I'm exhausted.
It is the wee hours of the morning, and I am trying to finish accomplishing all the things I had wanted to do for this visit. Right at this very minute, I am wondering why I did not cook Gary's Christmas brownies beforehand and freeze them. Just now out of the oven, I have to wait for them to cool.
Today was a day of cramming in the things we had not yet gotten to, because so much of time with Myrtle is being with her whilst she rests in the GREEN chair. The strain of Friday's cooking day really led to two days of nothingness. In fact, I was bold and brave and flat out slept as long as I needed on Saturday and Sunday, but that did mean missing whole chunks of time with my beloved best friend and her momma. It also meant that they possibly might have stayed up far, far, far later than they would at home.
So, today, we crammed in a visit to the reclamation store, a trip to Walgreen's to fetch more milk, iPhone lessons for Bonnie, MAC lessons for Bonnie (don't laugh at the blind leading the blind there), watching a movie, church, cooking Red Lentil Dahl for lunch, cooking Lemon Chicken Gyros with Tzaziki and Feta for dinner, cooking Double Chocolate Dr Pepper Cake for dessert, and office supply shopping in Myrtle's stash—bags of binders, hanging file folders, top loading sheet protectors, dividers, pens, sticky notes, dry highlighters, an exacto knife, tabs, and flags will be making their way to Pennsylvania later on today. So, like Friday, I spent most of the day on my feet ... or rather not lounging in the GREEN chair. And, like Friday, I dragged myself out of bed whilst it was still officially morning. I shall be holding the grand collapse at bay for a few more hours, bawl like a baby after they leave at 7:00 this morning, then sleep for eons and (hopefully) do nothing for the rest of this week.
Though ... I did get a call that my new-and-improved-round-two glasses are ready at Wal-mart. SIGH.
I must say that the Red Lentil Dahl was utterly and absolutely sublime today. The two differences in making it were: 1) I used half homemade stock instead of all water and 2) I used homemade tomato paste instead of my make-do substitute of tomato sauce. I was completely stunned at the level of improvement in the dish.
Upon lamenting to Becky and her mother about how much I wanted to continue using the homemade tomato paste but that buying a gazillion tomatoes for a mere smidgeon of paste was wildly expensive for me, Becky noted that farmers will often sell "seconds" of their harvests for a fraction of their cost. Since all I want to do is make tomato paste, I might could get a box of bruised tomatoes for little enough to justify making my own tomato paste. So, I somehow need to remember this when farmers start selling tomatoes this year.
After all, don't you think it a bit rash for me to try and grow a tomato plant or two????
The one task that I have longed for Becky to help me with was to hold Amos' paws so that I could trim the hair between his pads. He is worse than a wriggling baby who has learned to roll over on a changing pad. I simply cannot do that without help. She's really the only one I can think of that I could ask to either hold a paw in a death grip or apply the scissors whilst I conduct the death grip.
Amos really, really, really needs his paws groomed.
Just to show how very merciful Becky and her mother are, I will note that for their entire visit, they helped me by keeping things picked up and, when I started to get a bit overwhelmed, do some mid-day straightening of stuff. Tonight, as Becky was heading off to bed and I was working on cramming the last bits of MAC lessons into her mother's head and fingertips, she straightened up living room so that I would not have to do so ... well ... as much as she could given that Bonnie and I were still on the couch.
For their visit, the deacon's bench remained a staging area of visitor's stuff on the main floor. I could handle that. We never did find a good place for Becky's bag of snacks and such, which ended up staying on top of the dining room built-ins. I mostly succeeded at ignoring it. The problem is that any place on the floor, such as tucked away in a corner, or on the deacon's bench was off limits because Amos would then feel free to help himself to the tastiness stored there. Next time ... hopefully there will be a next time ... I need to find a way to clear drawer space in the dining room.
My perception ... and I know it is only my perception ... is that there were a few times when I asked for things to be one way that I came across as a tad irritating or too exacting. Most of the time, I think that I have a very good reason for what I am asking ... the manner of it ... but sometimes it really makes no sense. For example, Becky gladly chowed her way through the extra peanut peanut butter cookies I had on hand—even though they were too crispy—but her preference was not to have them kept in the freezer. I, on the other hand, did not want the container left out on the counter. So, she was stuck with cold cookies needing to thaw. I never found a good spot for the container that would not have been left out on the counter. But, even when I was fairly convinced I was closed to driving Becky and her mother nuts, the two of them were gracious and accommodating.
Perhaps that is why having them in the house did not feel as if there were people all around me. I felt no need to run and hide or have alone time or struggle with wanting to scream out loud for a few long minutes. I have spent time with Becky's mother here and there, but never 24-7. She is as soothing and calming and sweet and gracious and merciful as Becky, but in a different way, with a different personality. To put it differently, whilst they might think otherwise, I could certainly be trapped on a desert island with them. Were we so marooned, the three of us would have good meals, a clean hut, and several homemade games for entertainment. I think it would be good, though, if we were marooned with a Kindle to share.
I can say that, after feeding extra two folk for five days, both of my completely full freezers have significant space newly available in them. In fact, after Friday's pulled pork tacos, nearly my entire stash of tortillas is gone, as is most of the naan bread and half of the gyro bread. There I was on Wednesday thinking that I was dough making for the next month or so when really I was dough making for a visit. That way, more time could be spent visiting than cooking. See, I am new to this food production business. I have not yet learned to gauge what is needed for more than one person on a regular basis. I had had visions of trying to eek out a culinary living through March with what I have on hand, but I shall most assuredly need more flour before the first of April.
Is it weird that I really liked being able to provide freshly cooked flatbreads for my visitors??
One of the things I really liked about my new way of living is that, having decided to make the Double Chocolate Dr Pepper Cake only this afternoon, I was able to thaw out a small mason jar of buttermilk and do so. Normally, I would have to dash out and purchase buttermilk and would also then waste what was not used. When I bought the last container, after preparing the dish I was cooking, I measured out 1/2 cup into small jars and froze them. So, the dashing was only to the basement. Cool, eh? [pun intended]
My one regret is that, had I asked, Becky would have sung an office of prayer with me each day. Even with her I feel ... selfish ... in asking such a time. I think I think asking would be a bother and a burden.
I am Yours, Lord. Save me!
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