Saturday, August 14, 2021

Narration Signifying Nothing

I'm still blank.  It is the difficult time of year here now with impending storms of every imaginable kind just over the horizon.  If things were different, perhaps, I would be lallygagging in a condo on the beach, frolicking in the ocean waves, floating in the pool, taking naps during the hottest part of the day, drinking beer and eating fish sandwiches or white pizzas at night.  Rather. . . . 

Something fun.  I took my mother to the grocery store yesterday.  There were specials.  She reads about them in the paper and writes them down.  We were on a quest.  This is how she gets so many off brands, I guess.  We made our way up and down the isles checking off the items on the list.  We found some BoGo items(though I prefer 2Fer) that were not on the list. . . and that was a thrill.  The cart was loaded by the end of the last isle.  How much did we save?  God, I don't know.  It was like a treasure hunt, though.  

Retirement fun. 

When we got home, my mother had me eat a leftover salmon patty from a couple nights before.  Heated it up in the microwave.  Had the consistency of rubber.  Smelled like old salmon.  I paired it with some leftover wine.  

Then it was time to get to work.  My mother's windows were not simply dirty; they had a green algae growing on them.  I had promised to wash them.  Windex and newspaper, just like the old days.  I thought I was a real working class hero, I did.  And when they were clear as water, she had another task for me to do.  She wanted me to cut down the neighbor's trash tree that was growing up over the fence.  About this, I was dubious, but my mother was relentless, so I got the clippers and a chair I could stand on and got myself to work, and in a while, she was happy enough.  I cleaned up the branches I'd dragged over into her yard and set everything aright.  

That was enough for the day.  I took a shower, and then a nap.  

When my mother woke me, it was time for me to take her to her therapy.  I usually go back with her, but there were a lot of patients at the time, so I waited in the front.  With nothing to do for the next hour, I took out my phone and scrolled through photos.  In an hour, I got through them all.  It was Ili's phone, in a sense, the history of our relationship.  I got the phone minutes before we met, apparently.  From that moment on, the phone recorded a visual history of our adventures together, our holidays, our travel, the tragedies, the renewals.  Except for the occasional selfie I snap before, during, and after getting beautified, the pictures end with her departure.  

There are some good pictures in there.  

After the therapy session, I took my mother home.  I grabbed a beer out of the fridge to take with me.  I had to go check on my house, get the mail, run the printer, feed the cat. . . .  It was already late afternoon.  The beer was good.  

I usually get takeout dinners on Friday just to feel festive.  I wasn't in the mood for sushi and thought to pick up something Italian, maybe some clams over linguini. . . maybe.  By the time I had done the chores at my own home, though, I wasn't in the mood.  I called my mother and told her I'd be cooking.  I had an idea to make something tasty and fattening.  I would make chicken Alfredo and asparagus.  

Another trip to the grocers.  I got distracted.  I was going to get some bacon and some capers.  I thought to cut the bacon into small pieces and fry it in a big pan, then put the chicken thighs in to cook in the bacon grease setting the bacon aside for crumbling into the linguini.  I thought maybe some capers would liven it all up.  

But I forgot to buy them.  I think it was the girl in the short shorts that did it.  Don't get me wrong.  I'm no Cuomosexual.  New term.  But I suffered from distraction nonetheless.  

I don't cook linguini and my mother's burners are very uneven, so my timing for everything was way off.  I got all the ingredients prepped and started the water to boil.  Too soon, however, I started the olive oil and garlic in the pan.  Then the chicken thighs.  But the water wasn't boiling.  It was on a burner that doesn't heat up as much.  I switched it to a hotter one.  But the chicken needed flipping.  And still no boiling water.  I had to take the chicken out of the pan just as the water began to boil.  But linguini takes much longer to cook than does spaghetti.  The asparagus had steamed.  I cut a tomato and put it into the colander.  Finally, when the linguini was done, I poured it over the tomatoes.  At least that worked.  They were cooked perfectly.  I plated the food, put the sliced thighs on the linguini, poured the sauce.  Voila.  

Boy, I think that bacon would have been good.  The capers. . . not so much.  

Overall, the dinner wasn't a disaster.  It was fun food for a Friday night.  I had a citrusy white chilled, but I decided to blaspheme and go with a Cab Sav.  Don't judge.  

And finally, the after dinner scotch.  What a day.  It was a late dinner for us.  The sun had set and the night was upon us.  We settled into our usual places and turned on the television.  

Now you know.  I have no pictures.  I have no stories.  At least there were no Friday the 13th horrors, no Freddy Kruger or the like.  

It is Saturday.  Rain is in the offing.  My friends are all off on adventures.  I may take a walk.  

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