Soup with Sherry

Rat-tah-tah-tah-tah-tah-tah-tah!
The sound of mechanical engineering in action comes from the kitchen.
Rat-tah-tah-tah-tah-tah-tah-tah-TAH!
"Do you think," Herself shouts into the other room, "Do you think there are enough mushrooms in this to serve six?"
I drag myself away from the search for a point to the WALL-E movie to peer at the replica Sugar Loaf Mountain in white mushrooms lying amid an absolute chaos of onion peelings and stock cube wrappers and a blotted inkjet printed Internet recipe for Cream of Mushroom Soup to grunt something non-commital but hopefully encouraging.
Herself waves the shiny new hand blender at me.
"Do you know where the green bowl is? The one I used for the Christmas trifle?"
I sniff the air and home in on the substitute trifle bowl, a brown one, where a mashed up sponge cake is marinading to death in Harvey's Bristol Cream.
"Sorry, I haven't seen it."
Herself looks at the recipe.
"It serves four. Will there be enough for six?"
"Just double everything. You might end up with too much, but you won't have too little."
"I could just add some milk to the cream. Or water."
The adage about too many cooks comes to mind and I leave her to it. I tidy out the fridge of expired vegetables and out of date yoghurts adding in more soft drinks for our guests who'll be arriving tomorrow afternoon for a New Year's Day tea.
In clearing up, I find the green bowl, sitting amid biscuit tins and tea cake boxes in the middle of the table. For an inanimate object, it looks distinctly smug. It's had a near miss: Herself likes sherry trifle to be heavy on sherry and this time the brown bowl is having to swallow the medicine instead.
Herself waves vaguely to her side of the kitchen.
"Don't bother clearing up over here," she says, as if I'd be brave enough to start moving things while she's cooking. "I'm still using things."
"Here," she says, proffering a white hot spoon from the very depths of the pot. "Try it."
I take the spoon, knowing if I don't manoeuvre it personally, it'll brand a neat oval shape on my lower lip. I blow on it and sip the half cooked soup.
"Does it taste of mushrooms?"
It does. In fact, it's delicious.
"It'll take ten minutes more of simmering," she says. "Will we have a sherry?"
So we join the brown bowl in marinading ourselves in Harvey's Bristol Cream and ponder the good things a while.

New year a-comin'

We've had a tender and mild Christmas in 2008, with the irritant that I picked up a grusome cold with a cough about three weeks before and am only now getting through the other end of it.

It hasn't been a great year for us, my teeth playing merry hell for most of 2008, losing my father towards the end of July (and the teeth.... he paid for the job to be done before he died). We also lost a favourite pussy cat to old age, after nearly 17 years, around Halloween. So Christmas was planned as a strictly winding down event, but as I mentioned that didn't even work out too well and Herself had to shoulder most of the burden of festive things.

Of course, we had many blessings too -- our family grew with the addition of a grandaughter who'll be a year old in March! Her big brother (aged 3) has taken to her very well indeed and he continues to be a joy. The rest of the family is generally hale and hearty and we'll be catching up with them all at various times in the New year.

I got paid for role-playing writing for the first time in over a decade -- $10, a cheque I haven't cashed but will probably keep as a souvenir. And I took a left turn in Second Life by starting a Dungeons & Dragons group in there. We play every Thursday. People pretending to be people pretending to be people....!

So New Years Eve looks like beers and waiting for Jules Holland's annual tv programme. We have folk over on New Year's Day for dins, then I have the game in the evening and back to work on Friday.

No, I didn't get the Friday off. Is it too late for a "Bah! Humbug!"?

Hope you've had a nice Christmas and that you can look forward to a comfortable and happy New Year.

New Year's Heart-Shaped Flame

Herself and I lit a single candle this New Year's Eve, in remembrance of our mothers. Part way through the evening, it was pointed out that the flame had become heart-shaped. One side of the flame would rise up a little, the other diminish. Then the reverse would happen. We decided it must be the two Mammies vying for attention!

The two of them liked sweeties, so they must have agreed to share when both sides were equal.

Happy New Year to everybody who is missing someone in 2008.

My turn to get the dread Lurgy, or its cousin

Was quite happy to get back to the day job yesterday, until, as it wore on the pressure in my lower jawbone and around my left eye hinted at the return of a seasonal tooth-and-synus problem. Possibly the notion of being in the office led to some involuntary jaw clenching, but as I went through the emails that had accumulated over my prolonged Christmas holiday, I was comfortable enough with what I found there. My colleagues had looked after my mails and the procedures necessary to keep work moving forward admirably.

"Do you suffer with synus?" my boss said when I complained in passing that I was starting to feel bunged up. "Have you any Sinutab? People who suffer with synus swear by Sinutab."

"Well, I have some problems with my teeth that are adding to it," I replied. "Possibly the start of an abcess."

That was enough.

"There's nothing worse than an abcess. You know, the only solution I could find to one was to hold my head under a cold tap for hours at a time?"

I nodded. My boss is prone to migraine, sweet tooth, and other maladies as a result of stress the same as I am. His solutions and stories are always entertaining though.

"I went to the doctor," he said, "And he gave me an injection for the pain. Well, Jesus Christ! I don't know what the drug was, but if someone had two of them you'd have a serious drugs problem in a minute!

"You see that building over there? Well I got home and I was as high as it! Floating!"

He then proceeded to tell me how the dentist had to drill his tooth (without an injection, which, he said, might help spread infection. I didn't quite see that logic, but however.) to relieve the abcess. I was glad I'd already had my dinner.

I got home last night and the pain started up properly. I had a night of half hours -- half an hour covering my face with a blanket. Half an hour sitting on the side of the bed. Half an hour holding my head up. Half an hour lying down. Each new movement relieved some problem or caused another one.

So, no work today. Antibiotics, pain killers, lots of fluids instead. I hope to get back to the office tomorrow.

Happy New Year