It was cool last night, but by the time we got out of bed, it was already warmer outside than it was in the house. We drank our Saturday morning coffee in a sunny part of the yard, where conditions were essentially perfect. Gretchen even had some coffee, something she'd mostly been avoiding due to unpleasant interactions with the strong antibiotics she is still taking. Meanwhile, the cats were being adorable. Here's a video I shot of tiny Janet playing with big fluffy Oscar while Charles the Cat creeps up. Celeste the Cat also makes a brief appearance.
Back on Tuesday when I was helping my colleagues release the new store code, Gretchen has surprised me by bringing home a bunch of Chinese food. She got that food in Saugerties, and while waiting for it to be prepared, she'd checked out the menu of a nearby diner called Barclay Heights Diner. She'd been intrigued and delighted to see that they have a salad bar, as well as a veggie burger and spaghetti with marinara sauce. She'd said something about maybe wanting to go there today for lunch, so I said sure, let's go. I was in the mood for french fries if nothing else. When we walked in, one of the already-present customers was a woman with a tiny dog on a leash wearing a harness reading "Service Dog." I have one of those for Neville (probably not Ramona!) so we can eventually bring him into restaurants and other places where dogs are normally forbidden. I have a feeling Barclay doesn't demand to see the papers of any dog being represented as a service dog. Throughout the meal, Gretchen couldn't help overhearing the conversation between the woman with the service dog and the other woman at the table, though it was clear the other woman wasn't saying much and the woman with the dog had the kind of neuroses that a service dog might actually be helpful comabatting.
The salad bar didn't look too great to me, but after curation by Gretchen, she had a delicious-looking plate with big artichokes, pickled cauliflower chunks and carrots, olives, and beet-colored onions, all sprinkled with sunflower seeds. The fries were great, and the spaghetti came out in a huge portion. Unfortunately, there was a sweetness to the marinara sauce that made Barclay's spaghetti marinara a pale shadow of the dish as served by the Plaza Diner in New Paltz. Another unwelcomed thing was the evident presence of cheese inside the veggie burger. You'd think such an accidental sin against veganism would be a delight, but it seemed overly rich and even somewhat disgusting. I still ate it, but it reminded me that I've become an organic vegan, that is, someone who isn't just being vegan as cerebral exercise in restraint but someone who genuinely doesn't like animal products in my food.
On the drive back home, we stopped at Adams, mostly to get orange juice for Gretchen to drink before and after her hysterectomy next week. It was now a fully-gorgeous mid-October day, and Adams was mobbed with shoppers, many of them probably getting provisions for their upstate houses.
Back at our house, I was reminded that we live in something of a frost pocket; we're just north of a steep knoll that is covered by evergreens, and all the resulting shade makes our house and adjacent yard feel about 15 degrees colder than everywhere else in the area.
Before going out to see a number of Woodstock Film Festival movies, Gretchen got all dressed up with high-heel boots and a tyvek dress that looks nice on her. She doesn't usually go for hot when she's getting ready for the evening, but when she does, she can still pull it off. Of course, my plans were just to stay home and fuck around.
I'd been drinking ephedra tea since before we went to the diner, and it made me feel somewhat (though not excessively) stimulated. I did a little work on the screened-in porch, though this was just filling the hole of the northeast pole with stones to better support it before I start doing carpentry.
On the recommendation of one of my new colleagues, I've been watching a television show called Mr. Robot, which focuses on an elite hacker working in the data security field and how he comes to find common cause with a group of what one might call digital terrorists. So far, what with all the narration in a voiceover from the main protagonist, it's all very Fight Club, and I have to say, as someone who knows tech, I'm not finding the necessary bits of technical exposition all that convincing. But I'm willing to give it a chance.
At some point I needed a drink, so I bought myself the right to that by painting a painting of another painting (think of it as sort of a game of telephone). Painting other paintings is such a great exercise that I really need to do it more often. Here is the result:
At some point after dark, I realized that Janet (who may not yet have mastered the pet door) might still be outside. I opened the door and called to her, and soon she arrived, a dead chipmunk swinging in her mouth. Later, I heard a commotion and saw that new Ramona had the dead chipmunk. She mines for chipmunks every day, but only the cats really have the necessary technique to catch them. I scolded Ramona and took the dead chipmunk away, putting it on the catfood table should Janet want it back. But she was evidently already bored with it. The body was still intact; nobody had tried to eat any of it.
