Royale With Cheese

Remember "Pulp Fiction"? I was so young and innocent when that movie came out - what was it - 1995? Earlier? Uma Thurman snorting coke, her nose suddenly bleeding. Two thugs discussing hamburgers, driving to a hit. The needle to the heart. John Travolta dancing like he was young again. "In Paris, it's called a Royale with cheese."

I'm recalling this because my latest cocktail was a Martini Royale. Nothing stellar, unfortunately - frozen vodka and creme de cassis and champagne and a lemon twist. Alcohol, of course, doesn't freeze. (That's true, isn't it? But then I have this recipe for pina colada popsicles, and I seem to recall that under the title is the question, "Who says alcohol doesn't freeze?"). The vodka, nevertheless, did not freeze in the freezer over the course of 48 hours. It became sort of slimy, and yes, very cold. But so what? Ice is cold.

I wish I'd had a Big Mac. No, actually, a Quarter Pounder with cheese.

I am hungry tonight, for a burger, or a calzone.

For supper I had broccoli and radishes and cold chicken. I picked raspberries in the rain. Not a bad idea, actually, as the wasps stayed away. I thought about walking in Spain, probably because I was wearing my camouflage rain jacket, the one that I wore walking in England, where it every day rained. The jacket turned out to be completely waterproof, which was a blessing. Oh, the pain in my ankles and knees on that journey. We did the north half of The Cotswold Way. Someday I mean to finish it, to end up in Bath in a rooftop pool at the Bath Thermae Spa. Either alone, or with my mother, or Caleb, or ?

That's all, folks.

Tomorrow I'm off to Falcon Lake, yet again.

What a hell of a summer it's been.

Sloe and Steady Wins the Race

I'm not sure who wrote this on the white board in the doctors' lounge; most likely one of my children, though I can't exactly explain it. We're not going to Las Vegas. Jule doesn't know how to spell, and it's not Caleb's printing. Also, the S's are backwards. Must have been Jule, under his dad's direction, though again, I wasn't aware of a plan to go to Las Vegas...

I've had a weekend alone in my house with my cat. For the most part, it was bliss. I biked to Nym Lake for a swim. I picked raspberries, ate raspberries, froze raspberries, picked the stems from raspberries and baked raspberry platz. My clematis is blooming and my tomato plants are forming tomatoes! I read and wrote and slept and did a shitload of laundry. Cocktail-wise, I made a sloe-ho (slow ho?), and loved it. Sloe gin, gin, Chambord, lemon juice, sugar syrup, egg white, and soda water. In that order. Tangy and doesn't taste of alcohol at all.

I tried to watch "Waitress" for the second time last night, but just as it was coming to the hilarious sex-with-the-doctor scene, the DVD stalled, and despite cleaning it and scanning and scanning I never could get it to play past that point. That's the last time I buy a used DVD. So tonight after a very productive day involving raspberries I rented "The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo", which I suspected might be terrifying, and I thought I was being very brave to embark on it being alone at home. Strangely in the past couple of months I have no longer been afraid when I'm home alone, even at night; I just close my bedroom door and sleep, despite the creaking hardwoods, backwashing filters, and all the other noises that used to require alert consideration. It was dark and creepy, the usual sexually violent woman-hater serial murderer deal, but I managed. Lisbeth is terrific. Must be a Scorpio.

So now I must venture to bed.

Shadow's outside, killing birds.

French 75

I am ambivalent about the French 75, lemon juice and sugar syrup and gin and champagne. It gets a great big question mark. Chugging champagne straight from the bottle with my pills was more satisfying.

"Jefrey with one F Jefrey, Jefrey with one F Jefrey." - The Pixies.

I am about to watch the first episode of Season 2 of "Mad Men", if I can manage to stay awake. I am bone tired. Dog tired. Tired of cliches. Tired of living a cliche.

"He's so spacious." - The Pixies.

This is my sunroom, on a sunny day. Today was a cloudy day, hot in the morning, cool in the evening, full of wasps and mosquitoes. Teaming with wasps and blood-filled mosquitoes.

This is my sunroom. That is my bedroom, that, my dining room, my children's bedrooms, my upstairs and my downstairs bathrooms, my hollow space, this is my hollow space.

Spaghetti with basil and Sinfully Sweet Campari tomatoes and sea salt and garlic and olive oil and pepper for supper. Read my horoscope and bible verse of the day; they were, as usual, concordant.

"Feelings of looking down - hold on." - The Pixies.