Good thing I can make coffee in my sleep.

I'd heard from a couple of sources that eggs made in an Instant Pot were fantastic. I didn't get it. Why? It only takes ten minutes to boil them. How could that be more instant? It's like racing to a red light. Sure, you might get there before me but don't we essentially clear the intersection at the same time?

I don't have an Instant Pot but I do have a pressure cooker so I thought I would try boiling (pressurizing?) my eggs in there. Except, I wasn't quite awake when I did it and now I have ten experimental eggs of unknown doneness. 

Apparently, an Instant Pot has a setting for eggs. One has only to push a button. With a pressure cooker, on the other hand, one must pay considerable more attention. Thus, being fully conscious is a good idea. (A good idea, in general, when one is in the kitchen.)

With my first batch of eggs, I forgot to make a pressure selection. Gurgling, water trickled out of the top as the pressure built but not by enough to create much in the way of steam. When the small amount of water boiled off, the pressure cooker fell silent. I anticipate these eggs will be little more than soft boiled.

I realized my mistake so made a second batch. This time I set the pressure setting at high, reduced the heat when it reached full pressure, and set a timer. When the timer went off, I forgot to set another timer to allow for the pressure cooker to naturally release its pressure. Instead, I turned a knob and released it all, shooting pressurized steam at the underside of my kitchen cabinets. Perhaps, these eggs will also be somewhat soft.

I now have ten semi-cooked eggs the condition of which I will confirm when I try to break one open for my breakfast. Perhaps I should set out some bacon and plan on omelettes. Or egg salad.

Or maybe I should stick to oatmeal.

It's In The Mail

I have here before me a letter - one that I received via the United States Postal Service - that reads,

Your request to receive email notices has been received . . . .

Ashes to Ashes, Pajamas to Pajamas

I didn't used to spend all my time in my pajamas. I used to don my workout gear straightaway upon rising. It seemed more efficient to get my sweating done before showering and dressing. Some people do it the other way around, working out after their day's labor requiring a costume change and, perhaps, another shower.

And so it is that I spend most of my day in my pajamas. I still work out but now I do it later in the day. This turn of events was my downfall. Why should I get dressed for work (which, for me, is down the hall from my bedroom) only to change my clothes later? It's better to stay in my pajamas.

However, the longer I wait to work out, the shorter the remaining time I spend in something other than pajamas. It could be four or five o'clock before I've finished my workout, had a shower, and changed to street clothes (assuming I will leave the condo to see actual people). I'll meet with friends and be home by eight, changing back into pajamas to read a good book or watch TV. 

This must not go on. I must either get dressed for work and change for my late afternoon workout or (and I'm favoring this idea) I need to move my office into my bedroom.

Rubies and Silence

We heard somewhere that the traditional gift for a fortieth wedding anniversary was rubies. We recently celebrated our thirtieth but didn't exchange gifts so I asked, "What do you suppose it was for 30?"

"Silence," my husband answered, a little too quickly.