The Cutlets Molt

Monk and Rollins sound majestic here with four minutes remaining on October 26, 2015.  Time so disjointed today.  An airport run.  The wife is on her way out for a ten thousand mile round-trip week.  Time evaporates working from email to email, distraction to distraction.  “Daddy.  You need to pick me up now.”  “Yes.  I’m on my way.”   The older one sends me a we-chat with a pick up request ninety minutes later.  “What’s for dinner?”

Tried to make a fricassee.  Breadcrumbs, egg yolk and a quick fry.  Wonky.  The batter turns into stray scrambled egg before it ever forms a crispy crust.   The cutlets molt to their unadorned whiteness. The girls are generous.  “No, it’s good.” 

I gave a practice run at the speed-reading “Z” technique that I’d mentioned earlier. Apparently Teddy Roosevelt was using a speed-reading technique when he blazed through two books a day.  I’m actually rather familiar with this technique.  My old fifth grade in Pleasantville, New York, Mr. Mondello, took time, oddly, to teach us this technique.  Even at the age of ten, it felt like cheating.  Tomorrow I’ll try it anew, when I read the book I have in the bathroom, which I am reading on a friend’s insistence and not enjoying much.  

I just heard some rustling outside.  I rose up reluctantly and went to the kitchen.  With the hope of affecting surprise I abruptly turned on the lights.  Then I remembered that the main out door light, had fallen the other day and was not going to light up anything.  I couldn’t see any cats or mice.  I opened the door, expecting to hear an animal run off, but heard nothing.  The sound has not returned.