Lost socks. I used to think that laundry machines ate socks. But now I know: socks hide in the folds of sheets, especially fitted ones. Have you read Marie Kondo on socks?

Nothing to eat. You hear this when someone you love looks into a full fridge and comments on the contents. It’s like a judgement. It’ not true. I think I told you, when I published my cookbook about leftovers (Encore, McLelland and Stuart, 1978, I think), I crossed the country on a publicity tour—they did that in those days. Also in those days, most newspapers had a writer-cook on staff, who was expected to review the cookbooks. I challenged everyone to cook lunch for them with whatever I found in their refrigerator.** No one would take me up on it. They told me there was nothing to eat.

** You will note I am obeying the new dictum from —whoever decides these things—to use the plural (they, their) to refer to a genderless single antecedent. I did it a few weeks ago and no one noticed. It bothered me to do it. It still does.

Finding things. You know very well that you are the only person in your house who can find something, even when you give specific directions.

Mothers are the inventors of necessity.

You lock in at a certain age and you lock in at a certain price.

A few random notes from my piles of paper.

Two reasons,both valid. Choose one.

One:

I received a book from a dear friend of mine—you know who you are—an unsolicited surprise gift, I mean, it wasn’t my birthday or anything. I respect her taste and love her so much, i was thrilled, and I began to read it immediately, and loved it and didn’t put it down until i finished. That broke my reading block—hadn’t read a book since March when we (my son and I) were put into lockdown. Lots of reading but work-related, and cookbook related (suddenly I was cooking three meals a day for my son, a temporary or permanent boarder?—depends on Covid19). Then I immediately read Anne Tyler’s newest book, which I had ordered and received some time ago but not yet read. The Redhead at the Side of the Road is not her best book, but i enjoyed it. And yesterday a book I had ordered arrived ad I started it immediately. The Little Girl Who Fought the Great Depression, by John F. Kasson, deals with Shirley Temple and the thirties—research for my next book.

Reason Number Two:

I think I told you, i I’m off the pain-killers since I started swimming again. I believe in exercise not pills. My legs and hips still hurt but I no longer suffer the paralyzing spasms of pain. I am still on the generic equivalent of Lyrica, originally prescribed for my sciatica before i was diagnosed with Degenerative Disc Disease. Everything was conducted by phone, involving a three-to-five day wait for a consultation but I was finally granted face-to-face for X-Rays to discover DDD. Lyrica is pretty powerful and made me dizzy (fell a couple of times.) It is also addictive and getting off it is difficult, so I read when I looked it up online. BEWARE!

Another wait for a phone consultation when the doctor, not quite remembering my dosage, gave me some instructions about coming down. I began on August first, skipping my nightly pill. The next day was horrible. I i had spaghetti legs and a zonky head, just wanted to lie down and sleep. The day after i took the pill was sort of normal (normal being painful) but I’m swimming and exercising so I am getting better. The next day after no pill again turned me into a lumpen mess. Today was okay. Still swimming and exercising twice a day. Tomorrow will be hell, but I hope it will be a little better.

Anyway it’s all been very time-consuming. So no blog. lI’ll try to be better. I want to be better. I will never be fully recovered, I know that. I’m 89 years old, for heaven’s sake. But I will be better.

And maybe i will write a blog tomorrow.