I missed a post deadline (or two), and I’m going to miss some more.
Thanksgiving was interesting. The goose was…well…let’s just say I have a lot to learn about cooking birds that haven’t sat around in a cage their entire lives. Geese seem to have more bones than other birds I’ve parceled out, and they have less meat in some places while more meat in others. Add to that the fact that this free-range goose seems to have used her range quite freely. The meat was tough, leaner than expected, but it was also immensely flavorful. In addition to the meal, I was able to capture over a pint of goose schmaltz, and about ten cups of goose broth.
This was fortuitous, because the day after Thanksgiving, I came down with the worst cold I’ve had in a decade, and that broth is about all I could bring myself to eat.
I’ve been sicker, sure. Like that ruptured appendix I had. That was bad. Had a drain in my gut for two weeks–a suction tube, an aspirator, and a catch-bag–which I dragged around like some parasitic twin and brought out to frighten to sales staff at Fred Meyers. Then there was the Thanksgiving norovirus episode, where my entire family was taken down in a 5-hour period and my wife and I pretty much crapped our way the thousand homeward miles between San Francisco and Seattle. Good times…good times.
But as head-colds go, this one is a monster. First of all, we’ve both got it, and that is never a good thing. Second, it’s a fighter. I can usually kick a cold to the curb within 4 days and usually don’t have symptoms bad enough to warrant a sick day (I can work from home instead). This one, though, wowie-wow-wow. I’ve had it since Friday afternoon–nearly a week–and I don’t feel any better. Aches, pains, coughing, sore throat, runny eyes, bloody nose, headaches, and everything esophageal is so swollen that as soon as I lie down I begin to snore, waking myself up. It takes me an hour or so to fall asleep, and then I wake myself up with the pain and noise, only to repeat the process again.
I am not a happy camper.
Needless to say, this week’s plans have all been trashed as we sit around, sipping hot water and warm broth and honeyed tea, hear our stomachs growl and snarl but we have no appetite to feed them.
Yeah, I’m going to miss another post or two…
k
I don’t like turkey.
I’ve finished nine novels, but I’ve probably started a hundred.
On clear, cold afternoons, when the sky is a robin’s egg blue and the sun has just melted the frost off the shaggy lawns, I hear the machinery of modern yard maintenance fire up. Mowers, blowers, strimmers, and edgers set up a whirring, sputtering rumble that blankets the neighborhood as homeowners take advantage of a rainless November day.
The week started badly, and ended with a… What? It’s only Thursday?
Kurt R.A. Giambastiani 