This only sets my resolve even more. I will figure this out. I’m prying these plates apart if it’s the last thing I do. By now I’m trying to accept that I may have to throw away my favorite pie plate, one of those special pottery kinds, because of the mallet I may take to it.
After a week in the freezer, I try again. Not budging. Not even a little. Feeling desperate now I run it under the hottest water I can. Then I soak it. Cemented. What the H —E—Double L is in this crust?? This is no longer a cooking fail but a test of will.
She tells me she got herself a cake and invited the neighbors. How many came, I ask. Thirteen. All at once? It takes 10 more minutes to get an answer to this. No, she says, a couple at a time. Did they wear masks, I ask? Ten more minutes. Yes. Well, how did you eat the cake with your masks on? She starts laughing hysterically. We kept lifting up the masks for each bite and laughed at each other. It was fun, she said.
Covid, old folks style.
Penelope is in training. Like a defiant toddler, she decided she can greet any and all dogs walking in her direction by tugging her leash and pulling me where she willfully wants to go.
This does not always end well. Some dogs do not appreciate Penelope entering their space, and bark warnings of “do not approach.” To be fair, Penelope sometimes arrives snoot to butt and decides at the last minute, nope, don’t really like this one. She barks, admonishing the dog, insulted the dog did not live up to her expectations.
Recently, I posted a blog article on Elephant Journal, Meet Grace, My New Best Friend, about being kind to ourselves during this time of COVID 19. It is only after I send out my blog to everyone I know on the planet that I realize, when you click on the link for the article, the ad at the top of EJ page is for vibrators.
Power. It’s such an interesting concept for women. Men keep their power. It grows with them. Women tend to lose it along the way. And then spend their lives trying to regain it.
I know the exact moment I gave all of my power away.
I’m White. In the wake of George Floyd’s murder, I know whatever I say will not be enough or right or politically correct. If I say nothing, I’m complicit. If I say something, it may be perceived as too White bread or too nice or I’m speaking for POC, Person of Color, in a way I should not.