burnt cake

Last night I decided to make a cake. Nothing fancy, just a boxed cake mix. Just because I wanted a piece of cake. I figured JM, who is staying at my house as I travel to a wedding this weekend, might enjoy it too. So out came the strawberry cake mix, juice (makes it even better than adding water), oil, eggs, a bowl, the mixer, and the cake pan. I whipped up the cake mix, tossed it in the oven, and set the timer a few minutes short of the shortest suggest bake time.

Now, you ask why a few minutes short of the bake time? New ovens are unpredictable. They should not be as baking is much more of a science than an art, but they are. What should happen is that you turn the dial to the desired temperature, oven heats up and remains at that temperature until the dial is again turned. However, all too often the temperature is off, and this was my first time to bake at my cottage.

You have to understand that I love to cook. I bake primarily because I like baked goods. It is a science, and I know what parts of recipes to not mess with, and I get good results. Every now and then I forget to set the timer on a tray of cookies (a tray, not a batch), but that is the extent of the disaster.

Last night the house was smelling great as I was watching Laura Croft Tomb Raider while ironing in the living room. The timer goes off, I go to check the cake and as I approach the oven I smell burnt food. A distinctive and altogether painful and annoying smell. I pull the cake out of the oven and the bottom of it is burnt. I now have the top have cake in small pieces in a tuperware in the fridge. I am glad to say that part tasted good. An oven thermometer is on my ‘to purchase’ list so that next time the science of baking will not fail me.

All because I wanted a piece of cake.

cosmetology school

Today my mailbox contained two items:
1-The fifth disk of Alias Season 1 compliments of Netflix. This I will enjoy.
2-A brochure from Remington College for cosmetology school. Ok…the inside of the brochure says I could also become a personal fitness trainer, massage therapist, or a medical assistant through 8 – 12 months of school at any of the 19 campuses across the nation. Can I count the ways in which they waisted paper?

arriving in nashville

I recently received an email from a friend titled “Breathing Check.” Yes, I am alive. Alive and well. I haven’t written as life has been busy, and the beginning of my time here was trying in its own way. On day three in town I found my one of my car windows busted and my car stereo stolen. Annoying at any time, day three was in the midst of painting multiple rooms in my house, living with friends to 45 minutes away to avoid sleeping amongst the paint fumes, learning the roads in a new town, and starting a new job. So it took a little longer to be able to write a sane blog than I thought it would. Since day three I have managed to finish the wall painting, move in, find some random pieces of needed furniture, unpack most of my crap, get the car fixed, start to figure out the new job, have a few good nights of hanging out with people from the office, and generally avoid traumatic events. As the police officer said, it should all be uphill from here.