When I was in grade school I had a friend whose last name was Ball. Her Dad bought her and her sister a red rubber ball. The kind you use to play handball against the garage or that back and forth game in the street – I think we called it two-square. He told her to put their name on it so if it rolled off, the neighbors would know where to return it.
She wasn’t sure how to go about doing this. If she put just her name, it would make her sister mad. But she wasn’t going to put just her sister’s name because it was her ball, too. She didn’t want to put both their names because seemed awfully busy for this rubber ball. And she didn’t want to put her last name because people would find it and see: Ball. Duh.
I thought I could wring a lot more out of this story when I remembered it last night but that’s about it. I think she finally put both their names on it and I can’t believe a 2nd grader engaged in such a complicated logic process for labeling a toy.
Not much to report here. It’s raining and 40-ish which seems like the perfect combination for me not being able to warm up. I wear fuzzy socks and drink gallons of hot tea and try not to compulsively check the thermostat.
Sleep remains uneven. I woke up before 5am every day this week so my goal for this morning was to sleep until after 5a. Made it to 5:40! Let the celebration begin. This after being up for an hour or so in the night because of too much Mexican food and margaritas. Still draggy ass. I had big ambitions for this afternoon which have dwindled to reading the paper and magazines. Sometimes I get a second wind after 5p so maybe I can use my brain productively this evening.
I’ve got the sourdough out again this weekend. The main cooking project is a traditional Boston Baked Beans recipe from the NYT that Bob said he would like me to try.
That’s the news from here.