. . . and, yes, yet another kitchen stove debacle: I'm preheating the oven to bake bread, and suddenly there's a loud pop, and the lights dim, and the oven fills with smoke . . . argh . . .
After the smoke cleared and the oven cooled down, Tom figured out that the heating element had suddenly burst. Why would that happen? No one knows, but the bread dough went into the freezer and dinner plans were immediately revamped, and tomorrow morning I'll be on the horn to the appliance guy yet again.
Oh, well. Otherwise, yesterday was pretty placid, at least for me. I worked on my seed order, and read a murder mystery, and watched some football. Tom was busier, cutting boards and building his shop wall all day; and this morning he's already getting ready for part 2 of his active weekend: heading off to catch the ferry to Peaks Island to take pictures at the old WWII bunker. He's been working on this photo project off and on for months, and the relatively mild temperatures are giving him a last chance this season to spend some time there.
Back here on the mainland, I will muddle around with my own stuff . . . apparently going to the grocery store to buy bread, probably also cleaning bathrooms, ordering flower seeds, working on some poems, hanging out with Paul till he goes to work. I'm sure P will be in a very good mood now that his irrepressible Bills have trounced the Ravens and are headed to the conference championship game. I never expected New York State football to be a highlight of pandemic family togetherness. But here we are.
In other news: I wrote two more Accident Sonnets yesterday. One of them might be a keeper.