Ain't No Sunshine

It has been strange to live here by myself for the past week. Everything is familiar yet somehow empty. I try to go about my normal routine, only to discover that the other side of the bed is empty or that no one is sleeping in the crib so there's no need to be quiet. I talk to myself a bit and to Digby almost constantly (he seems ok with it). Perhaps I'm just not used to spending time away from Dinka or Veronika (this is the longest I've been away from either of them) or living alone (never done it), but I can't say I'm particularly interested in becoming accustomed to either.

I have been occupying myself by constructing task lists on my blackboard and then ticking the items off with satisfaction as I complete them. I have been remarkably efficient as a result but it's good that they're coming home tomorrow because I'm about out of things to do. I've already done all the laundry, put away everything from the trip, taken down all the Christmas decorations, including the tree, and cleaned the entire house. This amount of cleaning and tidying up is also odd because I am not known for keeping an orderly nest. I guess the combination of needing to keep myself busy and knowing that it was somehow for more than just me made it possible. I also devoured everything I had available on DVD and made it nearly through my current reading.

To top off all of these accomplishments, I came up with the brilliant idea that I could make a dessert for my wife as a welcome-home surprise. Instead of choosing a recipe according to my experience in the kitchen, I dove right into something difficult, a recipe for blackberry butterscotch tart from the Nigella Lawson cookbook that I got for Dinka for Christmas. All was going splendidly (even the preparation of the homemade pastry crust, which I had never done before) until it came time to take it out of the oven. The recipe says to cook at 425 degress for 10 minutes, then at 350 degrees for "20 minutes or so, until the filling is set." After 40 minutes at 350, the filling had not set. I removed it from the oven, hoping that it would solidify as it cooled. Two hours later, I tried to cut myself a piece of the seemingly scrumptious dessert, only to find that the interior was nothing but blackberries and a butterscotch sauce, as far from set as ever. It's hard to say "it's the thought that counts" without laughing when you're looking at a disastrous pile of mush like that. I am saving it for Dinka to see tomorrow night, in the hopes that she can tell me where I went wrong.

Oh well, at least the bathroom's clean.