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  If You Want to Make God Laugh
2003:  Playing the Waiting Game
2004:  Bev Sykes, Intrepid Reporter 



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After a busy day watching puppies, a girl needs her beauty sleep.


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17 July 2005
(happy birthday, Marta!)

When two of you live in the same house, your life takes on a different rhythm than when there is only one, I'm discovering.

The day starts at the same time, but with nobody to come downstairs for breakfast, "breakfast" becomes a "whenever" sort of thing.  It's not that Walt and I usually breakfast together, but I always fix his breakfast while he's putting his shoes on.  That's how I know that it's time to get up from my computer and start the day.  smileyputer.gif (737 bytes)

eating_smiley.jpg (1630 bytes)Lunch is always haphazard, since I'm home alone, but as it comes in the middle of fixing breakfast for Walt and fixing dinner for the two of us, I kind of have a feel for when to get some lunch for myself. 

But dinner is the biggest problem.  For the last several years, I've gotten really tired of cooking dinner--thinking of something to cook, shopping, cooking it.  I have become the mistress of "something with chicken in it," something I whip up after Jeopardy because Walt is hungry and I can't hand him a sandwich for dinner.

But now he's gone for a month, and it's even more difficult to cook dinner for just me.  For one thing there's the boredom factor, for another there's the laziness factor, there's the "lack of inspiration" factor and right now there's the heat factor--who feels like cooking when it's 102 outside?

fat.gif (25116 bytes)So I find that I'm not cooking anything for me, but instead I'm just grabbing whatever is the closest thing at hand.  And of course that generally means something totally devoid of any nutritional value whatsoever.   You'd think that with having Food Network on in the background so much, I'd at least have the inspiration to try something different, but that means going out in the heat to go shopping.

I used to make fun of Peggy when I was in Australia.  You may remember the story of "dog soup."  Peggy makes a huge vat of soup at the start of the week and freezes batches of it.  It's there to either feed the dogs or feed herself or both.   I've been thinking this week that really I should make myself some version of "dog soup" that will last me for a week without having to think about what to eat, and yet which contains something more nutritious than what I've been eating.

But that would mean going to the store and turning on the stove, so that's probably not going to happen.   I'll probably end up looking something like Violet from Willie Wonka by the time Walt gets home.

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The puppy crisis continued.  I finally heard from Ashley, who had been sick and thus not checking her e-mail.  She apologized and asked if everything was all right.  I responded just before I went to Petco and told her I'd be fine.

I arrived at Petco at 8:58 (it opens at 9).  Must be the happening place in town, now that Harry Potter's release is old news.  There were six of us (4 humans, 2 dogs) waiting at the door when they unlocked it.

"Where's your Esbilac?" I asked the clerk as I went through the door.

"We don't carry that," she said.  My heart sank.

Well, it turns out that they do, indeed carry it.  They carry cans.   Evaporated milk sized cans of liquid formula.  For $6.50 a can.  One can lasts one-plus feeding (don't finish the whole can, but the leftovers from two cans aren't enough for another feeding).  I bought two cans and came home and sent off a message to Ashley again, saying I needed a big can of powdered formula.

When I hadn't heard from her, I went over to Petco and found that Kim, the other dog coordinator, was still there.  They had been there, in the 100+ heat, all afternoon, hoping to find adoptive homes for some of the dogs.  She said they had sent Ashley home because she was feeling so bad and then Kim bought out the store's supply of liquid Esbilac, which should get me through to the puppies' weaning, and probably then some.

Crisis averted yet again.


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I don't mean to be a bother--honest!

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