The Day in Which I Am Less Busy that Peyton Manning
This morning I volunteered at a local Catholic Church that was putting on a free pasta lunch for the community in honor of St. Joseph. This involved bussing tables, getting rubbed on the back by sweet old ladies, joining the spaghetti assembly line, fielding several inquiries re: if I attend the local high school and/or college, and making small talk with former cloistered nuns. There is nothing like chatting with women who once took a vow of silence to drive home how insipid your ideas are.
I was also assured by the grammar school principal’s wife that this was far and away the best Catholic Church in the community, and was absolutely the place to stay. She said this as she was showing me the cakes the local women had made — there was one cake made out of figs that was shaped like a foot, and another that had thorns and a red food color droplet of blood atop a nice butter cream frosting.
Foods made this afternoon:
a dressing made from garlic, dill & cashews; another dressing made with almond butter & ginger (for a kale salad); celery-flax-sunflower seed crackers
this somehow took, like, an hour and a half
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