reading: dancing naked in the mind field kary mullis
listening: mirrorball sarah mclachlan
surfing: brand x

1999 july 29

shrimp on the barbie

we had dinner at jerry and joy's last night.

doctor d stopped by for a bit--his wife is out of town and he was feeling all lonely and neglected--and of course star was there running around with all the energy that four year olds seem to pull out of the air, and the dog and the cats were there, constantly trying to sneak outside as we went back and forth from the kitchen to the deck, and a good time was had by all.

jerry's father was a chef in various fivestar establishments and every once in a while, jerry suffers from the delusion that such skill is handed down through the genes. but he has been working at this theory for so long that he's now had a lot of practice in cooking strange foods in new and elegant manners and despite his lack of culinary genes, the man can make a mean dinner. last night we had a sort of modified cajun grilled shrimp that the rest of us ate with gusto even as jerry was complaining it wasn't quite right.

for dessert i brought blueberries and raspberries [they were huge! probably genetically engineered but wonderful nonetheless] and strawberries along with mini sponge cakes and real whipped cream. the women ate ours in the kitchen while the men indulged in a cliche moment and had theirs on the deck, while smoking cigars. and didn't that smell nice on the drive home? ick.

when we were leaving, we stood in the driveway for a whole having that one last conversation that always seems to occur as one party is leaving thing and the outdoor cat, bowie came up to say goodnight as well.

they adopted bowie [named after they discovered he had one green eye and one blue] when it became apparent that whomever had owned the house before them had simply left the cat behind. he was living in the crawlspace, eating mice or bugs or scraps or whatever it is abandoned cats find themselves eating. at first they just gave him food in a bowl on the porch but now he will come into the house, let certain people cuddle him, and spends his nights in the comfort of the garage.

it was dark out so it was a little hard to tell, but i thought his silhouette seemed a little off. "something wrong with bowie's head?"

"he's missing an ear."

"ouch! he's been fighting again? i thought he gave that up?"

"no we had to have it removed, he had a tumor and the vet said either the ear goes or the cat would die, so off came the ear."

poor bowie. but he doesn't seem to miss it too much. he tends to hold his head at a bit of an angle, but other than that he is still the crazy cat he always was. jerry scooped him up from where he had been winding his way in and out of various people's legs. "you know what i call him now?"

"what?"

"bowie van gogh."

shrimp are good food, claire

home   -    < previous <   -    > next >   -    archives