elainegrey

With more details about Vacation Day 1.

I went to both the co-op and the grocery store. At the co-op i obtained Local Honey. I spent some time reading up on the honey ... corruption? fraud? and trying to make a decision about how much i was willing to pay for honey. I am not so horrified about raw/not raw. I am not buying honey for enzymes and whatever is the current vogue theory for consumption. I just like honey. But i was taken with the argument about the diluted and fake product driving down the price for honey paid to hive keepers. If i care about honey bees, i should pay for honey i can trust is from bees. I'm not sure about Vietnamese and South American honey -- assuming it's really honey -- being something to turn my nose up at. But, the apparent evidence of syrup instead of honey from some of the larger sources led me to commit to getting local honey. So i did.

And chocolate and kombucha. And lots of roasted peanuts from the bulk section. ANd there was yeast, so i bought it.

Then i went to the grocery store, getting out list of things along with some Special Italian Pasta for the truffles. The grocery store wasn't quite as overwhelming as i thought it would be. It was still familiar. And yet, there was a certain unpleasant tension: every decision seemed to have a little added weight. Everyone was masked and respectful, which seemed reassuring. There were still big gaps in the shelves around the cleaners (which, due to cats, seemed like something worth checking on). The co-op bulk section seemed more troubled than the grocery's baking isle: there was still a sign asking that people to limit amounts they bought of flours.

Dinner was simple and quick, as Christine suggested we not indulge in everything all at once. Just like the holidays, stretching the special foods out over days, and not having one grand overwhelming meal, seems more pleasurable. I washed the mold off the truffle with trepidation, trimmed a few soft bits off (and tossed them under the chestnut trees -- unlikely to infect the trees, i know). They smelled ... woodsy? or was that the mold? I made a butter sauce and tossed the shredded truffle in and realized - ha! I had reinvented cream of mushroom soup! But, it was so much better. I'm not sure the experience of summer truffles makes me want to try the over the top expense of the precious winter truffles, but it was a pleasure that paired well with the wine. I could tell the difference between the wine freshly poured and then after "breathing" for a couple hours. That was lovely. We watched antiques road show (the British version, which is generally more fascinating) as we ate, and then found the cheese cake directions were not so well written. "Keep frozen until use" was followed by "Allow to defrost for 8-12 hours before serving." So we had ice cream with the Italian cherries on top -- just three each -- and oh my, that was divine.

I went for a walk with Carrie, my sister, and one of her dogs at Fearrington Village this morning. She gushed a bit about how my parents should move there. I am in no way resistant to the thought of them moving closer. I do get overwhelmed at the thought of them moving, in the same way i imagine my father feels overwhelmed at the thought. And there is a certain amount of Should-ing my sister does that perhaps reminds me of my mother's Should-ing. But meeting my Dad and Mom there to go for walks this fall could be very pleasant.

I spent the rest of the day reading Gunnerkrigg Court, a web comic. I can't believe i've spent so long on it.

So, very very indulgent. Christine actually worked all day which wasn't exactly to plan, but was OK.When i'm in a book -- apparently including a web comic -- i am gone.

Tomorrow, i may need to address some Quaker things. I've put that aside for a while.

Realizations from therapy Tuesday included that i haven't been to Mom & Dad's place since March, thus seeing the state of things - housekeeping and Mom, as well as Dad's frailty - was a shock. On Monday, i arrived to find the kitchen spotless and the clutter all put up, with laundry running and Mom's dresses drying in a doorway. Dad's energy had returned and he was using his morning burst of moxie to get things done. That was good to see.

I had taken Friday off, partly to plan our vacation, but ended up working Friday instead. (No email, yay!) With Sunday also diverting me from establishing intentionality, i'm a little frustrated. There are somethings -- like reviving my rye bread baking, that i suspect i need lead time (although i see i can buy a whole POUND of yeast on Amazon prime, so maybe i have time Saturday to sort out details - -Hans is probably dead in the back of the fridge accompanied by some aquafaba which is probably now alive).

Yesterday, as vacation planning, i found a gourmet food vendor online and ordered a truffle, lovely cheeses, olives, canned scallops, and Toschi Amarena Cherries.

--== ∞ ==--

Evening brings gloom and overwhelm and sense of guilt for not having the gumption to get up and go. There's some depression at the edge right now and lack of exercise and yard work are part of the problem.Then i face the humidity and i don't wanna. I need to get to where i can go out immediately after work and then have time to clean up and recover from the mugginess.

Edward is diagnosed with diabetes, and i flash to thinking of GreyBeard's death (2008) from complications from diabetes. I reread some of my journal from that time. We knew and we were preparing for it. It was before Christine was invaded by elephants.

I skimmed through a book Tuesday night, "The Oldest Living Things in the World," a fascinating meditative art project: photographs of some of the oldest entities. Deep time. The New York Times has had stores this week related to some of her topics. The author, Rachel Sussman, writes about actinobacteria in the permafrost, four to six hundred thousand years old, not dormant but slowly persisting, existing. The Times writes of a core being pulled from the sediments beneath the South Pacific Gyre: 200,000 feet below the water's surface, 250 feet below the floor of the ocean, in sediments from 101.5 million years ago. The microbes from this core are happily feeding away. And there's an article reporting the scientific debate on the immortality of long lived trees: no reference is made to the 43,600 year old King's Holly of Tasmania in this discussion. Perhaps the fragmentary persistence is so alien to our mammal body plan scientists can't quite count this as immortality -- and then there are some political and botanical challenges with that King's Holly (Lomatia tasmanica). The site, from Sussman's book, sounds like it's somewhat contested with extractive industry interested in its site.