Glitches

When I first heard what the plans were for the wedding service I learned that my Dad would be giving a welcome, then lead in an opening prayer. David, Hilda's father, later suggested that Hiromi could perhaps do that, with Dad having a meditation after that. Somehow, Dad apparently thought, until the morning of the wedding when he looked at the program, that he was to do the welcome and prayer. But he prepared a meditation in the brief time remaining, and delivered it as expected. I still don't know if the communication went awry or if he forgot what was communicated. It doesn't matter, especially since it all came out alright.

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Something slightly embarrassing happened the day we brought the flowers here to re-cut the stems and get them re-hydrated–besides the fact that the house–and especially the hideously doggy-decorated front porch–were not very tidy. Hiromi was changing the light fixture in the living room. This involved holding the fixture in place with one hand while he used the other hand to fasten it in place with a screw. This was quite a feat and, since he was alone in the house, he had gotten comfortable before he undertook the task. When I walked in, with Hilda and her two friends right on my heels, he was there in his sleeveless undershirt, with both hands “glued” to the ceiling, and his armpits turned toward the front door. “You have to get dressed,” I said, rather implausibly, since he couldn’t really drop the light fixture and run for his clothes.

We did next best--apologized, and maneuvered the big flower box past him on our way to the dining room table. As soon as he got things a bit better under control he donned his shirt, and everyone acted as if this kind of thing happens all the time. The girls were good sports.

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On the morning that Bill and Dorcas and Maria were here for waffles, something was wrong with the waffle batter, and when I tried to bake them, the top and bottom layers separated when I opened the waffle iron and had to be laboriously scraped out of the nooks and crannies. I couldn't figure out what was wrong. It was the same recipe I've always used, except that I used whole wheat flour, and I don't always do that. I resorted to using the batter as though it were pancake batter. Then I decided to throw in more flour, since it seemed way too thin. The result was better, but not stellar.

Later in the day it all became clear. I had doubled everything in the recipe except the flour. It's a long story, but I had reviewed that ingredient mentally and concluded that the flour could not be the problem. I was mentally confusing the pancake recipe (which I have memorized) and the waffle batter recipe. When the pancake batter is doubled, it calls for 2 cups flour. The original waffle recipe is about twice as large in volume and calls for two cups flour. Here's the flawed logic: I know I put in 2 cups flour. That's a double recipe, so that must be right. I know. It's as lame as it sounds.

Suffice it to say that I had some mental recovering to do after the busy weekend, and the brain was on the blink. That afternoon I wisely decided to go along to Quivira where no organizational skills were called for, rather than attack any of the waiting tasks that awaited me at home. I really couldn't afford spending too much more time in misguided activity. It was a good afternoon.