Thursday, January 22, 2015

Today when I was having a shower, there was light coming through the wall over the tile and huge banging noises because Jim was ripping off the wall on the other side. A distinct feeling of impermanence, I'd say. The bathroom is about to be demolished. The basement bathroom will be my new bathroom until this one is finished. The basement bathroom is, um, scary. There is an interior door that opens into HELL where the sump pump lives, dirt and wires and the abyss. I have no idea how long I will be using this alternative bathroom. It's possible that I will go down there one day and and never be seen again. 

In the meantime, I made a almond flour pear tart with hard pears that, of course, didn't get softer in the oven. So I pulled them off the tart and now I'm poaching them. My mother did not teach me to cook. I think she hated cooking. She cooked a million meals for seven people and she grew to hate it.

Tomorrow Holly and I go to our old standby Tiger Mountain but we're leaving early so we can finish a trail I found last year. It got dark before I got to the top and I want to get there this time. With homemade peanut butter cookies.

My dreams have been full of inappropriate sexual activities. With young men. Not teenagers, but definitely too young for me. By about 40 years.

Those parts of the brain never age, apparently.


Ms. Moon said...

Wowza! I love a good sexy dream. Rarely have them. Dammit.
Yes. We have all of the ages we've ever been inside of us. Sometimes different ages must make their needs and desires known.
My mother was the same with cooking, I think.
Sometimes I poach pears in a sugar and lemon and water mixture and let them cook until nicely soft and most of the liquid is gone and then put a little blue cheese and toasted pecans in their little cups where the seeds had been.
One of our favorites.
Please don't disappear into the bowels of hell bathroom.

Elizabeth said...

This post cracked me up. Your bathroom hell reminded me of the basement in the house I grew up in in Atlanta -- there was a room down there that housed the furnace, and it had never been "finished," but was just red clay and pipes and no lights at all.

Please don't disappear.

37paddington said...

i do not like to cook and did not teach my daughter the first thing about cooking which i often think is why she loves cooking and is brilliant at it. of course, it could be that she learned by watching her father, who does love to cook. children find their way.

i dont envy you that scary basement bathroom but i do envy you the shiny new one upstairs that is in your future.