, and we're stressed out about how to maintain our unemployment while maintaining our morality. The contingencies stack up and make me feel nihilistic. So I'm going to bake some squash and put everything off until Monday.

recuperation

Long bath, pizza, laundry. A day of recuperation and chats, two waves of dishes, getting lost and laughing.

Tomorrow: Santa Cruz, vegan Sri Lankan food, and a long fire with hopefully no mosquitoes because they're hopefully all dead.

mutant tree last day

My neighbor signs her name so big on the sign-in sheet that the loops of her letters fill half the space for my name. I print in tiny letters in an attempt to make her feel guilty.

I cut the largest acceptable cheesecake slice and went outside to eat my beautiful plain cheesecake in the fresh, breezy peace of outdoor air, beneath the mutant tree itself.

Later, it was getting down to the wire. The room was hot, and everyone was so sick of learning about the poor hygine of the CBEST takers, who had been inspired by prompt number two to tell terrible facts about nail biting in particular.

The florescent lights were buzzing with artificiality. The scorers were restless and done playing the game called Earning Pocket Money for my Trip to Iceland. They rustled newspapers and muttered sarcastically. We all wanted out.

The new building's going to have windows. I aced my final recalibration and think everyone is done with me being new and have accepted that my name will never roll off the tongue. In fact, my name will be irrelevant forever. It's my Friday night, but nobody knows it.

mutant tree day four

Today was a non-day. I paced myself and budgeted my breaks so wisely that I found myself unphased and mostly unharmed at 4:40 quitting time. White petals were everywhere on my walks. You know those trees think it's spring.

They had trail mix for afternoon snack with high-end fruits like dried pineapple, cherries, and papaya. I'm crazy about banana chips. They taste like artifical banana flavor, which I love from childhood (when we would ride our bikes to Circle K with candy money).

Erik cleaned the mold of the bookshelf wall and earned major points in our emotional accounting system. Just kidding!

I submitted three poems to an unmentioned journal yesterday. Send your kisses in the air.

Sunday

Vespers tonight was more beautiful than usual. Swami stopped in the corridor afterwards and waited for us to catch up. "Have some cookies," he said, and held out one for each of us. We said thank you. I carried mine but couldn't eat it--the cookies always have chocolate--and gave it to Erik by the car. I smell them and hope the blessings will go in my nose.

In the winter Swami wears his orange knit hat and looks more like a little munchkin. I almost feel bad they heat the big room for just six of us. But the photos are supposed to be real people too. I was distracted reading translations and forgot to say hi to the whole reason I go there. But I think she understands. In fact, she's the one who would understand me better than anyone. And that's the whole reason I go there.

calls

I got a call tonight from this Mormon woman who sounded about my age, trying to recruit me to the church of latter-day saints, and she was really really nice, enough to make me cry, which everything is making me do today. She 100% reminded me of this friend I had in high school named Mindy, the eldest daughter of a minister, and about the most earnest person ever. She opened her mouth so wide when she sang, and when I had a solo at Pizza Pops looked at me so earnestly as if it was only her and me. I miss her! Last time I saw her, when she was dropping me off at home, she held my hands and prayed for me. As far as I'm concerned, anyone who wants to can pray for me as long as they hold my hands in the driveway. I'm a real sucker for that sort of thing and don't mind if father god watches.

I assured her that sending some people over to give me the book of Mormon would be fruitless though she so warmly told me how the word of god changed her life. Mindy moved back to Michigan with her family after god told them to go back! She had a boyfriend Mark. And I liked her sister too, the middle one Christa, rebellious and pregnant at a young age. And I liked the youngest Erika, who was in ribbons too long, and when I said, "Fancy that!" she said, "Casual that!" She was a smart girl. You know these people who take their husband's last name when they get married are very hard to google. That should be illegal!

Also in the news, we went to Sher-E-Punjab for the fantasy meal of veggie samosas and pistachio milkshake, but they were all out of pistachio ice cream, so I had mango lassi instead, which I'm sure would be better anyway.

I'm so depressed yet when everything makes me cry, it seems beautiful also, like the Mountain Goats this morning. I feel very loving, loved, and vulnerable to the point of push me over with a feather.

prisoner request

We're not good friends. If I don't buy him some books, I'm going to feel crappy, but if I do, I'll still feel crappy, so I'm in a bad position. Anyone should be allowed to ask for anything, and I should be strong enough to feel okay with a "yes" or "no," but I'm not.

The problem is they've been in lockdown since Tookie was executed, and all they can do is read.

How do you spell cologne? How do you spell offensive?

It's the sort of letter you should just throw away, but then you'll dream about it for years, how you didn't help the one who asked you for help, even though he didn't deserve it. No one really deserves it. (We can guess what Mother Teresa would do.)

mutant tree day two

I didn't go into the question booth even once. Yet couldn't avoid conversations, like with the lady who wants to recruit me to her inspirational cult and liked strawberry with chicken, as well as some random TL from CTB who spoke to me as if I was his best friend. I went along. He was saying how the night shift is superior to the day shift.

I ate as much tofu as I could justify (it was pretend chinese food). Me and Lambert talked about Cutting Through Spiritual Materialism. Then I fled at an awkward moment.

I lost lots of time like I was alien abducted even though it was the malady known as "scoring psychosis." You have a choice--I can give all these the wrong score, or I can space out for ten minutes. I wrote a letter on pink paper and started a poem "slumber party."

Thursday is the cruelest day because there's no training to make the time go faster. Everyone's drooling and frantic for lunch. My neighbor blew her nose like a trumpet. I found out she's 54.

The pay phone is still broken so I just sneaked in the back room, stared at the list of extensions, and watched the minutes add up like I'm supposed to feel guilty.

moldy

Our mold problem is officially out of hand. We tossed the matress tonight after finding the carpet underneath it was moldy. We bought some borax at the grocery store acorss the street, and Erik's making a kitten bed in the living room. He told me not to worry--I said, "I'm not worried. I'm freaked out." Uninvited organisms unwelcome.

At mutant tree, I was anti-social except for a nice chat I had about the Book Collector and gushing about out hotel room in Las Vegas with an almost-stranger. Just keep talking (and you're bound to make sense sooner or later).

I was reading an article this morning about the phenomenon of the demon sitting on your chest, when you're trying to sleep. I want to see a study of how people across cultures envision their monsters. Gender, how long their hair is, fangs or no fangs, old, young, stinky?

http://www.sciencenews.org/articles/20050709/bob9.asp

valentine's day

We don't do Valentine's Day. It's like Halloween around here.

Kitty's scared of the vacuum and thinks it's okay to sit on my desk when he's scared. Either that, or he forgot it's forbidden.

I'm depressed about going to work tomorrow: a week scoring CBEST with poor catered lunch and a lot of old people who know my face but not my heart.

no way

No way, Jose.