Like most mornings, this one began with an encounter with Nyka, my bedroom door guard cat. Since I can't afford 24/7 guards for my bedroom door, I make do with the schedule that the guards I do have are willing to work. Nyka seems to prefer the early morning shift, about 5 to 7 or so. On the rare occasion when she is otherwise engaged at any point in this period, she subcontracts the job to her sister Byka, who is gullible enough to accept the post at whatever rate Nyka offers. This morning Nyka was available to do the job herself, and she greeted me with a silent look I know all too well - you know, the one that says: "Food preparation will bring you grief today so consider eating out". I promised to consider her warning and proceeded about my day.
My first task for the day was to check on a very slow processing task I left running on one of the computers overnight. Still running, I remarked to myself - a synthesis of approval and criticism. I'm glad that the job has not died (it would have to be started over), but it's taking longer than expected, about 20 hours at least. The task does not require my involvement other than me cheering it on as it reaches percentage milestones, so I pre-cheered several and moved on to more interesting things, proceeding without incident all the way until lunchtime.
Karma dictated the events that followed, as I've set the wheels in motion several days ago. A pre-cut Butternut Squash cannot be ignored once purchased - if you don't use it it will beckon each time you open the refrigerator, calling to you, teasing you, making you self-conscious about your inability to follow through with a plan. I find that it is usually pointless to argue with a vegetable, but this time I decided to prove the squash wrong. I combined the squash with several other unsuspecting ingredients, which all seemed harmless enough, at least until the pot came to a rolling boil.
This is simply the way life is. My kitchen is full of things that seem friendly enough, but true friendships are tested under pressure. I know this well enough, and so, heeding Nyka's warning, I chose against using my new pressure cooker. The rapidly maturing Butternut Squash soup waited patiently for its chance to express its feelings, and soon enough I presented it with this opportunity - I opened the lid and stirred. Little did I know that the potato chunks conspired with the squash to create a carefully positioned air pocket, a pocket that would lay in waiting until I disturbed it with my silicone spoon... only to spring into action, propelling a quantity of boiling water in my general direction. I don't know what made my edible friends feel the way they did - perhaps it was the "Genie In A Bottle" syndrome, as I've kept the potatoes waiting for quite some time. Perhaps the squash was simply coming of age and acting out its adolescent need for self-assertion.
I don't usually hold a grudge. Instead, I am holding a bag of frozen peas against my wrist. It's not that the burn is that severe, but I'd rather go through life without having to experience blisters. And so it is with a bag of peas on my wrist that I encounter two sounds, both familiar and yet unexpected. The first is the beeping of a UPS as it responds dutifully to a sudden loss of electrical power. This beep comes to an abrupt end as the UPS utters a dissolving "I told you so...." and quits. Indeed, the UPS did tell me that the batteries are spent months ago. So much for my computing task. As I wallow in the prospect of restarting that infinite wait, I am shaken into present moment awareness by the simultaneous roar of five fire trucks delivering a plethora of Santa Clausi to the unsuspecting residents of my street. I had no idea that my small town had that many of either, but I am glad that it's winter and my windows are closed. I like my eardrums.
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