We finally got some rain, followed by cool crisp autumn weather. It was perfect for walking this weekend, but I was too busy to get out anywhere. Yesterday, I brought some more stuff to storage, baked cookies, and did assorted household odds and ends before going to my storytelling performance. The cookies were spiced pumpkin bars and were tasty, but kind of mushy in texture, sort of the way lemon bars are, so too messy really. As for the performance, we only had about 10 people show up, including my grandboss and her husband. We also had a photographer from the Washington Times (not, alas, the Post) who even stayed the whole time and was surprisingly inobtrusive. The show went well, for the most part. I told Lucy Clifford's "The New Mother" and "Lyle and the Ghost" and was pleased with the reaction to both. I need to decide what I'm telling at the other two shows I have coming up. Kensington Row is tougher, because I really don't have a good gauge of what the audience is likely to be like. And the other person I am telling with is someone I don't know very well.
Today was mostly occupied with moving related stuff. I've started bringing books off the shelves to the condo and stacking them in the closet. And I've continued bringing closet stuff over from the den. The gist of which is that I own too much stuff. Not exactly a "stop the presses" revelation, but expect me to continue whining about it for a while yet.
By the way, we finally moved at work, so my entire life is full of packing and unpacking. In case I haven't said it enough, moving sucks. The work week had other crises and stresses, which I don't need to get into here. Some weeks are just that way.
Sleep deprivation doesn't help, though at least it's due to Red Sox victories. I was worried last night, when the Rockies scored 5 runs more or less right after I got home and turned the TV on, but the Sox pulled it off. I'm concerned about tonight with John Lester pitching, but I will, of course, be glued to the screen.
Finally, celebrity death of the week was Peg Bracken. My mother was a great fan of her "I Hate to Housekeep Book." I am thankful that Mom didn't go in much for Bracken's recipes, though, which tended towards things like miniature hot dogs in a sauce that included grape jelly. Bracken may have been closer to Roseanne than to Martha Stewart, but so are most of us when it comes to domesticity. At least she was amusing in the process.
Copyright 2007 Miriam H. Nadel