Keeping warm in the kitchen

A half day off on a cold Saturday afternoon lends well to a quick and much needed regrouping. I know I have to go to work in a few hours, but I still took the dog to the park where the wind stung our faces as we worked up a sweat under our winter coats. I still took advantage of free gas at shitty little apartment with an all day boil of gallons of walnut and maple sap, window open with fan blowing out to try to get as muh steam outside, although the leak in the ceiling laughs that my efforts are a moot point in a moldy apt. I'm transferring some zin into a carboy and a small batch of Sangiovese should be blended in as well, more to cut headroom than for flavor, but I'm sure they will cohabitate nicely.

I still had time to clean an rearrange, which is similar to playing Tetris with a tiny piece of space and trying to organize all the books an project stuff I can in the tiny space. I put the dog crate away and found a corner for my keyboard but couldn't find the cord for said keyboard, which is unfortunate as now it's callin my name but is mute. I'm catching up on reading the pile of magazines that came to my mailbox once the giant patch of ice thawed and the mail started coming again. So many missed articles about grunge makeup techniques, olive pasta combinations, anal sex, and what country collectables are worth collecting. I also found a stash of dog toys that fell under the couch so the pup is entertained too, other than just strategically placing herself where I'm trying to sweep in order to collect some affection.

The browser on my phone pretty much encapsulates what my day have entailed: goat milking and cheese making techniques, wine fining methods, homes for sale, craigslist jobs, legitimate ways to make money from home, my album on amazon, and my credit union tips and tricks for saving money. I'm still not sure how people who make $10/hr survive. Splitting the cheapest one bedroom possible and barely spending any money, workin two jobs has me baffled. I keep track of what I spend. I think I just don't make enough money.

So I guess I am sitting back and not worrying about putting things together anymore. I'm just trying to improve myself and do the things I want to do in the meantime. Oh, and cutting back on drinking so I can go to Asheville, nc on vacation in a couple weeks. I guess I'll just take things as they come an stop pushing for something more.
Yeah, typing that hurt. I'm not sure if I believe myself. But I guess being unhappy working towards a goal so far away isn't a way to live either.

I look at both my grandpas as engineers and wonder why I didn't get a nudge in that direction. Even now when I think of a career change, I imagine teaching or school counselor. Taking apart valves at work had me thinking I really enjoy more hands on figuring thigs out. Although I don't foresee myself taking over my grandpas machine shop anytime soon, I guess it's something I shouldn't rule out.

My old job finally hired a manager to replace me. It's been running on autopilot for awhile. I have some old regulars who still meet up with me and relish telling me horror stories of how terrible it is now that I'm not there. Kinda like hearing your ex is now fat and unhappy, it's just a shoulder shrugged for me now. Nothing I can do. Not worth my effort or worry. They didn't want me. So if everyone is now going to other wineries and complaining about my old place, I can't help it. Maybe the new girl will take the bull by the horns and turn the place around again. But more likely than not, she will hit the same obsticles of inherent business model flaws that I did, where the only thing to really do is just keep plowing forward through the growing pains, cutting costs when possible and trying to gather return customers where possible. Mine have followed me, but I refuse to put myself in the position I used to be in. I love to cook, but don't want to be tied to another owner oh treats me like an idiot. I'll cook for my self and my family. And I'll cook damn well and with love.

I have discovered I really like to milk goats. I know. Probably not that shocking. But noteworthy none the less. And I cooked the best short ribs I've ever eaten. And now I'm curled up on my couch with a book at a sleepy dog, which is pretty much an ideal day for me. In a half hour I'll suit up and watch someone else stress out about cooking for a restaurant as the new chef flounders himself through a full service as he focuses on the garnishes and I will day dream about finding my fuckin keyboard cord and writing a song about minced chives on shrimp scampi. Mmm. Maybe the weather will break and I can grill coconut key lime shrimp.