It had been a rough week for this pair of toast enthusiasts. She was trying to get through a huge loaf of sub-par Anadama and I was struggling against some horrendous pastiche of ancient junk from the freezer. This morning, faced with a hellacious blizzard (like 4 inches worth), we realized we were SNOWED IN* WITHOUT TOAST.
*It had not actually started snowing yet. But we were willing to sacrifice reality for drama since there was toast involved.
In a flurry of motion (over the course of about 3 hours), ah created a huh yuge hunk of cornbred. It did not taste like Georgia but it was okay. I used a rogue variation of PPK's recipe. If eaten in aesthetically pleasing triangles, one can overlook some of attributes it lacks in taste.
Snow finally began to happen. I headed to the barn to go move a bunch of stuff between the first, second and third floors (pant pant pant) and was back home after a few hours since the roads already had started to suck and I am a pansy.
I wished I could have also made it out to Shen's barn today. Fuck you, распу́тица. I miss him. I like these wintry pics of him from January of 2011.
Yellow had commandeered Rosalea's yoga mat since it arrived on the living room floor last week. She finally managed to reclaim it by distracting him with cat food, but as soon as she launched into the IronStrength Workout, the feline returned to, ie, get under her while she was trying to do pushups. I didn't pay attention to the whole workout, but there was one nifty element from it that she later showed me. It's a sort of one-legged squat with a toe touch and a leap. The plyometric kiss meets the flexibility/strength Molotov. I suppose if you click that link (which I haven't) it must be in the video somewhere. It is fucking hard and amazing and I love it. And I love that you need Nothing to do it - you can just do it.
No running for me today. I snowshoed tonight for about 35 minutes, just enough to generate some heat. I wandered all around the edge of the forest, watching tiny sparkles of snow in my headlamp light. Fortunately no one was around to get upset with me for demanding that I only cross my own tracks at certain angles, or to question my snowshoe-triggered episodes of spatial OCD.
Every time I have snowshoed so far this season, the snows goes away. *shrug*
I wish I had everything Richard Brautigan has ever written right here with me tonight so I could blow off everything and hide under a hundred blankets and read.
Toast. Really, there's nothing better.
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