So, where was I?

Oh yeah, I was about to relate the entire boring history of this past weekend. But I just got back from giving blood, and the off-brand Fig Newton and real caffeine-and-sugar Coke hasn’t kicked in yet, so I am in a bit of a swoon.

This one didn’t go as well as some—I believe there is some sort of law in physics that states that it is impossible for a 26mm diameter needle to fit inside of a vein having a diameter of 2mm, but that seemed not to matter to my loving venipuncturist, a great American who MADE it work, by golly!

But I did get to watch a bit of Judge Hatchett as my life slowly emptied out into a plastic bag, and a little bit of the news, and I even got to see the hot Philipina nurse (spoken of at length in some post in the far reaches of the archives) who had come in from doing a remote collection, so I suppose it wasn’t as bad as it could have been.

If you can give blood, be sure to do it. It only hurts a little, and then you lose all consciousness, so it’s okay.

And in other things, this morning has been a bad one for our computers—the gurus dudes downstairs moved the entire department to new servers and new software, and I have been struck with several episodes of utter calamity this morning as all of the bugs find new places to hide. It seems to be working okay for the moment, but that is bound to change.

ANYWAY, as I mentioned we had our lectureship at church over the weekend. Being the stupid kind and loving servant I am, I had volunteered to cook. Usually on Saturday a few of us will grille a pile of chicken breasts, (after marinating them in Dale’s—you just think I’m kidding about this stuff, but we use it for everything. Including…well, never mind) and then have some other fixings like beans and potato salad and stuff. Sundays we just have a pot luck, and everyone brings what they want.

Since I volunteered to cook, I also found myself volunteered to make up the menu for Saturday, go get the meat beforehand and marinate it, and find myself some other suckers helpers. Okee-doke—I put a big list out on the table last week and begged people to bring some food, then found a willing assistant, and got a check to cover the cost of the meat.

Thursday rolled around, and I had intended to go get the birds, and go up to the building and get ‘em soaking. Hmm. I wonder if we still have those aluminum pans from last year? Go and find out “No!” so there’s another thing to put on the grocery list. Then it was off to Sam’s Club to find the legendary Gigantic Bag of Frozen Chicken Bosoms.

Got there right at 8:30 p.m. And I carefully read on the door that they closed at 8:30. Which explained why the parking lot was dark and no one was going in. ::sigh:: Well, tomorrow is another day.

Friday came around and I had intended to go at lunch and get the chicken, but sometime during the morning, one of our elders called and was worried about cooking the chicken because the weatherman said it was going to be about 10 real Fahrenheit degrees Saturday morning, and didn’t I really want to just get some chicken from Winn Dixie or KFC instead. Me, being stupid a good and faithful servant, told him not to worry about it. Whenever he calls, we always get off on something else, and by the time thirty minutes had rolled around and we got back to cooking, I had decided that maybe going and getting some chicken was a better idea than standing outside getting alternately frozen and smoked. So I said okay. He even called around, ordered from KFC, and told them when we were going to get it—70 breasts, 20 thighs, and 30 legs, all to be ready to pick up at 11:30 Saturday. Well, good show! I called my volunteer cook and told him we were reprieved and relieved. And for once I might even get to hear the first lecture.

Saturday, it was indeed cold as a well digger’s pick—Reba woke up with a screaming backache, so I told her to stay home and let the kids stay in. No use getting everyone out in the weather. Got dressed and got up to the building early, helped set up the tables, reassured everyone that although I was not cooking, there was going to be good old KFC at lunch. Went in the auditorium and settled in--the first two speakers were great, and then right there at 11 o’clock our preacher said it was time to go eat.

WHOA! HEY, hold on! The schedule said lunch was supposed to be at 12! Oh, this was not good. I quickly raised my hand, as did the fellow who did all the chicken ordering and we both told the preacher and everyone else it was going to be a few minutes until we could eat so we could pick up the meat. “Oh, okay, then,” he said.

I ran out and headed up the road to the Colonel’s place, and told the manager I needed my chicken NOW! please. Ever so slowly she said, “Well, you knoooow…you ARE a little bit earrrrly. You weren’t s’post t’be here ‘til 11:30. It’s all fixed, but we ain’t packed it up. Yet.”

Okay, okayokayokayokay “I’m so sorry, but they quit early and now everyone is ready to eat so I need it as quick as you can pack it up!”

“Okaaaay. Would you like something to drink while you wait?” It is never a good thing to be given the option of a beverage while you wait, for such an offer indicates a level of uncertainty about the estimated time of completion of the task upon which you are waiting. “Thanks!” Grumblepraygrumble. Stand. Sip. “We’re workin’ on it.” “Thank you.” Sit down and sip.

“Sir?”

Oh crap. “Yes?” “We got all the chicken cooked, except he forgot and only done half your breast pieces. It’s going to be about, oh, I don’t know, maybe another fifteen minutes or so.”

(Note to self—have KFC manager-exploding mind waves recalibrated—did not work despite repeated attempts.)



Well, then, let’s see now—it’s all cooked and ready to pack--no, it’s all cooked and it’s going to take a while to pack—no, it’s all cooked except for the parts that aren’t, which will take fifteen minutes. Like I really believe it’ll only take fifteen minutes. “Is there not anything else you can do?” This was a stupid question, but it was all I had. “We could give you some legs and wings…” Such hope in her voice, such helpful chipperness. “No, I think I might better wait on the breast, since that’s what I’m supposed to be picking up.” I sat back down.

Just then, the man who told me not to worry about cooking, who took it upon himself to get the chicken ordered, whipped into the parking lot—“Terry! They’re EATIN’!” He was desperate. Explained situation, and he was even more agitated—I thought he was going to fall down and do a Curly spin right on the floor. He offered to take what was done on to the building, so they finished wrapping that bit up and he took it out to my car. Hmm. I guess he’s not going to go back to the building first, after all. Can’t say that I blamed him. Last pan in the back seat, and he related how he tried his best to get everyone to stop and wait, but to no avail. It was like he was describing a fire fight.

Got back to the building and was swarmed by poltophiles—the trays were set out, and by the time I had hung up my coat and come back, it was all nearly GONE! I reassured everyone that the rest would be there shortly, and offered my continued apologies.

Got finished, cleaned up, wrapped up the LEFTOVER CHICKEN for the next day, listened to the next two speakers, then headed for the house. Saturday night was the normal exercise in child bathing, hair drying, nail cutting, ear doodling, and singing all the songs on the O Brother soundtrack with Catherine. She’s quite an interesting little singer—a mixture of Emmylou Harris and Lou Reed.

Up early Sunday, and on to Day Two of the lectureship. Two more good lessons, then lunch, which was not late this time, then two more speakers, then time to go home.

Or so I thought. Since we got out early for the day, Reba decided we needed to go get some stuff for the kids to do some sort of craft thing they were doing. ::sigh::

On to Michael’s, stand around looking at bits of string and paper and glue and flowers and stuff, hold other stuff while Reba takes Catherine next door to Books-A-Million to use the restroom, go to checkout and get stuck behind woman trying to run a return scam of some sort on the cashier, who herself was young and new and tried to deal with the situation by being snotty. Finally got the harpy out of the store, but the cashier was still out of sorts, which was not helped by a certain four children who felt the need to handle and touch every tiny refrigerator magnet and bit of junk laying by the cash register.

Finally, we got home. Never has a three day weekend been so welcome. Even with the threat of horseback riding lessons hanging over me.

Reba had signed the older three kids up for a one day horsemanship camp. You may recall that this was a weekly class back during the summer, and for some reason, my lovely wife felt the need to sign them up for another day of fun. Which meant either she or I would have to go with them. Which meant that I would have to go with them. Which is fine, I like the horsies and all, but all day long is a bit too much.

Imagine my supreme delight when I found out I didn’t have to stay! Hooray! Now I could go back home and wallow around on the couch and read the Sunday paper! Filled out the paperwork and gave them all a stern talking to about minding Miss Amy, or else, and came on back to the house.

Where I found that my skills were required for a huge variety of secretarial chores—Reba is trying to get a grant to go back and finish her bachelor’s degree—so I had to hunt down all of our financial information, and scan forms, and then go to flipping Target for an ink cartridge, and try to explain in numerous ways to Catherine why she didn’t get to go with the other kids to play with the horses. It made her very sad, until I let play on the puter, after which she forgot I existed.

Interesting little child, she is. While I was gone to take the kids, she and Mom had been watching Martha Stewart Living on TV. Martha mentioned her house in New York, then later her house in Connecticut, and Cat piped up and told Mama, “She sure gotta lot of houses, don’t she!” Reba laughed and told her that she might be getting to move to the state prison soon. Catherine thought for a moment and said brightly, “Hmm—then she’ll have a NOTHER house to fix up!” Ah yes, the Big House. Reba got tickled and told her that it wasn’t a house, but jail. “Did her do something bad?” “Yep, it’s called ‘insider trading’.” “Oh. She shouldn’t oughta done that, Mama!” Indeed!

If you don’t have a five year old, you need to get one.

Anyway, got finished with my stuff, then went and picked up the kids. They smelled like the barn and were dead tired, but they had fun. Supper, baths, to bed, and up again ready for another day today. Which is now almost gone.

The server switch computer bugs contributed to a massive mess earlier today, which delayed the posting of this mess. First the mouse pointer went crazy, then after I switched the computer off and back on, I kept getting all sorts of missing driver software messages, then I couldn’t log in to the network, and in general had a time of it. I went downstairs and did penance in front of the sysadmin, who was stacked up with everyone else’s bugs. He said he would get to it as fast as he could. I left for my bloodletting, came back, switched the Magic Gates Box off and on, and everything was working fine again (mostly). Only later did I learn that none of the boffins downstairs had been up to fix my machine. It mysteriously fixed itself, more or less. Of course, I can’t open any of my .jpeg files. And all of my Word documents seem to have been strained though a colander, then reassembled by capuchin monkeys using their own droppings for adhesive.

Oh well, that’s life, I suppose. Anyway, tomorrow morning will feature more Exciting Real Life, as I have my biweekly special meeting to make sure no one builds anything unsightly around here, so I will be checking in later than usual.

See you later on tomorrow! (And there will be a special surprise!)
posted by Terry at 3:59:00 PM