This you trust this!
I am a man who can appreciate good flatware. I’m not talking about fancy silverware or some gimmicky Ginsu… I’m talking about simple, honest, stainless steel. Something with a bit of heft to it, not like those flimsy, stamped metal ones you can bend like a Uri Geller prop…
“Fire and wind come from the sky, from the gods of the sky. But Crom is your god, Crom and he lives in the earth. Once, giants lived in the Earth, Conan. And in the darkness of chaos, they fooled Crom, and they took from him the enigma of steel. Crom was angered. And the Earth shook. Fire and wind struck down these giants, and they threw their bodies into the waters, but in their rage, the gods forgot the secret of steel and left it on the battlefield.
We who found it are just men. Not gods. Not giants. Just men. The secret of steel has always carried with it a mystery. You must learn its riddle, Conan. You must learn its discipline. For no one – no one in this world can you trust. Not men, not women, not beasts. This (Gestures at the fork) you can trust!” – Conan’s Father Figurine
Part of my home renovation included having all of my cabinets painted, and as a consequence, I had to clear everything out… my plates, bowls, pots, pans, all of that shit… it all went into bags and totes, carted off into the garage… Unable to cook, I had to subsist on takeout, which wasn’t good for my wallet or my waistline, but worst of all, plastic fucken forks!
Although it did give me a brief respite from doing the dishes, it created a backlog of garbage given the influx of cardboard, plastic, and styrofoam containers, all taking up space in my bin…Contemplate THAT on the tree of woe!
Recovery…
Thankfully, that’s all over. Since then, I’ve slowly hauled all my stuff back upstairs, allowing me to sort through it all, reorganize what goes where, and get rid of all the tat former roommates and house-sitters kindly left… It’s all queued up in the garage, awaiting the next Great Purging™, two days hence…
In the meantime, I will continue to enjoy the simple pleasures of a good fork, stabbing firm chunks of spicy meat, and slowly slim back down to a more comfortable size while Ghost Jim nods in approval, suggesting I make some homemade corn tortillas to go with that, and polish it all off with a nice, tall cup of Yerba Maté.