Nothing Special

Had to get to town, get a few things, see some people. I'd been up since the butt-crack of dawn, examining punctuation very carefully. A second cup of coffee, and I'm off to the library. The main space at the pub is closed off for a graduation party, so I get a Bloody Mary and watch ESPN in the front room until TR shows, we chat for a while, retire to the museum. I've got my list, of things I'd forgotten, so I stop at Kroger and buy some root vegetables and an extra dozen eggs. I need to split and haul the rounds on the driveway, the new number one priority, tomorrow, if possible. I got several pounds of small purple potatoes, a few parsnips, a few turnips, some beets, and a two-pound bag of small Spanish onions that I can roast whole. I'm thinking about cooking a brisket in the oven over night. A fairly elaborate plan, but all I really have to do is read at the island and pay attention. Which is pretty much what I do. Imagine cooking a brisket that way. Yes, I could do that. No uncertainty. Sunday dawned dismal. I drank coffee and had a cheese omelet then went out, organized the woodshed for another batch, then went down the driveway and rolled some of the rounds out in the open so I can bust them in half. Many long pauses when I listen to birdsong. I was inside, on a break, when two young squirrels attacked the house. Doing that thing where they chase each other. Quit working when America's Test Kitchen came on the radio. I enjoy listening to that. A knock at the door and it's a country guy that looks almost as bad as me. He was lost and dehydrated. I'd gone to the door with my shotgun, which he couldn't help but notice, got him a glass of water and gave him directions. I don't like people stumbling upon my house. I'd picked up a nice strip steak and I was very hungry, roasted some root vegetables, caramelized a red onion, and pan-fried the steak, excellent, and plenty left over for another meal. I read for a couple of hours. For non-fiction I'm reading about dirt, and for fiction I'm rereading all of Thomas Perry in order of the writing. You should read The Butcher's Boy, it's a delight. And Metzger's Dog is a hoot, Pynchon-like, in the layers of humor. Buying salvation isn't a recent idea, we still have chits we flip at the door. What Gutenberg first printed were indulgences. Religion has to answer for a great many sins.