Drosophila melanogaster, cardamomy chicken

One of the few things I learned in high school  that I remember with vivid clarity is the scientific name for fruit flies: Drosophila melanogaster. I wish I remembered something more glamorous or useful but alas, the formal name for these pestilential, red-eyed, breed-like-rabbits bugs remains perhaps the most exact academic memory I have from A.M. Barbe High. The tragedy of that is another story, but for now, let's just say we're under siege from another outbreak of fly repro in our kitchen. They are such useless creatures, so irritating in every way. In Biology II, I did a study on them in which their food source was cow poop. Ah me; just think about a gallon-size pickled jar full of water and manure just stewing away in a second floor lab of a muggy high school building in southwest Louisiana. They ate as if at a feast, I refilled the poop chunks when their levels dipped precipitously and then I studied these buggers. What about them, I neither know nor can remember. And so we're back to the moral of the story: the moniker, Drosophila melanogaster, is possibly my truest intellectual take-away from four years of ugh.

That and typing.

Typing is infinitely more useful these days than knowing a Latin name for a dumb fly. In fact, maybe Ms. Ezell was on to something when she taught aerobics and typing: one will keep you young and the other will make your every day just a bit more efficient. Food for thought.

I also made a delightfully good and flavorful dinner for T and me tonight: cardamom caramelized onions, crispy rice and cardamom-yogurt marinated and pan-roasted chicken. Seriously satisfying and if there were leftovers they'd be great.

A real respite, a good meal, an early bedtime

After that epic nosebleed finally called it quits, I headed to school to put together the New Student Welcome Board. I love taking photos of the new kids- they just can't know what happiness and opportunity lie in store for them at this place (hopefully; I think so). And I like to see them as they venture off on this new educational journey. I got the board made, worked in the library for a while, took J to the orthodontist to get his spacers in (he gets a palate expander on Wednesday), and dropped the kids at home with a babysitter. Usually I run errands or exercise during these few hours that I have childcare, but today I packed up my computer, walked to a coffee shop with no WiFi (at least not that I can ever access), ordered a good pot of tea and just wrote. I can't tell you the last time I was able to do that, and it felt so restorative and good. I decided to keep things easy tonight and warm up my last two collard handpies for our entree. Our side was a shaved fennel salad drizzled generously with terrific olive oil and kosher salt and topped with sliced cherry tomatoes, fennel fronds, goat cheese and chopped marcona almonds. Lovely, lovely.

And now, T happily watching the Redskins game (not lookin' so good so far, RGIII), I'm off to bed with a good book and random sections of the past four days' newspapers.

Shrimp a la Susan Spicer

I had a slight breakdown yesterday, readers. It's been a hard few weeks, at times during which even the comedic relief provided by viewing my photo of J's "night-vision goggles" hasn't cut the butter thoroughly enough. Suffice it to say that it's been a loooong time since I cried as much in a six hour period as I did yesterday. Frankly, it was comforting to know I still had it in me; sometimes determination and attempted positivity act like a dam against a rushing current (not that that's good, but it is helpful). As such, I lost my will to deal with dinner in any way sometime around 4p. T stepped up to the plate masterfully and made a Susan Spicer shrimp recipe I'd flagged. All of five ingredients, it was delicious. Pimenton, sherry, basil, shrimp, oil, a touch of butter... We sopped the sauce with bread and drank a nice rosé alongside.

Today has been a series of stupid and inordinately frustrating events, commencing with a mind-boggling experience at Staples. Because roadwork on Wisconsin Avenue has reached the stage where no one believes there is any plan to ever finish the job, getting to this dumb Staples takes a ludicrously long time. In order to gain back some time once there, I last night took advantage of the Order Online-Pick Up At Store option. Doesn't that just sound fabulous? I love this feature. The Container Store offers this as does Barnes & Noble. They even text you when your order is complete. From the get-go I had infinitely less faith in Staples but really, how hard is it to see that Customer Emily wants a Label Maker refill, walk to aisle 6 and grab said refill, and put it behind the desk that says "Online Order Pick Up Here."

It's not hard.

However, when I arrived at Staples, my order was not ready. The manager sent her colleague to aisle 6 to get the refill cartridge and concurrently emailed me (literally, RIGHT THEN AND THERE) a confirmation that my order was complete and ready for pick up. Colleague ambles back empty-handed; the look of confusion on his face almost made me feel bad for him. He looked utterly flummoxed. "Mrs. Manager, there aren't any cartridges." "Well, Colleague, let's do this together." So we ALL go over to aisle 6 -meanwhile I'm reading my confirmation email again; have I been punk'd?- and sure enough, there's a little tag on the hook that says "item out of stock: please re-order." Starting to feel vaguely like Steve Martin in Father of the Bride, when he can't but just six buns, I bought the $25 double-pack and headed home. Grr.

I am happy to say that the rest of my project went swimmingly, but then I did my one squirt in each nostril of Nasonex (per doctor's orders since I have chronically inflamed nasal passages; terrific) and immediately got a nosebleed. This gusher lasted for 25 minutes. 25 minutes, people.