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Prague: Day two

Published January 4, 2014 by Christa Maurice

DSC02839Friday we went freelance and revisited some of the places we’d earmarked on the tour yesterday. Naturally, this required getting lost. We found Wenceslas Square easy. We found Old Town Square easy. Charles Bridge was totally unfindable for at least an hour, though in that hour we found tons of lovely places and tasted some amazing honey wine.

Yes, this enormous stone bridge. We couldn’t find it. Worse, after studying the map later, we realized we had been within three blocks the entire time and just kept turning the wrong way.

This was a shopping and walking day. About four we headed back to the hotel for a rest period then went out for diner.

We had decided early in the day to have dinner in the neighborhood of our hotel because it’s a little less touristy. Naturally, the staff spoke decent English. I had goulash with Czech dumplings, which appear to have a lot in common with American stuffing though unflavored. The dumplings I had on the tour yesterday had the consistency of potatoes so much so that I though I was eating really weird potatoes for half the meal. These dumplings were much better though not at all what I call dumplings. They were cubed, toasted bread mushed together with something into a tube shape and steamed, then sliced. Looks like bread, tastes like bread, not quite bread. My travel companion had pork ribs. Believe me, that order was a struggle. I wanted those pork ribs, but I’d had goulash on my mind since I arrived in the country.

Tomorrow we’re going to Terezin, a “model Jewish community” from World War II. Apparently it involves some walking. That will be a nice change. I haven’t been navigating enough cobblestones this trip.

Prague: Arrival

Published January 2, 2014 by Christa Maurice

Our flight left at 2:15am so we were on the road at 9:30pm to get to the airport with plenty of time to get lost because I’ve never gone to the airport in Abu Dhabi and not gotten lost, GPS or not. There was a very crabby couple with two kids in line ahead of us. They had waited in line for forty-five minutes! What was going on? I’m not sure what they planned to do with their time. The kids were better behaved than their parents and the flight wasn’t leaving for two more hours. Shop duty free? The next hurdle was that they had seven bags. Four people. Two adults, two boys around ten/eleven years old. Going on vacation for a few days. Seven suitcases. Plus, it says very clearly on the ticket one piece of checked luggage per person. One per person times four people does not equal seven. The parents had fits claiming that it didn’t say anything on their ticket about luggage restrictions. When I got up to the desk, as I was the very next person after these nincompoops, I plopped my bag on the belt and said, one bag I can count! The lady at the counter laughed and changed our seats to a row with more legroom.

We arrived in Prague just before six local time and landed in fog. The immigration guy here was just as sour and silent as the guy in Dusseldorf. Maybe they are related. Luggage pick up was flawless and, since ours was the only flight arriving, so was finding our driver. We got to the hotel, checked in and went up to our room.

The time was 7:00. The day after Christmas. St. Stephen’s Day.

Yeah, not much going on. We decided to do an all inclusive tour (called The Prague All Inclusive Tour) but it didn’t pick us up until 9:15 so we set off down the road just to see what we could see. Would you laugh if I said we weren’t three blocks from the hotel when we started saying we could live here? Our hotel is on the edge of the touristy area so we were finding general life pretty quick. Banks, restaurants, churches, a theater (live), gorgeous architecture.

Tomorrow: the tour.

The Enchanted by Elaine Cantrell

Published June 25, 2013 by Christa Maurice

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The Enchanted

By Elaine Cantrell

Blurb:

Forced by his father into a marriage he didn’t want, Prince Alan soon finds that his bride isn’t the sweet, submissive creature he expected. Morgane has the heart of a dragon and beauty beyond compare, but she isn’t thrilled about the marriage either. When black treachery threatens the kingdom, Morgane and Alan embark on a perilous journey that has an excellent chance of ending in failure and death for them and all their people.

Excerpt:

Morgane advanced on her enemy with deadly purpose.

 

“No!” Alan roared. “She has a knife.”

 

Morgane tried to retreat, but it was too late. Aili’s knife caught her in her thigh. Blood spurted as if from a fountain. Renweard was closer to her than Alan. His sword rose. Aili breathed her last as Morgane swayed and slipped to the floor.

 

Alan ran across the room and cradled her in his arms. In seconds he was coated with blood. “ʺWe must stop the bleeding!” he cried. “Where are the healers?”

 

ʺI will find one.” Renweard left the room at a run with King Bowdyn right behind him.

 

Morgane’s eyes fluttered open. “Your arms around me. No heaven can compare.ʺ

 

Alan pressed a kiss to her hair. “I love you, my brave Morgane.”

 

Morgane sighed. “I could not let you face this battle alone.ʺ

Author’s Note:

After spending most of the last ten years writing contemporary romance, I decided it was time for a change. So in the spring of 2012 I wrote my first romantic fantasy, The Enchanted. Several challenges immediately presented themselves. First, I knew that I didn’t want the fantasy to overpower the romance which meant I’d have to balance my world building details with the romantic elements.

Challenge two was finding characters who’d fit into my newly created world. I didn’t want plastic, stereotypical characters. I wanted real people with warts and human imperfections, people whose lives and problems would draw you in and make you care about them.

My third challenge was to craft a plot that included fantasy elements, yet at the same time allowed my characters to be in charge of their own destiny and in the process grow and change.

I’m pleased with the way it turned out. I enjoyed the experience so much I have another fantasy/sci fi romance in the wings waiting for December and its turn at publication. Given my new love affair with fantasy romance, will I write contemporary romance again? I sure will. I’m working on one right now, and I just love it. It will be my first full length romantic comedy.

Author Links:

http://www.elainecantrell.com

http://www.elainepcantrell.blogspot.com

http://www.twitter.com/elainecantrell

http://www.facebook.com/elainepcantrell

The Enchanted is sold at most online retail outlets.

 

Reviews:

A sweet story, easy read, fairytale/fantasy/romance 5 stars.
Teresa Cypher on Amazon

A wonderful story that has swept into my heart. I will be remembering this one for a long time and reading it again.
                                                   Tifferz Book Reviews on Goodreads

 

Venice – Day 3

Published April 23, 2013 by Christa Maurice

On Sunday I learned that Venice is a two day trip, tops. This being my third day and being sunny, I counted my remaining cash, found I was still in very good shape for walking around money. Before I left Mestre i thought I’d be clever and buy a Coke in the grocery store as they are over a euro more in Venice, but forgetting that it’s Sunday and the store would be closed. Clever, but not as clever as I’d hoped. In Venice, i decided to ride a vaporatto for its entire run. Not as much fun as it sounds. Instead of circling, which I had assumed, it goes to one end of the route (in this case San Marco Square), turns around and goes to the other end of its run (a different stop near San Marco Square.) It took an hour from end to end. San Marco Square was positively packed with people. I had been under the impression that it was busy before. Wrong. The flags were flying in front of the church. Huge ten foot by twelve foot at least flags. There were costumed drummers. There was some kind of promotion going on, but I couldn’t sort out what was going on and, as usual, I was headed upstream. After leaving the Square, I walked around trying to avoid ending up at the Rialto. I was successful, but it was close.

Within three hours, and remember there was an hour on a boat, I was walking around trying to decided if I had actually been all over the island or if it was just starting to look the same. The previous day I had come up with a master plan to eat spaghetti Bolognese at a particular restaurant very close to the Ferrovia (accent on Ferro because it is the train station) vaporatto stop. The restaurant I wanted was jammed, so I walked along the road, this being the Times Square of Venice, there would be another. I found one that didn’t look crowded and when I walked inside I discovered why. No the food was not terrible, but the narrow opening lead to a giant, and from the sound of things, Chuckie Cheese type restaurant. I sat up front and got my spaghetti. I think it’s illegal to not have spaghetti as some point while in Italy and I don’t want to be stopped at the border. It wasn’t what I had hoped for, very oily and no bite, but it was tasty and more important the place mats were maps of venice giving me the opportunity to discover that I had missed and entire, large, section of the city.

Post lunch, I set off in the direction on the undiscovered country. Suddenly, the streets opened up to be streets. Not quite two lanes wide, but not so cramped that you felt like you had to ask passersby if they had been tested and had protection. There were also more street performers. Previously I had seen a lot of beggars, but no street performers. I have a rule about beggar and street performers. I don’t give money to people who aren’t making an effort to earn it. Seriously, if the little old lady in the babushka outside the cathedral had a sign that said she would pray for my soul in exchange for a donation, I would have gone for it, but just holding out a cup? I took a short video of the two guys playing guitar and gave them some money. Opera guy was cleaning up. The jazz quartet was doing okay, but they have to split it four ways. The Charlie Chaplin mime was doing terribly and when I passes his way again he had packed it in, hopefully for greener pastures and not because the gangs of roving purse sellers had chased him off. Need a purse? Need sunglasses? Need a ball of goo that will reform itself into a gold pig after you splat it against something? You can get all that stuff easily and I would buy from street vendors, but I have a purse and sunglasses and no need for splaty gold pigs. I happened to walk past a purse dealer who was involved in negotiation with a little girl as her mother looked on. The dealer was having a ball trying to talk this girl into letting her mother buy a purse but the little girl kept saying that her mother couldn’t have another purse because Daddy said no more.

Also during my afternoon roving I discovered a grocery store. I had come across butchers and fruit and vegetable vendors, but no basic grocery stores. When traveling in other countries, one of the things I like to look at are the grocery stores. Oddly the German girl I met on the plane said she also liked to look at grocery stores. She mentioned being amazed that in Canada they sold eggs by the dozen. In Germany she said you can only get them by the half dozen. She was fascinated by the fact that you could get eggs in the UAE in flats of 30. In Italy eggs are available in dozens. If I could have gotten half that stuff back to the UAE, I would have needed to buy a new suitcase.

After the grocery store, I decided it was time to head back to the hotel. This always requires an hour or so of finding a vaporatto stop and I was still trying to avoid the Rialto bridge which of course meant I ended up in San Marco Square. As I passed I noticed that the line to get into the cathedral wasn’t long so I hopped in it and was disappointed. In Notre Dame you went into the church, all the way into the church. In San Marco you walked through the foyer and into their gift shop. If I had waited in line for that I’d have been peeved. As I passed outside, I noticed that they had closed up so maybe I just got unlucky.

On the vaporatto to the bus station I got stuck in the middle of a group of obnoxious Germans. Maybe I’m just unlucky that way too. This group couldn’t understand that no standing in front of the driver meant them too. They kept standing up to take pictures, once nearly causing an accident. I was so distracted by their antics that I nearly failed to take in how empty the canal was. Every other time I had been on the Grand Canal there had been so many vaporattos, water taxis, gondolas and personal boats that one could almost hop across, but at this point in the day it was so quiet that I could see water. In one stretch there was only one other boat and it was a vaporatto (headed directly for us. I don’t know how they manage to not have dozens of accidents a week.)

The bus route, as if sensing that I may have gotten my bearing finally, threw me one more curve ball. The bus wasn’t there when I got to the correct lane so I waited for ages in the cold with several other people. When the bus finally arrived it wasn’t the full route. It was the limited route. There I was hoping I could get on the bus without having to pull out my hotel postcard and show it to the driver and I had to anyway.

On the upside I did get the show to stop coming out in one stream. On the downside, apparently its interpretation of “shower” is a circle of water that a person can easily stand in the center of without getting wet. I may have been better off with the broken version, but since I don’t know how I fixed it, I don’t know how to break it again.

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Venice – Outbound

Published April 20, 2013 by Christa Maurice

The trip started with a half empty bus – make that 80 percent empty bus to the airport. Not all too surprising considering that I was traveling in the middle of the break. At the airport I found my gate and settled in but not long before boarding they cleared everyone out inviting massive confusion and every man for himself-ism. This is when I don’t miss traveling with the ex. He would have been freaking out about getting on the plane first. I, on the other hand, knew that my carry on luggage consisted of my purse and my sunny personality. However, I draw the line at line cutting.

When a line resolved itself, I got in it. Then a very large German man decided he could ease his way in ahead of me if he was patient enough. I watched him out of my peripheral vision and patiently but firmly edged him behind me. For my persistence, when I got to the desk, the clerk stared fiddling with my ticket. I started grinning inside. Upgrade, baby. Reward for being persistent and not letting pushy man have his way. That’s my story and I’m sticking with it.

The flight was lovely. Had I been in coach I would have had to endure every second wide awake while some stranger slept on my shoulder, but in business I ordered my breakfast for after take off, ate and proceeded to sleep for most of the flight. The guy next to me was my total hero though. He finished eating before me and was sleeping before the very attentive crew could pick up his tray. He slept, as far as I can tell, straight through to an hour before landing.

Dusseldorf Airport threatens to top my worst airports ever. Recall that of the top 10 worst airports in the world according to Expedia, I have been to four. This one wasn’t on the list, but it should have been. We we ejected from the plane into a featureless hallway that eventually led to a set of stairs and down to passport control. Passport control? I’m not staying in Germany. I checked my ticket which helpfully said I would be departing from gate B. I saw a sign for gate C, but not B. So I located a very helpful policeman who told me I would indeed have to go through passport control. The man in passport control demanded to know where I was going. Venice, Italy. How long I would be staying? Five days. Then he glared at me like he suspected that I was lying so I added that I had to go back to Abu Dhabi where I teach kindergarten. Kindergarten usually gets them. I swear I could swan through the tightest security in the world with a bright grin and a comment about teaching kindergarten. Not this guy. He glared at me a second longer before stamping my passport and handing it back to me. No “enjoy your stay,” no “have a nice trip,” nada. So I set off in search of the next hurdle, security. At security, while the guy in front of me fiddled with everything he owned like he’d never been through airport security before, I took off my watch and dropped it into my purse and pulled out my iPad. I dumped it all into the tray, but the guard stopped me before I could get through the metal detector. He needed my ticket. Then he needed my passport. Then he wanted my sweater. For the record, my sweater is a paper thin boyfriend sweater that I don’t usually unbutton. I pull it over my head like a cardigan, but I was so baffled that I ended up unbuttoning it thinking he only wanted to see under and then had to throw it in the tub. Maybe the guy in front of me wasn’t so disorganized after all. And the guard? Looked seriously annoyed the entire time. He’s going to have wrinkles.

After my pleasant encounter with security, I continued through the maze of Dusseldorf Airport. They’re doing construction. Are you surprised? I’m not. It seems like every airport on the planet is doing construction, except Amman in Jordan. Pretty sure the dust is what’s holding that one together. The hamster tube I had to go through had lots of great big windows showing me all the wonderful things (food, shopping) available in the the neighboring building. Thanks. I needed that. Eventually the maze dumped me into Gate B which is actually about twenty gates bunched together, but they won’t tell you which one is yours until less than two hours before your flight.

I had a five hour layover.

At least the food was good. By which I mean they had ham sandwiches.

On the flight to Venice, I was seated next to a very chatty German woman with excellent English. After my frequent bad encounters with Germans, it was nice to meet a friendly, pleasant one. We traded anecdotes all the way to Venice and I consulted with her about one of my students (I can’t help myself.) Then I hopped a cab to my hotel.

The only four stars this hotel has are in the logo. It reminds me a lot of Fawlty Towers, but without the charm. The automatic door doesn’t open until you are stopped immediately in front of it. (To be fair, this seems to be common. If you walk too fast you will be smacked in the face by a door that has not decided to open yet.) The lobby furniture was burgundy, but at some later date the cushions were recovered in aqua blue making for an eye bending color combination. My room key is a metal key on an astonishingly heavy fob. It was handed to me and the elevator pointed out, but no one helped me to my room. Eh, one less tip. The doors and trim are painted gunmetal gray in a very high gloss. The first several times I walked up to my door in the rather dark hall, I flinched, thinking there was someone there when it was only my reflection. The room itself is about eight by ten, but I do have my own bathroom. Sadly, the shower has no spray. It’s like standing under a hose and no matter what I do the water ends up all over the floor.

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Adventures in driving, and shopping – the accident

Published February 5, 2012 by Christa Maurice

7:00 My friend and fellow carpooler, Susan announced on the way to school that she too sick to work today and would call her cab driver to take her to the hospital. I said, oh no, I’ll take you. The kids wouldn’t arrive for an hour and a half and I could easily get ot the hospital and back in that time.

7:10 Going around a round about the car in the lane one over decided to cut in front of me, bashing into me hard enough to turn my car 90 degrees. He hit his brakes and pulled off to the side ahead. A good Samaritan stopped, made sure we were okay and then pulled his car ahead to talk to the other driver. I looked over my shoulder at the traffic building up behind me, decided that I shouldn’t move the car because the law says you are to stay at the scene of the accident – right where you were – until the traffic police arrived. I looked forward to see if the other driver or the good Samaritan were contacting the police and they were gone. Gone! Bastards! Leaving the scene of an accident! And me! So I got out my rental agreement, found the police number and called to tell them I’d had an accident and the other driver had gone. They told me to wait and someone would be right there, as soon as they figured out where “there” was.

7:30-8:30 I spoke to at least three different officers and told them where I was at least twice each. I happened to be at the only roundabout in Al Ain that isn’t named and the hospital I was across the street from apparently wasn’t a good enough landmark. Three other people stopped to ask if we needed help and I had the last one call the police again to tell them where we were. Eventually, the officer called and told us to meet him further up the road. He asked if we’d gotten the plate number of the other driver. Uh, no, because where he stopped we couldn’t see it and both of us were so rattled that it didn’t occur to us that he wasn’t stopping for the duration. The traffic cop inspected my license and registration and told me to meet him at the accident office at the traffic complex.

8:30-9:00 We went to the accident office and were told to wait until the officer arrived. By this point both of us had to use a bathroom so we asked where it was. Go to the building across the plaza. Beside.” Susan and I sallied forth, across the plaza to the side of the building. The bathroom opened directly outside, had no toilet paper and no light source other than the vents in the door. Mother Nature was insistent so we got tissues out of our purses and managed in the dark. Sadly, this is not the first time I’ve had to deal with a totally dark bathroom. Probably not the last either. Relieved, we went back to the office and took a seat. The traffic officer came in, did something on the computer and told us we had to go to the investigation office so they could look at the car. Out the parking lot, around the roundabout and back up the other side of the same road to the door just before the next roundabout.

9:00 He meant gate. we went through the gate, parked and went inside where we waited a few minutes. The guy at the counter noticed that the accident had been that morning and asked why we came so soon. Um, because the officer told us to? We were on the way to the hospital so Susan could see a doctor about her cold. I just wanted to go teach my students the magic of the letter B. I would not be at a police station, sick and frazzled if I had been given a choice. Then he walked out with us and looked at the car. By that I mean, he looked said,” oh yeah, you were in an accident. This looks like rubber. I don’t think there’s any damage. Did you get the plate number?” That again. He told us we must think like police women and always get the plate number. I told him I was a kindergarten teacher and could control 23 5 year olds with a dark look and that was the extent of my superpowers. He laughed. Then he took us back inside, explained the situation to some other guy who stamped my accident report and sent us back to the

9:30-10:30 Back to the accident office where we waited a few minutes. The desk officer called us up and asked what parking lot we were in. Naturally I had parked in the wrong lot. I had to go down the road to the roundabout go right and right again and then park so he could take pictures of the damage. Moving the car should be easy, right? There were two exits and one entrance and all the spaces were marked in Arabic. We sat dumbfounded until someone coming out gestured for us to follow as he went back to his car and pulled out of a space that wasn’t marked in any language. Then we went back inside and waited. Eventually desk officer gestures for us to follow. At the door another officer is escorting in a big guy in a white candoora and shiny silver handcuffs. I pulled Susan out of the way and we let them pass. Always let the officer escorting the big handcuffed man go first. Outside the desk officer takes pictures of our car, pictures of another guy’s car and escorts all of us back in the office and tells us to wait. While we did so, Susan and I made lemonade out of the situation and discussed that fact that both the officers we dealt with were cute and considered their attributes. (Their general attributes. The uniforms weren’t that tight.)

10:45ish The desk officer calls me up and in the course of conversation I say something about needing a paper for the rental company. This is not the first time this has been mentioned. We told the officer at (or near anyway) the scene. We told the desk officer when we arrived. We told the investigation officer. I’m surprised we didn’t tell the cleaning guy and random other accident victims. The desk officer exchanges a look with the guy next to him. I say, “Is this a problem?” Apparently I need some kind of paper from the rental company since they are the owners of the car. I joked with the officer about not wanting to do it because at that point I was still in a pretty good mood and being my usual easy going, cheerful self. Then off we go to the rental office.

11:00 They can’t give me the paper I need because the manager is out of the office. They will courier it to me, but before I go they want to inspect the car to make sure it’s safe.

11:00-Noon There have been several trips in and out and discussions about the deductible on my insurance and something about owing on a ticket (because as the victim of a hit and run, I should be given a ticket.) By that time the manager was on his way back and Susan was flagging fast. Ten minutes after the manager walked in we had the loaner and the assurance that not only would they get the car fixed, but they would finish filing the paperwork with the traffic police and so sorry you had to wait that long.

Noon Utterly starved and frazzled we headed for Al Ain Mall to hit the food court. I immediately got lost and we were forced to take the scenic route.

1:00-1:45 We finally arrive at the hospital. I deposited Susan at the ENT clinic and went to the GP clinic where I was told my the nurse who took my blood pressure that my pulse was fast and my blood pressure was elevated. No, really? I wonder why? You s’pose it has something to do with that car accident I JUST told you about? I said none of this. The doctor told me he could do nothing for me and I needed to go downstairs to the orthopedic clinic, but he was sure I’d be able to see a doctor right away. Ah, no. All the morning doctors were finishing their shifts and taking no new patients. The one doctor on afternoon duty was due in at 2 but he already had five cases waiting so it would be at least an hour. I asked the nurse, how would it be if I just went home, took an OTC painkiller and a hot bath and if it was worse in the morning I would come back? She told me to come in at 8:15. I went back to the ENT clinic to wait for Susan.

2:00-2:30 We went to get Susan’s meds at the hospital pharmacy. It took a while. My good humor had deserted me in the ortho clinic with my adrenaline.

2:30 Headed home I turned wrong again and because of the way the road are set up here, I couldn’t just turn around. Since we had to go right past the really good grocery store, I asked Susan if she wanted to stop. Food had revived her some and the prospect of being stuck in her apartment for 2 days (as she had gotten a sick note for that long) gave her a little energy. In the store I passed an Emirati man who said hello. Not surprising. He asked what I was doing. I said grocery shopping and walked away because I could already see where this was headed. He followed me to another aisle where he asked me if I lived in the UAE. Really, how do you answer that question after you’ve told someone you’re grocery shopping? I said yes and moved away. He followed me again and asked if I was here with my family. I lied and said yes. He asked if I was with my husband. I lied again and said yes. He said, “Give me your number.” I said, no. And he walked away.

3:00 Finally headed home I related to Susan my encounter with the Emirati man and she said, “You’ve been hit and run twice in one day by Emiratis.”

Adventures in eating – the pork tenderloin

Published January 7, 2012 by Christa Maurice

Early in December, some friends and I went shopping to Dubai Mall which has two really good forbidden meat stores (stores that sell pork and other Muslim forbidden treats like Cherry Poptarts. I don’t know why or if the Cherry Poptarts are forbidden, but the only place I can find them is in the pork section of the Waitrose Supermarket at the Dubai Mall.) I had recently shipped my Crockpot over so I was looking forward to making pork and sauerkraut for New Year’s dinner.

Oh, my dear departed Crockpot, how I loved thee. I’d had the thing for like twenty years and then I shipped it across the ocean. I set it up (to cook some delicious pork chops I’d bought on the same trip) and it never heated up. I tried different outlets. I tried a different converters. I tried filling it with water and leaving it sit for a whole day unwatched. No dice. So I resigned the Crockpot to the trashman and baked the chops in the oven.

New Year’s Day came and I opened my pork tenderloin which had been safely frozen (in addition to being vacuum sealed) for the past month and I thought, ‘that’s not right.’

My tenderloin smelled distinctly smoked. I cut into it and I studied it and decided that it felt distinctly firm for raw meat. So I tasted it.

Yup, smoked, cooked, done. I hadn’t stuck a fork in it, but the knife I used worked well enough.

Now, the plan was to cook this less than 1lb pork tenderloin, have my traditional pork and sauerkraut dinner and freeze portions for later consumption. I had even walked to the market across the desert for potatoes to mash. (Not as strenuous as it sounds. It’s only about a half a block. Don’t go all Lawrence of Arabia on me.) Since the meat was already done, I didn’t have time to fiddle with mashing the potatoes. so on New Year’s Day I had sliced pork, sauerkraut and a baked potato, leaving me with a lot of pork that I couldn’t refreeze.

So the next day I had pork cubed up in my scrambled eggs with a banana and an orange for breakfast and a pork sandwich with cheese and mustard for lunch and pork with sauerkraut and a baked potato for dinner.

And the next day I had pork cubed up in my scrambled eggs with fruit for breakfast again, but I didn’t want to eat smoked pork for lunch so I had bratwurst, potato chips and a banana for lunch. I was going to variety, don’t you know. For dinner I had popcorn as I was to lazy to cook anything.

The next morning I couldn’t face scrambled eggs again so I fried the end of my bacon and fried the eggs in the grease. For lunch I made mac and cheese and put cubed pork into it with a bit of onion. Of course, when I bought the mac and cheese, I didn’t realize I was getting the family size so now I have oodles of mac and cheese with pork and onion in the fridge. At dinner time I decided to dismember a pomegranate and I ended up with pomegranate juice all over the living room. One of the best things I ever did was buy a hot pink carpet. If pomegranate juice stains a hot pink carpet, does anyone see it? Unlike the tree falling in the forest, I have a conclusive answer to this question. Nope. Then again, you also can’t see the seeds when they fall on the floor either, but that’s an entirely different problem.

Yesterday morning, faced with the stubby end of my pork tenderloin that I wanted so badly a month ago and now wish to never see again, I fried two eggs, sliced the end of the pork, crammed both into a roll with some cheese and ate that for breakfast with another banana and the rest of the pomegranate seeds. Not sure how soon I want to see another banana either.

I still have half a package of hot dogs and 2 brats in the freezer and three servings of mac and cheese in the fridge and I think I’m starting to grow a snout.