Thursday, December 22, 2011
Don't cry over spilt milk
I like my coffee with milk. I suppose you'd call it cafe-au-lait. I've also weaned myself from coffee shops. This is not to say I don't like coffee shops-- I do. I love the cozy atmosphere, the music, the local paper -- the whole shebang. But I can't quite justify the expense. Thus I make most of my coffee at home.
We have a little hand held frother and we heat our milk on the stove. We used to heat our milk in the microwave. But our microwave broke and I am steadfastly refusing to replace it. Appliances should last more than three years. Period. And we can live without.
But this means milk on the stove. And invariably I forget the milk is on the stove and it boils over. Thus we are also invariably cleaning the stove.
Today I raced into the kitchen and the milk had formed a big bubble, a dam, over the top. I grabbed it and tried to pour it into my mug. Alas the bubble dam burst and scorching milk poured all over my hand. Oi! Now there is a particularly shiny spot on my finger. I'm waiting for it to blister.
Why am I telling you this? Because it seems par for the course. Everything is just a little bit off this season.
I've missed my shipping deadline for family gifts. They'll be there in time for new years. I have a plethora of excuses -- dizziness (did any one at bunko see me stumbling last night? I wasn't drunk -- simply dizzy.), an extra child for the week (and then there were four), work (this isn't really an excuse as I've had the last week off).
The truth of the matter is I could have had my gifts done and in the mail. But, it seems, I am only in the mood for knitting. Thus I've invented *necessary* knitting projects.
The kids' dentist had triplets? Well clearly they need hats. Three of them. Now.
My friend is in the hospital? Obviously a scarf is in order. Tout suite.
The repetitive nature of knitting is drawing me in; keeping me grounded in what is turn out to be an interesting holiday season.
At the moment I am looking forward to the new year. A chance to wipe the slate clean and start anew. In the meantime I'll get to those gifts and won't cry over spilt milk (even when it's scorching hot). After all life is what it is.