Holiday visits home always drive me towards minimalism. It seems like my parents have an aversion to bare flat surfaces. There’s no place to set anything down, except maybe on a stray coaster.
So as much as I love kitchen gadgets, I’m always reluctant to buy new ones. My partner is even more cautious about them than I am, and I swear I’ve caught him looking resentfully at the toaster.
But all of that became meaningless in the face of this year’s gift from my oldest sister. Oh, immersion blender, how I’ve coveted you. How I’ve cursed your absence from my life when transferring something from stove to countertop blender. How I thrilled to the short work you made of that pot of squash soup yesterday.
Now I feel like an infomercial. I see myself simultaneously making soup, bread crumbs, and smoothies, with just a quick rinse under hot water between projects. Maybe a faded sitcom actor from the ‘70s will stop by my kitchen to marvel at the blender’s efficiency, versatility, and value. I might even cultivate a suspicious Australian accent.
My partner made a small snowman on the porch railing. Since then, it’s gotten unseasonably warm, and the snowman’s deterioration has been disturbing. For a while, it looked like The Scream. Now, it’s just kind of dingy and obscene. I hope it’s gone by lunchtime.
For anyone who was wondering, my dog’s paw injury has almost fully healed. He also managed to convince our vet that further treatment was pointless, as he’s too much of an energetic spas for anything short of complete immobilization to have any recuperative value. We’re still holding off on unrestricted romping for a week or so, which has both dogs rather grumpy.
The last thing I need at this point is more reading material, but new comic book day waits for no one, I guess. The first of Dark Horse’s Harlequin Manga arrive, racy Violet Response and snuggly Pink A Girl in a Million. I went racy with my pre-orders, mostly out of morbid curiosity. That almost never works out for me.