Columbus Day
Tue., October 14, 12:37 PM
Columbus Day is not such a big deal any more, at least around here. I believe the people who really pushed it into becoming a major holiday were working on Italian pride, kind of like St. Patrick’s Day for the Irish. (The Knights of Columbus originated here in New Haven.) Well, now there are other groups with larger populations – or louder voices – and I get the feeling they don’t like either Irish or Italians. And I firmly believe that a holiday has lost its power when it turns into a Monday holiday – either to be celebrated as a long weekend or else as a BIG sale day for the retailers. As you may have read, I have a real problem with retailers and big sales.
Most lawyers – around here, at least – prefer to close the office when the courts are closed and the post office as well. But Bosslawyer and I had parted last Thursday with “I’ll see you Monday,” so I wasn’t planning on a day off. But this is Bosslawyer, Mr. No Ambition, and I fully expected him to phone me and say, “we’re closed.”
I waited till the last possible moment, and he didn’t call, so I got dressed and went in. I figured I would check his e-mail (he doesn’t know how), do some personal copying, and maybe get home early. But he actually came into the office, and he had work! Not only something other than busy work, but an appointment with a potential client. I was so busy yesterday I never even got a chance to surf Diaryland! (I knew this would happen as soon as our girl intern left!)
Tired as I was, I went home to the leftovers of the weekend. For once it was truly leftovers, for I had actually roasted a turkey breast on Sunday. (It was on sale, or I wouldn’t have bothered.) Not the best turkey I ever had, but truly wonderful stuffing and gravy.
I must digress. Y’see, there’s a strange problem with U.D. and her significant other, whom I will call JM. JM doesn’t eat vegetables. Mashed potatoes, red spaghetti sauce, that’s about it. So what, you may say, lots of guys don’t like veggies. Keep in mind that U.D. is a militant vegetarian. So once in a while, I grill him a burger, or make sauce with meat. She won’t stop him from eating it, but she doesn’t want to touch it.
Thus, the turkey breast – small enough that I won’t be eating it till next month. JM likes turkey. He doesn’t eat stuffing, but U.D. made mashed potatoes. He doesn’t eat cranberry sauce either, but I had some for Husband, who likes the canned jelly kind.
JM ate two helpings of turkey. Husband got up and took his pills. I offered him dinner; he said he’d eat later. U.D. and JM left the kitchen. I’m half reading, half watching TV, while I wait for Husband. I can’t leave the stuff out, not only because it might spoil, but because Cat thinks nothing of jumping up on the counter if he smells meat. So I put all the food into the refrigerator, wash the dishes, and start the oven on the clean cycle. And here comes Husband: “where’s my dinner?”
He had turkey and stuffing and gravy and potatoes and cranberry jelly, and he liked it all. He even ate in the kitchen because it was too unwieldy to carry back to his room. I figured I had supper for the next night or two. Last night Husband got up, took his meds, and proceeded to make himself a bowl of oatmeal. “Don’t make dinner for me.” His tummy seems to be upset.
No one else got sick. So, if it was something he ate, it wasn’t my cooking. Either it was the cranberry sauce or some of the junk food he likes. Basically, it was either too much milk or too much sugar. He’ll be fine, but I may have to feed that turkey to the cats (the feral ones); there’s a limit to how much I can eat. Which is why I don’t cook big meals any more.
Meanwhile, it seems that big burst of ambition was just a flash and nothing more. Bosslawyer is not feeling well and is going home in half an hour. He even canceled an appointment with another potential client.
This is when I’m glad I’m a temp; I don’t have to worry about the state of his practice. I can use the time I didn’t have yesterday. Maybe I can go too the market where they offer discounts to senior citizens. This gray hair has to be good for something.
