Our awful diet; crime; the diary
We have another mouse in our mud-room. We had recognized the signs for some time, and today I actually saw the mouse. Jasper and Ziva were uninterested. And who could blame them, since we took away the previous mouse after Jasper killed it.
Today, while I was cooking for Samuel – a mash of black beans, egg, and mayonnaise – he decided to take matters into his own hands and poured a bag of Cheez-Its onto the kitchen floor.
Ironically, he ended up preferring the black bean mash, while I ate the Cheez-Its (the least-contaminated ones).
Yes, our diet is awful. I don’t know how it got this way. It’s not even that I dislike nutritious food.
Or clean food.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
And now the crime report. On Saturday, Karin & I got haircuts. It was Karin’s first haircut since the pandemic began. My hair also had gotten quite long. Anyway, we both got our locks cut short. This is not the crime. The crime, or crimes, already had been committed. What the haircuts revealed were the forensic traces: the many nicks and scratches, on our faces, inflicted by Samuel.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
I have blogged for so many years now, I often think of entries well in advance of posting them, and sometimes I even write them in advance. (Of course, certain regular columns – the poems, the movie reviews, the World Cup qualifier reports – make some content foreseeable.) And then there are the entries written just before midnight on the due date, with little planning of what I’ll say. They are the most diaristic entries. Tonight’s rhapsody has been of this kind.
Today, while I was cooking for Samuel – a mash of black beans, egg, and mayonnaise – he decided to take matters into his own hands and poured a bag of Cheez-Its onto the kitchen floor.
Ironically, he ended up preferring the black bean mash, while I ate the Cheez-Its (the least-contaminated ones).
Yes, our diet is awful. I don’t know how it got this way. It’s not even that I dislike nutritious food.
Or clean food.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
And now the crime report. On Saturday, Karin & I got haircuts. It was Karin’s first haircut since the pandemic began. My hair also had gotten quite long. Anyway, we both got our locks cut short. This is not the crime. The crime, or crimes, already had been committed. What the haircuts revealed were the forensic traces: the many nicks and scratches, on our faces, inflicted by Samuel.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
I have blogged for so many years now, I often think of entries well in advance of posting them, and sometimes I even write them in advance. (Of course, certain regular columns – the poems, the movie reviews, the World Cup qualifier reports – make some content foreseeable.) And then there are the entries written just before midnight on the due date, with little planning of what I’ll say. They are the most diaristic entries. Tonight’s rhapsody has been of this kind.