Sunday, September 28, 2008

Flats, Failures & Taters



Taters

It's been kind of a weird weekend here in the House of Peter. Ups and downs and run-arounds. Adding to my woes was the fact my laptop sort of went blotto on Friday (missing kernel error or something after a failed system update -blah blah blah)

Saturday:
Gray and rain. Up late. No biggie. Big breakfast set everything right. I had my mind set on a goal. I made my way to the pool and did my 70 laps (it's pretty bad when you brag about accomplishing half of what other people do) and went home. Except I think I probably over-extended myself. Ended up having a monster headache - like the headache that ate Tokyo. The rest of the day was a drawn out tragedy of late street cars, jostling at an over-crowded Apple store and absolutely no luck in getting my laptop fixed. I dragged myself home and slipped into some fine Angela-wrought soup. Press reset hoping Sunday would be better.

Sunday:
Determined to improve the weekend I set about backing up all the data on the laptop and re-installing the operating system. Many restarts and reboots later all seemed well and to salvage what was becoming a beautiful day, I got my bike gear on and took to the road.

One pothole and flat tire later, I'm walking for 40 minutes back home, only to find the laptop still not so frisky. Another hour or so lost in the confines of watching a software installer install itself and voila. Back to the land of the living. Of course, it was wiped clean of any remnants of its former self but I was glad to have it back nonetheless.

Of all of the salvageable acts this weekend, none was more satisfying than digging a fork into the dirt and dredging up the familiar and friendly potatoes we've so hopelessly ignored this season. Yet there they were, awaiting us under their cover of clay. The dark Papa Negra was hard to distinguish from a stone. The blush skinned potatoes shone out like magic fruit illuminated from within or like some weird plastic apples. They roasted well, and calmly punctuated this most trying two days.

Thank you, Potato. Your comforting starchiness is my salve.

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