Sunday, June 6. Pancakes. In The Weeds. The doctor-prescribed rest must have worked for Mary Leigh. She was interested in going to Mattina Bella for pancakes this morning. This was the first time she's left the house (or wanted to) for a week. She still sounds as if her head were stuffed with creme brulee, but otherwise her energy seems to be back. In a few days, she would be entirely better, to put the period on that sentence.
Nothing new to report about Mattina Bella. The soft-scrambled eggs were just the way I like them, and the pancakes continue to be the city's best. We would be pressed to think of a restaurant run by a nicer family--two generations' worth, everybody smiling all the time.
I spent the remainder of the day at my desk, until just midnight. Most of what engaged me were tasks postponed during last week's graduation extravaganza. It's a good thing I like what I do. Otherwise the job would be Sisyphian and very depressing. Sometimes it gets to me anyway. I think it did Wednesday and Thursday, when I must have been an intolerable crank to be around.
I think things would look up if I could force myself to clean up my spectacularly cluttered office. And replace the floor tile with the hole caused by my rolling chair. I once read an article by a chef who came close to chucking it all when he fell badly into the weeds one busy evening. ("In the weeds" is chef talk for getting hopelessly backed up in the kitchen.) But he took a deep breath, stopped every ongoing process, and cleaned up his station so he could work efficiently. Then he started cooking again, and the next thing he knew he was caught up. I need to follow that example more often.
