And so, I’m back in front of Hemingway with a cup of coffee a safe distance away. We got to Glasgow after dark on Christmas Eve, met with hugs and pretzels. We then settled down to watch Bad Santa for the second time in 24 hours. Followed by Mr Popper’s Penguins, during which I fell asleep. Sarge still hasn’t forgiven me. The air-mattress was the same height as the couch. I may have rolled from one to the other and…
And so, I may be sitting here listening to music, getting ready to break open the Baileys and watch an episode of The Sopranos before we get the train to Glasgow tomorrow. There was one last traipse around the mall today. I came home with a headache and a realisation, as I do every year. It’s not about the stuff. I can’t wait to get where I’m going tomorrow, I need to give my Dad a hug, and laugh for…
After Thanksgiving, I waxed nostalgic about canned pumpkin. My friend who writes at Calypte’s Scanner Diary, told me where I might find some. And today, Sarge comes home from Christmas shopping with two cans of this lovely stuff: I like how the light is shining on the can. As if it’s been sent by the Gods of Canned Pumpkin. Or my Nana.…
Sarge and I still date. Each other. It’s allowed. And also important. When he’s working late, and I’m not working enough, dating is a way for us to remember what the other one looks like without tired eyes (his) or PMS (mine). These days, our dates are weekend trips to the movies after having coffee that Sarge doesn’t have to make for me. And I promise, these dates do differ from our nights in with fish and chips and a…
And so, last weekend I started a healthy eating kick. For me, this meant leaving the lettuce and onions and one or two peppers on Saturday’s burger, and not having sour sweets while watching Tin Tin at the cinema. I took fruit-bars to work and came home to rice-cakes and grapes. I may have asked Sarge to boil spinach pasta and then left the tomato chucks in the sauce. I was doing pretty well. And then Thursday happened. I’ve told…
