I had my first zoom call the other day, and it did not go well.
Two years into the pandemic, you might ask: how is that possible? It is.
My blog got hacked, and I spent $100 to just fix it. No need to understand wtf happened.
They said it was easy, but they had some suggestions, so we scheduled a zoom call for the next morning. Well, I overslept, couldn’t find the app, and then had password troubles, wardrobe troubles, and problems with the mute. I was an embarrasment.
I had a rough week in San Diego, working with Jackie to get rid of Dad’s junk.
I boxed up, palletized, and shipped 1080 pounds of “good stuff” from his office. I found a good home for six filing cabinets, two chairs, and 2 benchtops, and we hauled away the rest in a box truck. How, you might ask, is it even possible to remove so much stuff from such a small space?
Maybe he went to Hogwarts?
1080 pounds of goodies
I decided to make Jackie a home-cooked meal the last night I was there, and my specialty is enchiladas. So while the junk haulers were hauling the junk, I was searching the kitchen, looking for pots and pans. I started roasting chiles under the broiler and, of course, they started smoking and set off the smoke detectors and – you know how smoke detectors are – I couldn’t make them shut up without taking out all the batteries. We opened all the windows and doors, turned on all the fans, waved towels in the air, and finally got dinner cooked.
Worst batch ever, but the best I could do.
When Dad died, I was working on the new bathroom cabinets, and that project got put on hold. Until today, when I picked up exactly where I left off a month ago, and the piles were still exactly where I left them.
Celia is visiting. Pregnancy is the topic of the day, and estrogen is in the air.
The plan was for a birthday dinner for 12, followed by a baby shower for 30, with all the trimmings. My job was to make 32 enchiladas.
Lookin’ good.