Tuesday. November 20, 2001

turkey postcard for sale on ebay

"The wastepaper basket is the writer's best friend."

Isaac B. Singer

I intended to be at Central Market the minute they opened. Instead I am dragging around the house, getting a shower, picking up the last piles of paper. Still, it doesn't seem too crowded. Right away, in the first aisle of produce, people are pushing each other's carts aside and bustling about. Twice someone runs smartly up my heels as I ponder where creme fraiche or shallots might be, showing that I'm not in the know. It's a good thing I wore my hiking boots. There are lots of pros, going by the shelves without stopping and tossing stuff in. Every wanderer like me is a thorn in their collective side. I bump into a couple of friends. One is lost like me, looking for something like red horseradish and then I see her again, finished shopping but can't get out. The other friend is picking up sandwiches or stuff to make them for his office and seems in control of his Central Market near a holiday experience.

Somewhere in produce, I lose my list. I think I see it on the floor but it's someone else's recipe. But I'm not buying too many things. And I remember the rest of them. I only buy what's on the list, too, except for some Christmas dish towels to give my relatives and some small glass bowls that seem perfect for serving condiments. I dither over green beans or haricot verts, how to pick a good shallot (this is the first one I ever bought). I don't like to be rushed. I'm in the wrong place for that attitude.

Back home, I attack the food section of the pantry. It's been done recently enough that it's not a disaster, but it's still work. I toss some more petrified instant coffee and some cans that are way out of date.

I clean out my pots and pans, too, hoping that this will make finding the utensils of cooking less frustrating. Um, yeah.

This done, I start the wash and go out and pick up the smoked turkey. (I can cook with my credit card.) I also get a new supply of water glasses. It seems elegant to me to drink everything out of wine glasses but others disagree, perhaps. And I hate plastic glasses although I have a supply and I'm sure they'll get used.

These chores manage to stretch until three in the afternoon. This is how housewives seem so busy all the time, right? I give myself a break after that, though, and just chill in my office enjoying the newspaper, some coffee and my newly (more or less) neat office. Our maid. (You do all that cleaning but you actually have a maid? Yes, you never hear me mention scrubbing the shower, do you? No, it's not all moldy and slimy. The maid pours caustic chemicals in there and has to open the window or she would faint. Maids, however, only clean what they care to clean. You may influence them somewhat sometimes. And they can't pick up after you or you would never find anything.)

I realize that while I've had two Echinecea tabs and another twelve-hour Dimetapp, that I haven't eaten a thing. When I was at the barbecue joint (PokeJos if you must know) picking up the smoked turkey, I saw people eating all those sinful chopped beef sandwiches and brisket and stuff on the side and almost stood in line for a very late lunch before asking for my turkey. But I wasn't really hungry.

So, FFP says what about Chili's and then he remembers we haven't eaten our quota at the club and decides to buy some take-out from them.

Anyway, even though I did disgusting things like looking for petrified things in my pantry that would embarrass me in front of my family, it started to feel like a vacation today. I had a little time for reflection and I felt good (although it was a little drug-induced). The cool weather and the sun might have contributed.

We got two apps and FFP got a club sandwich. SuRu called. We didn't go walking in the cold because I was afraid I'd sniffle. She came by and helped us finished off the food.

I read some very old New York Times magazines that I found in the piles. It can be a very good magazine. We watched a weird old seventies movie on some movie channel, notable only because Burt Lancaster was in it apparently because the commentator said to tune in next month or something for another film. FFP woke from a sleep and hit a remote button and closed captioning came on and we had trouble getting it off and then the cable started recycling for some reason and not showing info and we took it as a sign that we should go to bed.

I would love to retire and have time to put my entire house and yard in order. Get rid of stuff, clean, repair, figure out where everything is. There are drawers and closets I didn't touch in this last week. It wouldn't take long to bring order to it (although entropy would immediately take over in my wake) in the larger scheme of things. But while working and pursuing our decadent social life, I just can't keep up. Dust settles, magazines and newspapers arrive, things need doing faster than I can do. Hiring help works only to a point.

Having said that, there is still more that I want to do besides just order my possessions and clean them up. I want to work on my computers and my WEB stuff and my photo collection and my writing.

It's clear that some of this will have to wait for the real retirement, not the two week variety with entertaining relatives looming. But I have to find a way to get closer while still working full-time. I think finding the time every day for this page has somehow been a breakthrough. It doesn't make the piles of unread periodicals any smaller and no one is going to publish it (although writing for publication isn't really a goal I have particularly). But somehow it makes me feel more complete and in control.

JUST TYPING
Work.
Puffs itself up.
And expands.
To fill up the time.