they say you learn something new every day. this morning, i took the crusted-over, black-with-goo coffeepot to my former boss/now coworker and said, "help."

salt and ice. that's the trick. salt and ice, to scrape off the goo. i never would have known. the coffeepot is now happily burbling - though this does mean he's making the coffee, which means i have to add a little hot water to it to make it drinkable.

yesterday the editor came to my office and said, "can i complicate your life?" it seems the other job, the one i really wanted, may become available again. i told him to keep me in the loop, then went home , discussed with J (back to previous pay, see) and decided, yesofcourse i want that job. it'd be part of my job to write. is it even a question?

and then, after the going home and talking to J part, i made potatoes florentine, and damn if they weren't just completely tasty. i really like cooking. what a strange thing to learn after so many years of pasta sauce from a jar.

this morning there were at least seven fat robins in the driveway. i thought there was a deer in the bushes (a very common appearance) from all the noise, but when i looked harder i saw it was just another robin, mucking about in the frozen leaves.

i stood and watched them for awhile, counting, memorizing their little faces, watching them do the robin walk, hophophopstop, like they were advancing carefully across a battlefield. one soared above, branch to branch, like a scout, and a stellar's jay snuck in around the flank, seemingly trying (oddly, for such a loud bird) to be invisible and ignored. i stood still enough that all the robins resumed their hops (paused as i clomped across the deck in boots that don't fit right and actually look worse) and went back to picking at the driveway, hopping, and picking some more. one stood on a log and watched me, and i apologized when i had to start the car, scrape the windshield, and venture into the rest of the driveway, ruining their field of play.