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Sunday, April 30, 2000
One year ago: Vargas Swing
Two years ago: Television
When Jack left Boeing, he got to pick a good-bye gift from a catalog, even though he was contracting. He picked a big smoker, to smoke meat in. I think that's a remarkably enlightened way to treat your contingent staff! (Although I'd been under the impression that the smoker had been selected for him by his coworkers, not that he'd done the picking. So it's cool in a different way, I guess.)
So he's had this thing for over a year, but never used it, because he hadn't had a chance to put it together. That was his morning project on this project-o-rama weekend. Meanwhile I, in stereotypical domesticity, emptied and filled the dishwasher, and cleaned up the kitchen.
The smoker is a bright red cylinder on little legs. You burn charcoal in it, with a pan of water, and put wood chips on the coals to make the smoke. We had a small bag of wood chips that I'd gotten at the Sharps Roaster place where we'd eaten at Norwescon. I'd set these to soak the night before. Jack had been marinating a good-sized pot roast since last night, after stabbing it gleefully and annointing it with sauce.
I was a bit concerned about the smoker on Jack's small porch (they give you warnings in the package about combustible surfaces), but Jack put foil underneath to deflect some of the heat back in. We put the meat on to cook.
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Jack had sent email to his science fiction group, inviting them to come over midafternoon and join the feast. But he thought we had enough time to rearrange his living room furniture before they came. I was reluctant to attempt such a large change, but Jack really wanted it. So we moved the futon from one side of the room to the other, and shifted the TV and stereo stuff also. It is a better arrangement, leaving the door to the porch more accessible. Jack's recliner isn't blocking stuff this way.
More picking up, and even vacuuming, followed. I made repeated excursions to the trash and recycling depot on the other side of the complex, taking out cartons and papers and bottles and garbage.
We were done before the first guest arrived, or just about. The meat was smelling good! But we should have started a bit earlier, used more coal, and had more woodchips. Next time! Folks didn't mind sitting around and chatting, though it was hard to get Jacqueline off the subject of VikingCon (understandable, since she's the chair). The food turned out great, roasted beef and baked potatoes and salad.
I took off home before everyone else left. Jack was giving me extra hugs and kisses before I walked out the door. Very pleasant, even if it was done with the aim of grossing Jacqueline out. "Oo, yuck! old people sex!" she exclaimed, revealing her own extreme youth.
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When I got home, I wrote Jack to let him know I was home, and to thank him for the nice weekend. He said, "I always worry that you are doing stuff with me only because I want to do it and not because you would enjoy it on your own." The way I think about it is, if I were able to be with Jack every day, he'd probably be working on things or going places where I'd say, "I'll catch up with you later" and not join in. But since my chances to spend time with him aren't unlimited, I want to be there when I can, as a part of his daily life, as he is part of mine.
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