That Was Close!

     Rousted out of bed this morning under threat of decaf!

     The neighborhood grocery stocks a wide array of ground coffee -- wide, but not very deep. In recent months, they've been out of the house-blend "Jamaican Mountain Blend" that I like.  They nearly always have it in whole bean (and when they don't, there's always Tanzanian Peaberry to fall back on), so I've been buying that instead.

     I have also been keeping a little decaffeinated coffee on hand, most recently a Kona blend; it's a nice hot drink with supper, less sugar than soft drinks,* and especially welcome in the winter.  That stuff is ground coffee, ready to go.  Fresh, it's not bad, but even in a vacuum carafe, it doesn't keep well.  Hasn't got that edge.

     This morning, I was sleeping in.  Got up, fed the cats, and laid back down, with a hot pad under my back and, eventually, Rannie the cat curled up next to me.

     I was jarred back to full consciousness by being asked, "Where's the coffee?  I've got the kettle on.  Shall I just use this Kona?"

     The beans don't get ground until needed; at a pot of coffee a day, that's a grinder-ful every other day.  I stash the ground coffee in an unmarked, air-tight container and there's no way to tell what's in it or how long its been there.  Our coffee grinder is old and a bit arcane to operate.

     Tam was being helpful but I'd left her without any clues where the good stuff was. 

     So there was nothing for it: if I wanted morning coffee with caffeine, I had to accept that it was my own darned fault the right stuff wasn't more obvious and get up and make it myself.

     Which doesn't take all that long, really, nor much effort, either.

     Just finished a cuppa and a heel slice of nice, fresh sea salt and rosemary-crust bread with Irish butter.  I think I'll crawl back under the covers and see if I can entice the cats to join me for an hour.
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* Even the way I drink coffee, with creamer and a teaspoon of sugar, it's better for you than soda pop.

Here We Go Again

     Lots of people "have got it coming;" few of them ever get it.

     War...doesn't work that way; drastic action is often taken against important centers of command.

     And in a state of almost-war?  Cold War?  Over-arching principles are rare, plausible deniability is common -- but not the rule.  Sometimes actions are overt to the point of challenge.

     U. S. forces killed a top Iranian officer.  A drone strike in Iraq, near Baghdad.  It appears he was instrumental in a lot of damage to our people. 

     What happens next, I don't know.   

New Year's Meal

     Tamara took this photo right after I'd stuck the thermometer in the meat and started adding vegetables; it was up to the "Beef - Rare" point shortly afterwards.

     We were short on charcoal and I had trouble getting the grill up to 250°F and keeping it that hot, but it all worked out in the end.

New Year's Day

     Corned beef is soaking, protected (I hope!) from Huck's attention by a lidded pan.

     Tam saw the New Year in with fireworks; I was in bed by then, awake but barely and with one cats snuggle up next to me while the other one occupied my legs.  We all have our own ways of celebrating; I'm not sorry to see the old year chased off and we'll see what the new one will bring.

     It's trite, but why not play the song?

Corned Beef!

     Despite the heathens at our corner market, where management continues to fail to stock any corned beef brisket for the holiday,* Tam managed to find a good-sized one at a nearby big-box store, an overgrown five-and-dime that also sells milk and eggs (and everything else: makeup, wine, floor wax, car parts, orthopedic shoes, cookies, bras, waxed cookies that taste like orthopedic shoes and bras for your car).

     With that and cabbage, potatoes, carrots, onion and black-eyed peas, we should be stocked for our New Year's Day meal.
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* I don't know what's wrong with them. Possibly the high-level corporate people are from some dreadful parochial backwater where they don't eat corned beef on New Year's, but you'd think they'd at least be willing to learn.  Year after year, they continue to not stock the stuff as December turns into January; you can't even order it, even though they do that for turducken.  Is corned beef just too déclassé for the cheese-and-chamber-music set?  If so, how come they sell it cooked, cold and sliced at the deli counter?

Bagels To The Rescue

     Bought a microwavable breakfast yesterday, a nice-looking scramble, thinking it would save time this morning.  It sure did -- freezer to microwave to plate to fork to mouth and the remainder to trash, just about that fast.  Just not at all tasty, and not much for texture, either.

     Tam had bought "everything" bagels late last week, and last night made a point of reminding me she'd saved the last one for me.  It certainly came in  handy this morning!

Rainy Day

      Kind of chilly and rainy today.  But 52°F and drizzle is still much better than extreme cold and deep snow!

Indeed

     I have posted nothing all day.  It's been that kind of a day. 

     In the last few weeks, I have been watching the final season of Amazon's The Man In The High Castle.  I think they have done good work with it.  John and Helen Smith have an interesting arc, Juliana Crain's path is muddled yet has a certain sense, but Chief Inspector Kido is perhaps the most unexpected in terms of growth.  He begins as a ruthless high-ranking Kenpeitai officer and, under the influence of Trade Minister Tagomi, develops a kind of reluctant compassion while remaining hard-nosed.

     If the writers, director and show-runner can keep this up, they may yet wind the story to a satisfying conclusion.

     Is is Philip K. Dick's story?  Not quite.  The first season was similar to the book but the following seasons have diverged.  I do think they pick up something of the sense of it, and it's a good story in its own right.

Daylight Savings Calendar?

     I woke up this morning, fed the cats and went back to bed in my room, idly watching the morning news and considering what I wanted to do today.  Tam walked down the hall, looked in and remarked, "It's unusual to see you back in bed on a weekday."

     "What?  It's not Saturday?"

     "Yesterday was Thursday, so...."

     "Oh, holy cow!"

     So here I am, catching up the lost time.  I'd blame it on the mid-week holiday, but I'm darned if I know how.

The Day After Christmas

     It is, of course, Boxing Day, the day on which you glove up and fight anyone who still needs fought, now that we've all had a chance to wax nostalgic and make up.  At least that's how I have always thought it was supposed to work.

Merry Christmas!

And/or

     Season's Greetings!

     (If you're the kind of grump that wants to kick up a fuss about well-meant holiday wishes, take the day off, willya?)

Making A List, Checking It Twice...

     ...And adding one extra plush-toy animal, just in case.  The increase in great-nieces and great-nephews is irregular but constant and one never knows.  Besides, one of the youngest may need another friend.

     I'm having a whole passel of pre-wrapped, tagged books and plush toys* drop-shipped to the nephew hosting the family gathering next weekend, which at least leaves me free to make a last-minute decision and alleviates some of the guilt.
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* Do not call them stuffed animals, especially if crossing a border or dealing with animal-rights activists.  A brightly-colored floppy bunny rabbit in a waistcoat is not the same as the taxidermied head of a real moose.