Today was the day for signing the lease with the new tenant. She is so excited to move into her new place.
I was putzing around with the lease paperwork. Our friend showed up while Tim was out, and me, being me, invited him back to supper at the end of the day when Tim was home. He took me up on the offer right away.
I had a package of veal out of the freezer, so I got a second package out, just to make sure that there was enough. I was making a new recipe, veal piccata. It looked easy enough.
Tim came back and then I headed out to help him load up another load from one garage. He was bringing it back to our house to sort. Some would stay here, in our garage. Some stuff was to be used at the next renovation. Some was to be hauled down to the garage at the retirement property. Some ~hallelujah~ was being burned. He decided it was not needed. Late to the party, that. I had come to that conclusion some years back.
After I helped Tim load up, I headed out to the grocery store to pick up some things (lemon, capers) that I did not have on hand for supper.
As I was checking out, much to my horror, I discovered that my debit card was not in my purse. I knew exactly where it was. With great embarrassment, I explained my predicament to the cashier. I told her where I lived and that I would head home to get my card and come right back.
She was nice as she could be about the whole thing. She rang everything up and suspended the transaction, pushing my cart off to the side. She would not hear of my apologies. "Did you ever have a Monday on a Tuesday?" I asked, and she said that she'd had a whole week of Mondays once, so she knew how I felt.
I headed home, got my card, and returned to the store. It really irked me because I had company coming for supper (yes, this was my own fault), and I had a meeting at 5:30 to sign the paperwork for the apartment, so I was trying to get as much ready ahead of time as I could.
I very quickly threw together a cake. I couldn't find my cake pan and I fussed around in a 'it HAS to be here somewhere' sort of way, before remembering that it had gone home with my daughter.
I poured the batter into two round pans and popped them in the oven.
I peeled the potatoes and got them cooking.
I pounded the veal and got the 'dredge' ready. I got a pan of water for the green beans. I pulled the cake, frosted it. The potatoes were done, so I shut them off, and left the house for my meeting. The meal preparation being done ahead of time meant that I could have supper on the table quick as a wink when I got home.
While doing the walk through with our tenant, I discovered that while I had checked to make sure the oven was clean, I had not checked the warming drawer beneath the oven. It was dirty which was mortifying. I apologized for that, and told her I would return to clean that out the following morning. The tenant's whole family was there and they are excited for their girl. She had found a couch on Marketplace that they were all going to pick up and deliver. Her father relaxed when he saw that his baby was moving into a quiet house on a quiet street. He and Tim talked comfortably, and I think that helped. Everyone chattered back and forth actually, and all the excitement kind of camoflaged my embarrassment.
When we were through, Tim and I were hurrying back home when I heard the clock tower chiming the hour. "It's six?" I gasped. It was. We had company coming at 6:15.
We were walking up the sidewalk to our house when Ray pulled in. "Supper might be the tiniest bit late!" I said as I scooted in the door. I dredged the pounded veal and dropped the slices into the hot pan. I drained the potatoes, dumped them in the mixer bowl, added cream and butter and salt and pepper and turned on the mixer, In between flipping the thin slices of veal, and transferring the cooked slices to a pie pan, I was heating water for the beans, slicing bread for the broiler. When the veal was done, I made the gravy. While that was cooking, I got the bread out of the oven, drained the beans.
Sounds very efficient, doesn't it?
Much to my horror, I'd gotten over generous with the cream. The potatoes were like mortar. The veal turned out okay and the gravy was alright, but it certainly wasn't great. (That is the danger of a new recipe being tried out in front of an audience.) I forgot to salt the beans. To my credit, I did not burn the bread. We visited over a very mediocre meal. I managed to tip over a glass of water. I'm not sure how I even did that.
I am glad that Ray is an old friend.
It is time for bed now, and the best thing that I can say about this day is that it is done and I did not die of embarrassment. I could have. Multiple times.