Well. That larder-filling, vegetable-processing bit took f-o-r-e-v-e-r.
Baskets of veggies littered my kitchen floor for days into more than a week into oh-my-gosh-they’re-going-to-swallow-us-up madness. They have been transformed, however, into slightly more tame and shelf-stable incarnations and my shelves and freezer hold so much promise, if only I find the courage to use it all and not hoard it till the end of March. (Do you do this also?)
Surely this hasn’t taken up all of the time since last we chatted. I’ve found myself afflicted with a strange and horrible condition in which I can manage to do little but sit transfixed in front of a story on my screen about a meth-making Chemistry teacher. Ahem. I’ve realized that the only cure is to traverse Season 6 and move on to other things in my life. But until then, I’m utterly captivated, to the point of neglecting other things formerly considered important. Like conversations that don’t include references to the show.
And I’ve acquired an imaginary cow.
All day long I think of her as I go about my day (the parts where I’m not watching Breaking Bad). How would it feel to have to go out and milk her right now, I ask myself as I sip my coffee. Great, I respond. I could do that. How about now, when I’m headed out of town, what then? Oh, so-and-so could handle it just as she handles the rest of our menagerie when we’re gone. What would I feed this cow? Most importantly, I ask myself this. Where would we get the hay she would skillfully spin into golden creamy milk? Where would we store it? Where would we store the milk? What large pile of money would we use to buy this hay? (never once did I consider cooking meth)
I’m finding that she’s whispering all sorts of suggestions into my eager ears and I am weaving these into something of a plan. Can I achieve every child’s greatest fantasy and bring my imaginary friend to life?