I am one of those travelers who does not sleep well away
from home. I love to travel. I love to see new things. I love to explore places
of history and color. Most of all, I love to eat food that I wouldn’t normally fix as
one of my everyday meals. But something in me does not allow me to relax at
night.
I am currently in Slidell ,
Louisiana
I think I slept 1.5 hours the first night - not because I was
uncomfortable. On the contrary, Deb offers five star accommodations. I have
baskets of fancy little toiletries; stacks of good books and magazines to read;
my own little Christmas tree; a fabulously large, comfy bed and my own bathroom
with yet even more amenities. I simply do not sleep.
I usually read until about two a.m. I bring mind-numbing, I
mean soothing, music to help cover the quiet. I watch the clock every twenty
minutes, and I try to be silent when I rise at five in the morning. While trying
to do my utmost to be quiet in my bathroom, which is across the house from
their suite, I seem to manage to drop everything that I don’t normally drop at
home. I try to run the blow dryer on low, but invariably throw the switch to
the high position instead of off, creating a
high pitched whine that wakes all the cats. I try to close doors with
care to prevent bolts from clicking and clacking into place. I sit and read or
work on the computer on the bed. I watch the sun rise over the water just off
their dock. I watch ducks come in for a treat. I listen to the geese traveling.
It is an idyllic setting in the morning that I thoroughly enjoy – all the while
trying to be quiet as everyone else sleeps past the sun’s rising. I certainly
don’t want to be one of those guests whose hosts mutter, “Dang it. She’s up at dawn again.”
My second night netted about three hours of sleep. I
finished a good book, started this article, and made headway on the evening
gown. Five o’clock a.m. rolled around and I decided to wait to shower and let
the others enjoy some quiet. Six o’clock came and I couldn’t stand being
trapped in my room. You know that old
story about the difference between a dog and a cat?
The dog’s life goes: Dog food! My favorite! A ride in the
car! My favorite! I stay home by myself and sleep! What fun! Master’s home! I’m
ecstatic!!!
The cat’s life goes: Cat food. Don’t they know what gourmet
cooking is? Oh gosh, a ride in the car. I’m going to the vet to be put to
sleep. Home by myself. Well, at least they won’t be foisting their stupid human
tricks on me. Master’s home. Geeze. I am still being held hostage in this
place.
I am the cat.
But I am not a bad guest. Part of my problem being away from
home is that I am a list maker and a planner. I spend a lot of my time
organizing my daily life, especially since I am still in the move-in and
settling mode. Part of my day includes meal planning, shopping for household
supplies, and busying myself with a lot of work.
As a guest, I have the assigned duties of nothing. And I
really don’t handle that well. I would rather be waiting hand and foot on a guest in my home, bustling about my kitchen, and cleaning constantly. I am at a loss when I
have nothing to do, even though I have a very big challenge of tailoring a ball
gown this trip. I am still not busy enough for CHERYL.
However, this time I brought food. I am going to prepare our
New Year’s Eve dinner. I started last week offering Deb and Bill menu choices.
We settled on a bone-in pork loin roast with an onion mushroom cream gravy,
garlic-tumeric fingerling potatoes with a homemade tzatziki sauce, and a first course of lemon grass wild rice soup.
There will be radish roses and carrot flowers to decorate the plate and the
tzatziki sauce will be in yellow squash boats with herb fronds decorating the
handle. All the decorative veggies can be eaten with the sauce.
After the menu was settled, I made the grocery list. There
were lists of items to buy, lists of what was already in the pantry to pack, and lists
of cookware I needed to bring. Then there is the cook time chart. I have the
meal planned out like a battle from the timing of searing the meat, the amount
of time between the preparation and cooking of each course that will allow me to create garnishes, to serve
times. For once, I am in my element. Detailed organization. I know. It sounds
crazy to get joy out of all this work. But I am a worker-bee. I am a doer.
Deb fussed at me the whole time. She constantly asked if I needed help. My answer was NO. I didn't need help. Actually, truth be told, I didn't want to give up anything that would let my hands go idle for even five minutes. I stopped short of saying, "No, this is my stuff to do. Go away and don't touch anything. Mine, mine, mine. All mine." (insert evil laugh following my diatribe.)
Deb fussed at me the whole time. She constantly asked if I needed help. My answer was NO. I didn't need help. Actually, truth be told, I didn't want to give up anything that would let my hands go idle for even five minutes. I stopped short of saying, "No, this is my stuff to do. Go away and don't touch anything. Mine, mine, mine. All mine." (insert evil laugh following my diatribe.)
It is now 7:30 a.m. of New Year's Day. I wonder when the hell they are going to
get up. I need coffee.
