I
logged on at 8am to get a run on the day.
My son joined me at 9am. He sneezed and burped in
the first minute. He complains that my
typing sounds like pigs feet scattering across a tiled floor and that I should
be more like him i.e. a lyrical quality, a musical flow to his pounding of the
keys.
I made
Hubbie and myself a cup of tea first thing.
He'll get around to his eventually. He likes his tea stone cold. It’s
one of his many quirks.
Mid-morning,
a work colleague rang me on my mobile. As I rattled away excitedly, my son started the blender: he was making a beetroot, blueberry and oat
smoothie. I roared at him in my indignation. He pointed that I should move since I was on
a mobile.
Nerves
are snapping. Other than the One O’Clock
news, I have stopped listening to what is going on in the world. I’m constantly on the brink of tears.
Last night, I rang
my oldest son just to check in on him. He lives in a
5th floor apartment in inner city Dublin with no balcony or garden. The streets outside are populated by
junkies. My idea of hell. His spirits are good though. His two flatmates returned to Cork to work remotely
and so he has the place to himself. He and
his girlfriend made a lemon drizzle cake at the weekend. They doubled the icing on top and then splitting the cake lengthways, they managed to cram in additional butter cream icing between the two layers. He’ll
be home this weekend for my birthday although what we’ll do I don’t know. We can’t book a restaurant and all the nice
beaches/walks are closed.
I have
a hot water bottle under my arse and another stuck inside my dressing gown next
to my chest. It’s ruining my posture.
If I had a shower and did a bit of yoga as soon as I wake up it might
improve my mood. But I save the shower for my lunch time treat – it’s
calorie-free - and I get to use the Body Shop gift my sons gave me for Christmas.
The theme is mango explosion and they’re gorgeous. Speaking of explosion,
my son (22) loves the shop, Lush and he regularly indulges in their bath
bombs. Vile things. The smell is nauseating and his often contain
glitter which destroys the bath tub. He's the only one that takes a bath
these days: it takes too long to fill.
What starts as hot water is luke-warm by the time the tub is full
and so he subsidises with a few boiled kettles.
Hubbie
suggested I use the ironing board as a standing desk. It would definitely
improve my posture and maybe my mood.
I
think I have a head cold coming on. I checked it against the symptoms for
the Virus but they don't match so I won't lock myself into the bedroom just yet
although the seclusion is tempting. I
really do need to get outside but I can't bring myself to do it. Yesterday
evening, I savaged a rampant sweet pea. Who'd have thought that such a
pretty name could be such an aggressive plant?
I’m a
whore for the cider and I really must stop.
It’s a depressant. Brigid, my
guru friend living in Kerry face-timed me last night. We’re in the middle of a monthly series of one-day
workshops to run through to May. I’m a participant; she
can always count on me to have an opinion.
The reason for Brigid’s call was to say that she plans to continue the
workshops via an App called 'Zoom'. I prefer being in a room: conversation
via Skype/FaceTime just doesn’t flow as well. As she talked, she took a casserole out of the oven - a whole roast chicken with parsnips and spuds in a buttery gravy. She ate her delicious dinner while speaking her words of wisdom including drink being a
depressant. She might be right. She also said it was important to boost/maintain my immune system especially at this time. I love a decent dinner but after 30
years of cooking and almost zero gratitude or acknowledgment, I'm sick of
it. I'm impressed at the effort she goes to look after herself. If it were me I'd be living off bowls
of granola - I make mine from scratch - a gold star for me - and toast. My
son (22) introduced me to smashed avocado on toast when we went vegan for a
month last year. Initially I thought the idea of an avocado ‘smashed’
pretentious but now I absolutely love it.
Hubbie
just got the call from his mother. She
needs groceries and so does her sister who is 90+. It’s a pity they don’t share a
house; they would be company for each other.
During my ‘break’ son (22) made
me a coffee. He personally ground the beans and made it in the aeropress he got for Christmas. It was lethal. I added milk which pained him: he’s such a
purist. He should train to be a barista given his reverence for the
stuff. He's learning Italian
on-line. When he masters five words he gets a trumpet fanfare. He told me that I can download the App, Duo
Lingo on my phone.
He also told me that the Happy Pear are
doing a Cook-Along at 12 noon each day. I asked what the recipe was today.
He read out the ingredients. I told him we had them all except the coriander and reminded him that it was almost identical to the Chickpea Stew I made at the weekend. "You
should have no problem following it so," said he.
One of my flowers drooped right before my very eyes. My son said it was all 'my negative waves.'
Just then, my boss rang. I was
never so happy to hear from her.
Silver lining moment; son (20) asked his brother for a game of handball. He said yes.
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