Imported Facebook Note

Eating Broccolini

I don't agree with the time. I don't feel that it's as late as it's supposed to be. It is past 11PM and I have just begun having dinner.

Dinner tonight is a plate of microwave steamed broccolini, which is an odd looking, chewy, and rather tasteless imitation of broccoli. I found it in a bag on my kitchen counter, and, not feeling like cooking anything else, decided to have it for dinner.

And here is how broccolini came to exist in my kitchen:
Yesterday, I went and looked at the surf with a vegetarian friend and decided not to surf. We also decided that the a vegetarian Delissio(tm) rising crust frozen pizza would best be accompanied by some steamed broccoli, so we went to Beaches Groceries in search of same. We arrived in separate cars, went into this little tiny grocery shack one after another, and for reasons to which I hadn't given any thought, acted like we didn't know eachother (okay. lie. I probably did think about it... though not for very long). I bought eggs, milk, and strawberries, and left and drove home. He arrived several minutes later, sans broccoli. "This is broccolini. They didn't have broccoli. Pacheabel said it's even better than broccoli because it has a cute name." Pacheabel? Could there be more than one? "Yeah, she's Andrew Struther's daughter"

Pacheabel... I had read about her. The book was written by her father, and published in 2004. In the book, she was a tiny little girl... not much older than my niece, I would imagine (she's 7). I could add on a few years for the time it takes to write and publish a book... but seeing her as a real life adult caused a little cognitive dissonance... time is moving too quickly.

Milton was 24 when he wrote "How soon hath time"... then boom! next thing you know, he's old and blind and considering how his light is spent... and now... he's been dead for more than 300 years.

Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic....