I am in a mood tonight.
For a whole lot of reasons. I'm still detoxing from last week's denominational broughaha, and from recent encounters with a few of my coreligionists (they might argue that point) who make me want to throw things, at them. On Monday I was blindsided by an inexplicable episode of one-sided intergenerational friction here at Cold Comfort Cottage; always delightful to come home to. I am worried about a number of people I care about, who are laboring under some heavy burdens. I have been biting my nails over some event planning at work, as well as the definite possibility that my stable of volunteer drivers, a vital part of our agency staff -- many of whom are retirees on fixed incomes -- will quit en masse if gasoline prices go any higher. The news is getting me down, not only the various worldwide geopolitical messes but even fluff like the fahion and marketing world's misogynistic hand-wringing over
Dove's Campaign For Real Beauty .(My God, the horror of gazing upon real women's un-airbrushed bodies!...you poor, poor boy, Seth. Shield your eyes, if you must.) Oh, and there was this little news nugget adding to my sense that the jerks of the world are winning, and everyone else is just giving up. And I am feeling, in general, if you haven't already kind of picked up on this, stressed/distressed/oppressed/unloved/unappreciated/pissed.
I figure I'm allotted a certain number of pissed-off days per year, so I'm giving myself over to my current pissed-off-ness -- "Whatever you do, do it will all your might." Well, all right then, dammit.
So...I'm cooking. Even though it's past 10:00 p.m. It makes me feel better.
I just got done putting a pot roast in my crock pot...a couple of pieces of forgotten chuck steak (the unlikely precipitating factors of our domestic rowdy-dow...don't even ask)at the back of the freezer, thawed and browned and added to some vegetables, seasoned broth and some snippets of herbs from my planter. In the meantime, I cooked up some fresh green beans from a local market -- oooh, baby, they are so good; their taste recollects the scent of the bean blossoms -- and made them into an old-fashioned three-bean salad, spiffed up a little with wine vinegar, olive oil and a dash of Dijon mustard. Some crusty rolls from the bakery, and I think we'll call this a meal.
Tomorrow we feast. I wish I could invite you all. I wish I could invite the Dove women, too -- a little pot roast once in awhile is good maintenance for womanly curves. Cherchez les femmes.
But I'd rather be cooking happy, to tell you the truth.