Can't trust that day

So it took just under 2 weeks for the honeymoon to run its course. The pilot marriage has begun. It is the time when if you chose to, you notice the warts and habits and formerly charming pecadillos. It is the time when the real relationship and in my case, the real evaluation begins.

Wednesday and Thursday on the island are a lot like Wednesday and Thursday at home. I get up early, work and think very hard all day and wonder at least once, why it is I put up with this shit. I still contend that I have an amazing deal, but sometimes I think it is only because this pile of poo stinks less than others I know about. Once again, it is about cost and benefit and it is about understanding that I do have to earn money and apparently in portions higher than the average bear. This is the truth about me right now.

Mondays are a work day too, but given my love of Tuesday, Monday has a reflecting halo around it.

I want to talk about gossip. Is that gossip? What if I talk about people who gossip? Is that gossip? Well I found a few of them last night. You can so guess where. Makes me nervous. Especially now that I know there is one meeting a week on the island and 10 people were there. This doubles my intention to get on the right ferry tomorrow and take the short ride across the water to what I hope is the bay area type standard Saturday hootanany. I have hope. I hate gossip. There is just nothing about it that is any good. Especially in an anonymous program.

Today I will go visit quiet Briggitte. I imagine she is only quiet because Bruno seldom is. Funny thing though, he is one of those people who has a lot of interesting things to say, and it is not that I don't want him to share it all with me, but I do get tired listening. Not bored, not annoyed, just tired.

I have pistachios for Briggitte. When we met in October I asked her why her brimming plate of macaroons did not include pistachio cream. "No pistachios" was the sum of her answer. So when I visited the other day and told her I brought some for her, her eyes lit up disproportionately I thought, given her non-plussed attitude of yore. Seems between my visits she had, at the request of a store in Victoria that she supplies, discovered the joy of pistachios. Quiet Brigitte waxed for a full 2 minutes about the sublime quality of pistachio creme and how one could never fully comprehend the bliss until some of the subtle silky essence covered your tongue. But still, for Briggitte, it seems, there are no pistachios. I have to investigate this further.

This is one of her little treasures. She is on to something. I enjoy it while admittedly wondering how I can have some of what she has. A little shop, a superior product, low overhead and the ability to succeed when so many others on the island seem to fail at similar undertakings.

PS. I have discovered a new love of whole wheat pasta. Two years of brown rice pasta will do that to you. Apparently absence does make the heart grow fonder which means April 5th should be the start of a really good week.