Tater Salad
03/07/12 06:36
I'm completely losing track of time. That is what happens when the 4th of July falls on a Wednesday. You take random days off from work and the next thing you know you can't tell the weekends from the work days. There is a certain amount of freedom one can take from such arrangements but they are little more than a source of angst for me. I can get back to doing the things that need to be done I suppose. Things that never got done on the weekend. Things that I put off so I could go to the Farmer's Market or some other such silliness. Maybe I was busy visiting the in laws or delivering bologna and tomato sandwiches when I should have been taking out the trash. My own trash, that is.
When we last visited Mrs G, he asked that I help him remove the lid from the potato salad container we bought him. It must have been driving him crazy. I'm surprised he didn't take a knife to the damn thing. We were concerned that he wouldn't like it because we had bought a 2lb container but he tucked it away in the fridge and that was that. I suggested that we take the salad out of the container, put it in a new container, and be done with it and that is what we did. It was interesting that he wanted to make sure that the salad was pressed flat across the top before we put it in the refrigerator. You know, no peaks and that sort of thing. I wanted to say, you're kidding, right? Knowing that his eyesight isn't what it used to be, I assured him that it was looking good and it was safe to store. He seemed to focus momentarily with his good eye and probably decided that he couldn't see well enough to raise a fuss. Not that he would with me anyway. I don't have the patience for such nonsense and he knows that. His bullying would be wasted on me were he to play that card and he would be hard-pressed to replace me this late in the game. I'm afraid we're stuck with each other for better or worse. Have a nice day, Mr. G.
Not sure how Evan got such a nasty case of poison ivy but he has it pretty good or says his momma. It is not on his face but it is across his torso front and back and on his legs and arms. How he found himself rolling in the darn stuff, which is really the only way that he would have been exposed to it the way he was, is beyond me. And, of course, he is not saying. You know how that boy likes to keep things close to the vest. His momma tended to him as a mother does in such situations. She bought a few different ointments and applied them liberally to the affected areas on his body. It reminded me of the patience a hound shows when his owner is puling porcupine quills from his snout with a pair of rusty pliers and a steady tug. All you could hear was an occasional moan that one could take as part pleasure and part pain. I have to imagine as well that working in a hot kitchen with open sores and bubbling pustules of flesh pressing against your steamed kitchen johnnies has to redefine the experience for you. Thank the baby Jesus that he is only working weekends for now.
When we last visited Mrs G, he asked that I help him remove the lid from the potato salad container we bought him. It must have been driving him crazy. I'm surprised he didn't take a knife to the damn thing. We were concerned that he wouldn't like it because we had bought a 2lb container but he tucked it away in the fridge and that was that. I suggested that we take the salad out of the container, put it in a new container, and be done with it and that is what we did. It was interesting that he wanted to make sure that the salad was pressed flat across the top before we put it in the refrigerator. You know, no peaks and that sort of thing. I wanted to say, you're kidding, right? Knowing that his eyesight isn't what it used to be, I assured him that it was looking good and it was safe to store. He seemed to focus momentarily with his good eye and probably decided that he couldn't see well enough to raise a fuss. Not that he would with me anyway. I don't have the patience for such nonsense and he knows that. His bullying would be wasted on me were he to play that card and he would be hard-pressed to replace me this late in the game. I'm afraid we're stuck with each other for better or worse. Have a nice day, Mr. G.
Not sure how Evan got such a nasty case of poison ivy but he has it pretty good or says his momma. It is not on his face but it is across his torso front and back and on his legs and arms. How he found himself rolling in the darn stuff, which is really the only way that he would have been exposed to it the way he was, is beyond me. And, of course, he is not saying. You know how that boy likes to keep things close to the vest. His momma tended to him as a mother does in such situations. She bought a few different ointments and applied them liberally to the affected areas on his body. It reminded me of the patience a hound shows when his owner is puling porcupine quills from his snout with a pair of rusty pliers and a steady tug. All you could hear was an occasional moan that one could take as part pleasure and part pain. I have to imagine as well that working in a hot kitchen with open sores and bubbling pustules of flesh pressing against your steamed kitchen johnnies has to redefine the experience for you. Thank the baby Jesus that he is only working weekends for now.