M
Meemselle
Guest
https://meemselle.wordpress.com/2019/09/11/wherein-meemselle-loses-a-crock/
Wherein Meemselle Loses A Crock
Posted on September 11, 2019by meemselle
As you know, Darlinos, I moved earlier in the summer, back to the Mango Penthouse. It’s good to be home. Although it took me a long time to overcome my inertia (See “Gloria In Excelsis Ertia” posted 7-26-19) and address the unpacking of many boxes, I recently did so, and all that remains are boxes of books and pictures, and those can wait.
Or so I told myself.
However, in preparation for hosting my first (very small) dinner party this Friday, I started poking around my newly-organized kitchen for my crockpot. I want to make the turkey breast in the crockpot, a tried-and-true recipe from the Meemselle repertoire. Turkey breast tends to dry out, and doing it in the crockpot solves this pesky problem.
It came to me, with a jolt, as I was trying to get to sleep the other night, that I hadn’t seen my crockpot. These are the kinds of things that keep me permanently sleep-deprived. I leapt out of bed to do a quick recon mission, and couldn’t find it, but even I am not so neurotic as to do a full Operation Neptune Spear at 2 a.m., so back to beddie-bye I went, certain that in the clear light of day, the crockpot would present itself. Although I am Jewish through and through, I do freely admit that in such times of crisis, I still make a prayer to St. Anthony, the patron saint of lost things….you know: “Dear St. Anthony, come to the ground. Something is lost and cannot be found.”
Maybe St. Anthony finally got the memo that Meemselle is no longer a member of the “one, holy, catholic, and apostolic church,” because it didn’t work.
I spent more than one hour (actually, more than two) tearing this place apart looking for my crockpot. If you saw the Mango Penthouse, you’d realize that two hours looking for anything here would enable you to pretty much re-pack and unpack everything in it. Three times.
Now in my defense, Gentle Readers, let me stress that I was not the one who did the majority of packing when I left the Noisy Apartment on Camino Llibre. I have staff for that. And very good staff it is, too, but let’s just say that Dominican logic about what belongs together in a box is not exactly the same as MY logic about what belongs together in a box. For example, one would anticipate that bathroom stuff would all be in a box with bathroom stuff. Yet, I found towels, toiletries, and my shower curtain in a box that also included dry soup mix, garam masala, and quilting supplies. The box was full, I’ll say that much.
And you know how when you get into that frenzy of looking for something without success, you start (or I do, anyway) opening cabinets that you’ve already looked in over and over again? There are a limited number of cabinet doors that can be opened. I can only get on the floor to look under the bed twice in one day without crippling myself. I even looked in the shower, a place that I visit more than once a day, on the off-chance I might have missed it during my frequent ablutions.
My cousin Pat says it will turn up when I least expect it. My friend LisaEllen says it’s like socks in a dryer, so look in the dryer. I don’t have a dryer, and yet so crazed was I that I started looking for a dryer that I could search.
I looked behind the trash. I looked behind the couch. I looked at the dishes already put away, you know, because maybe it’s hiding in plain sight. I looked in the linen chest. I looked in the refrigerator.
In just a Few Words, what I’m trying to explain is this: I’m trying to think like a Dominican.
Wherein Meemselle Loses A Crock
Posted on September 11, 2019by meemselle
As you know, Darlinos, I moved earlier in the summer, back to the Mango Penthouse. It’s good to be home. Although it took me a long time to overcome my inertia (See “Gloria In Excelsis Ertia” posted 7-26-19) and address the unpacking of many boxes, I recently did so, and all that remains are boxes of books and pictures, and those can wait.
Or so I told myself.
However, in preparation for hosting my first (very small) dinner party this Friday, I started poking around my newly-organized kitchen for my crockpot. I want to make the turkey breast in the crockpot, a tried-and-true recipe from the Meemselle repertoire. Turkey breast tends to dry out, and doing it in the crockpot solves this pesky problem.
It came to me, with a jolt, as I was trying to get to sleep the other night, that I hadn’t seen my crockpot. These are the kinds of things that keep me permanently sleep-deprived. I leapt out of bed to do a quick recon mission, and couldn’t find it, but even I am not so neurotic as to do a full Operation Neptune Spear at 2 a.m., so back to beddie-bye I went, certain that in the clear light of day, the crockpot would present itself. Although I am Jewish through and through, I do freely admit that in such times of crisis, I still make a prayer to St. Anthony, the patron saint of lost things….you know: “Dear St. Anthony, come to the ground. Something is lost and cannot be found.”
Maybe St. Anthony finally got the memo that Meemselle is no longer a member of the “one, holy, catholic, and apostolic church,” because it didn’t work.
I spent more than one hour (actually, more than two) tearing this place apart looking for my crockpot. If you saw the Mango Penthouse, you’d realize that two hours looking for anything here would enable you to pretty much re-pack and unpack everything in it. Three times.
Now in my defense, Gentle Readers, let me stress that I was not the one who did the majority of packing when I left the Noisy Apartment on Camino Llibre. I have staff for that. And very good staff it is, too, but let’s just say that Dominican logic about what belongs together in a box is not exactly the same as MY logic about what belongs together in a box. For example, one would anticipate that bathroom stuff would all be in a box with bathroom stuff. Yet, I found towels, toiletries, and my shower curtain in a box that also included dry soup mix, garam masala, and quilting supplies. The box was full, I’ll say that much.
And you know how when you get into that frenzy of looking for something without success, you start (or I do, anyway) opening cabinets that you’ve already looked in over and over again? There are a limited number of cabinet doors that can be opened. I can only get on the floor to look under the bed twice in one day without crippling myself. I even looked in the shower, a place that I visit more than once a day, on the off-chance I might have missed it during my frequent ablutions.
My cousin Pat says it will turn up when I least expect it. My friend LisaEllen says it’s like socks in a dryer, so look in the dryer. I don’t have a dryer, and yet so crazed was I that I started looking for a dryer that I could search.
I looked behind the trash. I looked behind the couch. I looked at the dishes already put away, you know, because maybe it’s hiding in plain sight. I looked in the linen chest. I looked in the refrigerator.
In just a Few Words, what I’m trying to explain is this: I’m trying to think like a Dominican.