Three days after

Ah, much better. I've come through the fog of vicodin and I'm no longer wincing with each change in temperature caused by a drink of liquid or taste of food. I can eat again, which wasn't true for a couple of days. Now I'm getting back to the painting.

1 day after the root canal

I'm feeling the healing power of TV. I'm watching movies and skimming through my taped Oprah episodes. Last night and the night before it was the Bob Dylan doc by Martin Scorsese on PBS. Great stuff. Now I'm watching Fever Pitch, with two of the sweetest actors around, Jimmy Fallon and Drew Barrymore. I always enjoy Nick Hornby's generosity of spirit and adolescent sense of humor, both in abundance this far into the film (end of Act I, when she has agreed to go to opening day with him). Although the sports fan is a little too good to be true so far.

And art mirrors life in odd ways. Yesterday morning The Girl picked Dr. De Soto, by William Steig. I'm reading to her about the dentist and his wife, both mice, who treat a pitiful fox with a decayed tooth while my own tooth is throbbing in its socket. After we finished the story, I called my dentist and ended up having the first half of a root canal. And today, hearing Drew Barrymore hurl off screen I felt awfully sympathetic: I haven't been able to keep anything down all day. Bleh.

New blog, new post

Here's what's in my refrigerator: lots of condiments. Jams and mustards and cheeses and tomatoes soaked in olive oil and sweet garlic. This may be my favorite; it has taken over the citrus-stuffed olives. Darn it all. Why is my favorite stuff so bloody expensive? But it's nutritious and flavorful and enough to go a long way. But I really believe there's another way to live and we know it but haven't worked up the nerve to commit to anything. Or am I just talking about myself?