I just wanted to record a few interesting experiences that I've had over the past couple of days. On Sunday I went to church with fiancé (the inclusive, non-dogmatic, accepting church) and, as most of the world will likely be aware, it was the ten year anniversary of the attacks on the US by Al Qaeda. The message that was conveyed by those gathered and by those leading the service was one of peace and also acknowledgement of loss and grief. A young Native American man sang an impromptu song in the language of his tribe along to a small drum that he had brought along. It was amazing; I felt really privileged that he had shared that with me and those gathered there. The song was sad and haunting but also very beautiful. I had been saying to fiancé that I haven't seen any indication or expression of Native American culture in my previous visits to the US and so, as he said, I finally had my wish. I would have loved to approach the young man and chat to him after the service, when people gather in the foyer for coffee, but a sentence at the end of the sharing ceremony finally triggered my homesickness in a huge way. I was too tired and upset to brave social interaction, which I still find difficult at times, so we went to the store and then home.
In the evening I decided to cook myself some baked chicken breasts with peaches and ground chipotle pepper which is how I fell into the massive task of cleaning, repacking and organising the herbs and spices shelf in the pantry. I discovered in there just about every herb and spice I had ever heard of, and I few I hadn't, and because it was so disorganised there were more than a few containers to consolidate. There were also half a dozen cans in there and I found what I thought at the time to be some molasses spilt over some of the spice bags and the cans. I cleaned it up and thought nothing more of it until I went to put the cans back and found that one can still had the black syrup on it, despite having rinsed and wiped it off, so I took it back to the sink. As I peeled back the label to reveal more black ooze I thought about how curious it was that the can of apricots seemed rather hollow, what with the contents hitting the ends as I turned it, and it began to dawn on me. The can had actually corroded enough to leak and, I suppose, the air leaking in must have helped the contents to rot and eventually turn into the delightful substance I was being subjected to as I attempted to clean it. Needless to say, it immediately found it's rightful place in the bin. Let this be a lesson to anyone with decade old cans in their pantry; they can eventually, under the right circumstances, go very very bad.
On a high from organising the mess that was the herbs and spices, I then moved on to the shelf dedicated to cake and muffin mixes. 2 Halloween cake mixes, 2 corn muffin mixes, 2 chocolate cake mixes, 1 can of frosting and an assortment of tiny bottles of frosting and sprinkles later I was left with the only box of cake mix and can of frosting not yet expired. I used them to make my first cake-from-mix frosted with frosting-from-a-can. My ex-professional baker ego got the better of me and I asked fiancé which he liked better: my baking or the cake mix from a box and frosting from a can variety. He told me that it wasn't fair to ask him to choose, so I assume that I lost this bet, and I was disappointed with this answer for a while. Then I realised that, despite my considerable talent in the kitchen, I was no match for the perfected science of Betty Crocker's laboratory or the Pillsbury Dough Boy's years of butter-icing manufacturing experience. A quick look at Betty's ingredients also reassured me. My cooking is rather simpler and more healthful, if I do say so myself, so perhaps that can even the score a little.
Today (actually yesterday, to be perfectly accurate, as of 26 minutes ago), we went shopping after an appointment that fiancé had and I found soy chocolate pudding, soy cheese and soy yoghurt at an organic food store. We also visited the book store and fiancé garnered himself the rest of the series which begins with Game of Thrones by R. R. Martin (which he purchased at Wellington airport before we left). He, cruelly, encouraged me to play with an e-reader which was on display and then years of consumer training and ingrained advertising gnawed at me to buy it. Normally, I would have an income and could simply purchase it then and there but that is not the case at the moment. I think this change in my situation triggered another home-sickness sulk so I had a sulk for a while until I realised that I had left my handbag in the book store's café. It had my passport in it. My wallet, credit card, NZ driver's licence, my cell phone and the cute fried egg key chain fiancé bought me. But, most importantly, my damned passport. Fiancé quickly turned the car around and drove me back to get it. I ran in and the staff had already spotted it and were just about to lock it safely in a draw when I came back for it. I haven't been so relieved since I passed my final exam. Perhaps not even then.
Previously, when fiancé had encouraged me to look at the e-reader, there had been no one stationed at the kiosk with the e-readers but there was now when we came back. Fiancé encouraged me again to go to that counter and ask my questions of the staff member there. I'm glad that he did. The staff member was friendly, knowledgeable and actually seemed like the type of person that fiancé and I might get along with as friends. He brought up the fact that writers can self-publish with no cost onto this platform and sell their e-books through the store's website. He himself had done so. I'm very intrigued by this prospect, it makes getting a book published seem so much more accessible and possible, and I feel really motivated to look further into it. I feel so much more motivated to write. What else have I do to? Well, aside from cook, clean, tidy, paint and deal with bureaucrats. Fiancé also picked up a job application for the book store, which is a big and awesome step, so all in all it worked out great.
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