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How can I be so sick of my job when I only worked a three-day week last week?

Another grinding day in the clinic, topped off by spending nearly an hour at the train station waiting for curiousangel, who was obviously having a pretty bad afternoon himself. He's out now spending some quality time with his birthmother, while I do laundry and other things that need to get done before we fly to Nashville tomorrow. Truth be told, I'm just as happy to have the house to myself for some peace and quiet, given that a weekend of raucous extraversion looms before me.

I made myself some nice garlicky linguine with white clam sauce. I watched the pilot episode of The West Wing. As soon as I finish this, I'll go into the kitchen and whip up a homemade chocolate cake with chocolate buttercream frosting, to be taken to Nashville in honor of Bill's birthday. (They had the coolest thing at the Giant: oven-safe plastic cake pans, with lids, reusable or disposable as the fancy strikes you. I'd been worried about whether I was going to have any trouble getting my metal cake pan through airport security, but this is perfect.)

After I finish the cake, I think it's into the bathtub with me. A nice glass of red wine, a Madeleine L'Engle novel, and something soothing on the CD player. With any luck, I'll soak all the stress and whininess out of me before Misha gets home.

Baking with Rivka

Start by hauling everything out onto the counter. If you didn't realize you were out of something, you want to find that out now. So: your recipe, in Mom's perfect Palmer School penmanship on a bright pink index card. Flour, in a clothespinned-shut five-pound paper bag. Additional unopened bag of flour, because the open bag is almost empty. Ceramic sugar cannister, giving it a surreptitious shake to make sure there's enough. Baking powder. Baking soda. Salt shaker from the top of the stove. Vanilla. Shortening. Two eggs. Leave the milk in the fridge for now to keep it cold.

In the indestructable metal mixing bowl from Good Used Stuff, measure out flour, filling the one-cup, half-cup, and quarter-cup mixing cups once each. Level each cup with the edge of the rubber scraper. The old bag of flour runs out three-quarters of the way through the first cup. Notice that the washer has stopped, and detour into the bedroom closet to gather up more laundry. Hey, didn't remember you had that sundress. Cool. Load it all into the washer and start it running. Decide that the Young Dubliners probably write good baking music. Put in a CD, walk back into the kitchen, remember that you'll have to hear the music over the electric mixer, and go back to pump up the volume. Turn the oven dial to 300, because the recipe calls for 350 and it's running about 50 degrees hot.

Open the new bag of flour and finish measuring. Two cups of sugar, in four half-cup scoops from the cannister. Three-quarters of a cup of Hershey's cocoa. One and a half teaspoons each of baking powder and baking soda. Notice suddenly that the wine is gone, so you won't be having any in your bath. Think momentary dark thoughts about that woman who drank it all, and immediately laugh at your ridiculousness. Salt - you can't leave it out, but it doesn't hurt anything to use a half teaspoonful instead of the full teaspoon called for. Stir the dry ingredients together with a spoon, and think what you always do at this point: Look! I've made cake mix!
( so if you're still reading, I'm guessing you really like cake )