I have returned to the land of my furball, who trotted to the door as soon as I came in at 11:15 am yesterday. I did laundry and lazed about.
Paul was providentially making a pork roast for the masses and me, Keith, Kate, Tom, Peggy, Jeff and Paul all sat down at a table yesterday and pigged right out. It was a succulent roast, and in addition to being highly edible, prevented me from having to actually, you know, like, cook on my first day back, although I did do the meat for tacos tonight.
Prior to inviting us over he said on the phone, “You sound really tired; you should take a nap.”
I was laughing as I hung up the phone. So I wrote a song. It’s a vaguely Latin sounding thing which is supposed to have mariachi style brass. (Added later…. it’s E B7 which is according to the magical internet – is a simple latin chord progression. )
There are friends
We run to when
We’re looking for advice
And the quality may vary
But the concern is nice
There are friends who give us
A verbal kiss
Others deliver a slap
But I like my friend Paul’s advice
When he says TAKE A NAP
Take a nap, dear
You know that you will feel much better
Have a glass of water first
Maybe put on your favourite sweater
This go go go
This rush rush rush
It’s a capitalist trap
If you want your life back
Take a nap.
I know you can’t hear it, but the mariachi brass is very nice.
Yes, Catherine’s many forays into Mexican and Central American food during my stay left a big mark on my psyche; I’ll be shopping today for ingredaments for the feast this evening. I detect a trip to Granville Island Market in my future. I can hardly wait to try my tortilla press. And there is nothing in the fridge. No beer, no milk, little veg, no leftovers; I have my work cut out for me.
I’m trying not to drink alcoholic beverages on Wednedays and Sundays; Dave fed me beer on Wednesday so I skipped last night.
I suppose I should talk a little more about my vacation. More: