getting the hang of thursdays

Good run this morning. It was raining, and my sweatshirt was inadequate, so I wasn't planning on going very far, but at the last minute I turned up into the park and ran home through there. I love the park when everything's still blue and vague. I ran past the playground, red and yellow cutouts gleaming with rain. I cut up along the duckpond where the mallards were all chuckling with consternation at finding themselves awake, then through the arbour and into a green tunnel of hedge that hides a little bridge. A blue heron lifted its head among the stones not two feet from me and looked at me with surprise but without fear. Then the path went up onto the rocks, and I ran along the ridge there, with flashes of the park showing below me. I love these clusters of tiny adventures you find in the park.

Then I came home and ate breakfast in my mostly clean kitchen and made these notes. As I ate, my eyes roamed over the meager stock of my pantry (well, onion basket.) This question has been puzzling me: Is there any reason you can't eat the stalks of a sprouted onion? Would be similar to eating chives?

I didn't really clean yesterday. Mostly I talked to inlandsea and brooded. I put things into boxes that didn't really need to go away yet, and didn't tidy up the things I meant to.

But this is a Thursday, and I generally do pretty well with Thursdays, so I am optimistic.
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events management

Tonight was the big members' party for the new director, an event which I have done a thoroughly mediocre job of letting the membership know about. The turnout was good, but I realized anew how much better off the Gallery would be with someone who was actually, you know, good at the job. I was also underdressed, but made up for it by being servile.

Discoveries of the evening:

1. I can fit ten coffee cups onto the fingers of my left hand. This is a tie with S. of Facilities, who is fiftyish, British, and excellently sarcastic.

2. In pouring punch, as with many things, the key is not so much precision as audacity. If you pour slowly and carefully, you will get punch all over everything. If you firmly and swiftly transfer liquid from ladle to bowl, you have a fighting chance of keeping your guests' spangly costumes clean.

"Is this punch?" said a guest.
"It is." I said.
"Is there a charge?"
"Heck no." I said. "Take two."
Well, you get tired.

Then the Curator of Asian Art and I discussed the best way to get cake home in our pockets. Over the last of the goat cheese, a famous local artist urged me to eat the orchids. I'm not sure what she meant by that.

I think I am not cut out for life amongst the elite.

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