Having a Ph.D. does not make you smart

In my defense, a lot of recipes start with just fruit and sugar.

So when the first step in the recipe for vanilla-rhubarb jam was, "Bring rhubarb, sugar, and 1 cup of earl grey tea to a boil," it made total sense in my head.

Because it was simplest, this jam was the last of three batches on tonight's docket - so in my further defense, by the time I got to cooking the rhubarb jam, I was pretty tired. But don't listen to me. I'm a dirty liar. I can't really blame my tiredness, because my critical disconnect was something that I'd had in my head since I first skimmed the recipe yesterday.

So I cut up the rhubarb - measured the sugar - cut open a bunch of teabags, since I didn't have loose Earl Grey, to measure out one cup. I wondered how the tea would dissolve and not stay kind of ... ground-y ... once the jam was cooked, but I trust Marisa's recipes. She's the bomb. (Do you see where this is going? Surely, you see where this is going.)

I mixed everything up in the pot and stood there frowning at the mixture, then went back and checked the recipe twice, trying to figure out if I'd missed an instruction to add some sort of liquid. Fruit and sugar cooks down into liquid really fast, but rhubarb is not a fruit. It doesn't hold as much water and it's not going to break down fast enough. I mean -- come on. I'm not dumb. In what universe am I not about to carbonize dry sugar on the bottom of the pan? Where is the liquid in this recipe, Marisa? I trust you but something is wrong. WHERE IS THE LIQU--

Oh.

One cup of Earl Grey tea.

Not tea leaves.

Tea.

I didn't have the energy to rinse the sugar and tea out of the rhubarb and salvage it. Once I stopped flailing and laughing, I dumped the entire mess and decided this was a pretty good indication that I was done canning for the week.

My kitchen smells, overwhelmingly, of bergamot.

Half Marathon: I ran it!

Predicted time: 2:35:00 (officially reported, with great optimism, to the marathon coordinators in October)

Desired time: Anything 2:36:00 or below. I secretly aspired to a faster pace, but cautiously assured myself 12:00/mile was a very good pace for my first half. I promised myself it was okay to walk if I had to take a break.

Actual time: 2:32:06

Ran it all! Except water station walks. It felt easy until around Mile 11, and then I was almost done. And I flew the last stretch.

Then I stopped running, and realized I could barely walk. I had blisters in places I'd never blistered, and was chapped in places I'd never chapped. Oh. So that's what Body Glide is for. My new best friends on Sunday after the race were vaseline, Epsom salt baths, and the pitcher of endless mimosas that our very well-tipped waitress kept sneaking to me even after Sunday brunch happy hour was over.

Yesterday, I poured myself directly into the tub in the morning and started the day feeling surprisingly human and mobile. (It's really only when I stop moving that my joints seize up.)

I also got my first deep tissue massageyesterday , which is supposed to be very good for recovery - and I still feel human today despite the 2nd Day After rule,  so maybe it worked. I will say that it was not in the least relaxing, and that my back feels like somebody held me down and beat me up yesterday, then left me under a UV light until my skin crisped. But my legs feel pretty great, so... deep tissue is good for you? Right? Hmm.

I feel pretty fantastic about the whole affair, which given the amount of pain I endured after the race, may be indicative of brain damage. Today my blisters have dried out and my hips don't ache too much, so I'm going to try to limp through a recovery run.

Or I might just go to Greencork and taste some wine.

Next milestone: Full marathon. Wow. I've lost my mind.

Morality check:

Nope. Being unable to buy a bottle of wine this afternoon does not make me feel like a better person.

It doesn't make me feel closer to God.

It *does* make me feel like a more annoyed person.

Check the year, Tennessee. Prohibition's been done with for more than 80 years.

Now don't you think it's time we addressed that "separation of church and state" thing?

Time management is a thing that exists.

(Cats do not understand time management, either.)

In the middle of our first Chorale rehearsel last night, I decided not to sing the Messiah this year.  My favorite part of the work have, increasingly, been given to a small subset of the choir; between that and the large proportion of solo movements, the rest of the oratorio is... well, a bit of a slog. There's nothing quite like an entire concert hall full of people standing up when the opening measure of the Hallelujah Chorus rings out - but we don't perform in a concert hall anymore, either.

More to the point, I have this teeny tiny commitment to insanity commonly known as a half-marathon to run at the end of January. My major goals for the month are: 1) keep training; 2) don't get injured; and 3) don't, don't, ABSOLUTELY DO NOT get sick.

Under the circumstances, the decision to avoid a weekly gathering with eighty people in a tight space, where we will proceed to open our mouths and share air and spit consonants* for two and a half hours, seems like a no-brainer. Plus, late Tuesday night rehearsels inevitably leave me highly sleep-deprived on Wednesdays. There are faster ways for me to get sick than to wear myself out... but there aren't many of 'em.

I never thought I'd willingly miss a chance to sing excellent music, but I feel really, really good about this. It's such a relief! I've had the opportunity to sing Messiah - all of it - in a big concert hall with family and friends and a great audience. It's a memory I cherish. This year, I think that memory will be more than enough to see me through.

*Spitting consonants results in excellent diction and crisp sound coming out of one's mouth. But it also sometimes results in other things coming out of one's mouth.

Here is a list of things cats don't understand.

• Cause and effect: "Ow ow OW don't pull don't brush me don't ... hey, the awful mat is gone. NO DON'T YOU TOUCH ME WITH THAT BRUSH."
• Human hygiene: "Let me rub all over your faaaaaaace and leave my eye boogers on your nose! Now let me stick my muzzle in your open mouth! Hey, why are you pushing me?"
• Food safety: "Other!cat just vomited up all her dinner on the floor. It's my dinner now! Nom nom nom."
• Humans that are moving: "But I just curled up in your lap! Where are you going?"
• Humans that are not moving: "Heeeeeey. Heeeeey, wake up! Wake up! It's 3am! Time to play! Why aren't you waking up?"
• Long Short term memory: "Yum, a poinsettia! blerch yak hurl Well that tasted bad, not gonna eat that ag-- yum, a poinsettia!"

I had a dream last night that I'd brought my cats on a train to Hungary, but had not crated them, so when we arrived at our destination I couldn't figure out how to get them to my host house without losing them in Europe. Then I decided since nothing else made sense, I could imagine a shrink ray and shrink them down to pocket-sized, and carry them in my cupped hands. So that is what I did. Thanks, Morpheus.

Also, hi. I have a blogspot now!