A very tired Maureen, who has neither the time nor the inclination to proofread this before she posts it, says:
Now I know why, when we first moved back and spoke of our intentions to open a restaurant, our friend and fellow restaurateur collapsed in the shoulders and said said, "Why would you ever want to do that?" She were mostly joking, of course, but people? I soooooo get what she were saying. This is why they make those 18-hour bras, isn't it? Since we got our liquor license three and half days ago, we have seriously considered sleeping in the space.
And getting that liquor license wasn't without its drama. The second Tom had the signatures in hand to obtain the actual license, he got in the car and headed for Concord. It was mid-afternoon and the state offices were open until 4:30p, so we had plenty of time. Except when he arrived there, a little before 3:30p, he was told that the trade name was printed incorrectly on our permits. I got a frantic call from him asking for the phone numbers for the Health and Fire Departments, which I pulled off the Internet. While he raced back to Manchester, he called both agencies and the amazing staff there pulled together new permits and had them waiting for Tom when got back into town. Then it was back in the car and a race against the clock to get back to Concord before the state offices closed. It was 4:26p when he presented the corrected permits and got the license.
Then, there's the usual drama. The kind that's definitely more than a pain in the ass, but isn't what you'd call catastrophic: vendors lacking pride in craftsmanship who have no choice but to re-do their work because we didn't give them another choice; delays in signage production owing to back-ordered paint and the time the paint will take to cure; other, smaller parts of the interior vision not translating as well as we'd hoped when they were put into place.
But we had our first staff meeting and Tom and I are confident that we attracted an aces team who believes in and reflects our overall vision; out of the kitchen we're getting good energy, good noise and good smells; we've got our linens on site, our liquor orders placed and the stereo speakers wired and placed.
We're almost there, but not quite. There are easily a hundred things for every member of the staff, including Tom and me, to do and do just this morning. And then there are the phone calls. Vendors. Ad sales. Curious folks about town. There are the faxes. Deliveries. Questions. Endless proofreading. And let's not forget feeding the parking meters (that's a full-time job in itself).
It's early yet today, but already I'm behind. Still, the thought it takes to write a post here forces me to slow down the adrenaline rush and remember that it won't be very long at all before someone I love sees a dream he's been making for the last 20 years come true. I have never wanted one, single thing for 20 years; I can't imagine what that must feel like. But it does me a little misty when I try to.
Y'all keep an eye on this space for the opening announcement, you hear?
Showing posts with label Stress. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stress. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Thursday, March 22, 2007
The First of Several Announcements
Tom and Maureen say:
The last week or so it's been nothing but noses to the grindstone getting the work done that would allow us to begin the not-very-long, but still somewhat winding road known as obtaining the permits required for Z to open its doors.
The permitting process in Manchester is far from onerous, but it must be followed in a very specific order, each step dependent upon the one before it.
That journey came to an end at 3:30p yesterday when we obtained the last permit needed to go before the State Liquor Commission today and get our liquor license. What does this mean? Well, once we have our liquor license, we can open the doors any time we're ready.
And being ready means that we took about five minutes to celebrate and then it was back to work. Recipes tweaks. Getting the liquor order finalized so the second we have the license, we can fax it off. Programming the POS system. Printing the menus. Assembling materials for staff training. It's at the point now where prioritizing is impossible because everything's of equal importance. And details that seem like they'd no take time, are eating up hours.
But we're close. Close enough that the light at the end of the tunnel is a beacon instead of a pinprick.
The last week or so it's been nothing but noses to the grindstone getting the work done that would allow us to begin the not-very-long, but still somewhat winding road known as obtaining the permits required for Z to open its doors.
The permitting process in Manchester is far from onerous, but it must be followed in a very specific order, each step dependent upon the one before it.
That journey came to an end at 3:30p yesterday when we obtained the last permit needed to go before the State Liquor Commission today and get our liquor license. What does this mean? Well, once we have our liquor license, we can open the doors any time we're ready.
And being ready means that we took about five minutes to celebrate and then it was back to work. Recipes tweaks. Getting the liquor order finalized so the second we have the license, we can fax it off. Programming the POS system. Printing the menus. Assembling materials for staff training. It's at the point now where prioritizing is impossible because everything's of equal importance. And details that seem like they'd no take time, are eating up hours.
But we're close. Close enough that the light at the end of the tunnel is a beacon instead of a pinprick.
Monday, March 5, 2007
The Good, the Bad & the Ugly
Tom says:
The Good.
Our Chef de Cuisine started today. Dave went straight to work getting the kitchen organized and by the end of the week the first samples will be coming out of Dave's new home away from home.
Mike's putting the finishing touches on construction--the glass block partial walls are up; the back bar is built, including shelving, and is ready for paint; and the remaining areas of the floor are prepped and awaiting tile.
The menu is just about set now with last-minute inspirations for dessert rounding out our offerings. After a meeting this morning with Ed and scheduling additional meetings later for later in the week, we can say the same about the wine list.
Employment ads--print and online--have generated a steady stream of applicants that should provide us with a solid pool of candidates from which to choose (we're holding an Open House for employment on Wednesday from 12-5p at the restaurant, so if you're interested or know anyone who might be, send them down to 860 Elm Street, Manchester).
The Bad.
Part I of the two-part cautionary tale about what happens when you choose, out of necessity or otherwise, to be your own General Contractor.
Got a call first thing this morning from our signage vendor with the news that the city didn't approve our sign. Our plans, as submitted, had the sign hanging too high on the building (despite the fact that I can look up and down the street and point to examples of exactly what they rejected). All told, this is the first and--knock wood--the only hiccup we've heard from the city and, well, it's probably something that could have been avoided if I'd hired a professional GC who might have been better acquainted with current codes and thus addressed this issue at the design stage. We have options, but we don't have time to think on any one of them too long. As always, as many people reminded me, there are worse problems to have.
The Ugly.
Part II of this cautionary tale makes the signage seem like a non-issue. I need isolated ground circuits (IGCs) to run the Point-of-Service system. When I first talked with my electrician, I did mention the need for both power and telecommunications ports to run this POS system I hadn't yet purchased, but didn't specify what kind. An experienced GC, especially one who had managed restaurant renovations, would have known to install IGCs at the outset.
As ugly as this particular situation is, we've been and continue to be fortunate such that extra charges here are offset by savings there. The additional cost to change the outlets over will be made up by the forced changes to our signage. Just another one for the books when we go to open a second shop (just kidding, Maureen--you can start breathing again).
Tuesday's going to be another monster of a day, but it's also the day we preview an item from our menu. Look for that tomorrow night, late. Until then, thanks for reading.
The Good.
Our Chef de Cuisine started today. Dave went straight to work getting the kitchen organized and by the end of the week the first samples will be coming out of Dave's new home away from home.
Mike's putting the finishing touches on construction--the glass block partial walls are up; the back bar is built, including shelving, and is ready for paint; and the remaining areas of the floor are prepped and awaiting tile.
The menu is just about set now with last-minute inspirations for dessert rounding out our offerings. After a meeting this morning with Ed and scheduling additional meetings later for later in the week, we can say the same about the wine list.
Employment ads--print and online--have generated a steady stream of applicants that should provide us with a solid pool of candidates from which to choose (we're holding an Open House for employment on Wednesday from 12-5p at the restaurant, so if you're interested or know anyone who might be, send them down to 860 Elm Street, Manchester).
The Bad.
Part I of the two-part cautionary tale about what happens when you choose, out of necessity or otherwise, to be your own General Contractor.
Got a call first thing this morning from our signage vendor with the news that the city didn't approve our sign. Our plans, as submitted, had the sign hanging too high on the building (despite the fact that I can look up and down the street and point to examples of exactly what they rejected). All told, this is the first and--knock wood--the only hiccup we've heard from the city and, well, it's probably something that could have been avoided if I'd hired a professional GC who might have been better acquainted with current codes and thus addressed this issue at the design stage. We have options, but we don't have time to think on any one of them too long. As always, as many people reminded me, there are worse problems to have.
The Ugly.
Part II of this cautionary tale makes the signage seem like a non-issue. I need isolated ground circuits (IGCs) to run the Point-of-Service system. When I first talked with my electrician, I did mention the need for both power and telecommunications ports to run this POS system I hadn't yet purchased, but didn't specify what kind. An experienced GC, especially one who had managed restaurant renovations, would have known to install IGCs at the outset.
As ugly as this particular situation is, we've been and continue to be fortunate such that extra charges here are offset by savings there. The additional cost to change the outlets over will be made up by the forced changes to our signage. Just another one for the books when we go to open a second shop (just kidding, Maureen--you can start breathing again).
Tuesday's going to be another monster of a day, but it's also the day we preview an item from our menu. Look for that tomorrow night, late. Until then, thanks for reading.
Sunday, March 4, 2007
The Little Things
Maureen says:
When you're starting any business, you'd think the big decisions would be the most difficult ones, the ones that result in long, drawn-out debate and endless discussion. That's what I thought because in my mind big decisions are, by default, equated with big money.
What I've discovered, though I suspect I always knew it on some level, is that the bigger the decision, the louder your gut speaks to you and its message is unmistakably clear. Things like choosing a logo or lighting or even the almighty point-of-service system were the cliche no-brainer decisions. Where we're getting caught up is in the little things.
Choosing staff shirts, for example. We don't have a large staff, so price per shirt isn't a huge consideration. Fit, however, is. So is color. Ditto sleeve-length. And we made a decision a long time ago that unisex isn't the way we want to go. Thus, locating a supplier with shirts that are the right style and weight, that offers compatible men's and women's versions with two sleeve-lengths per with a color palette that's in keeping with our decor and our brand? That's what results in the long, drawn-out debates and endless discussions. Add to that that staff will also wear bistro aprons, which come from a different supplier with its own rainbow of colors we'll need to match, and I've experienced my first hours of lost sleep since we started this venture.
Other things I've been working on behind the scenes include the Web site (choosing a design was easy, mostly because our designer is brilliant, but writing the content is another trial), coffee and tea selections (when everything you've tasted is great, paring down to your final offering is unexpectedly difficult), creating a mood music strategy (fortunately, I've got a friend who's aces at this and he's offered to put together a few custom mixes for your dining pleasure), and walking around the house with the menu folio to see how it looks next to the menu sheets in various levels of light (we may need to change our original color choice).
Then, there's that whole list of other little things that would, in our eyes, make Z nothing short of perfect but aren't necessarily in the opening budget. We can't do all of them, and the ones we'd most like to do are the ones that cost the most. There's time, we tell ourselves, to add these in after the opening. They are, we tell ourselves, touches that only we'll miss because we're the only ones aware of them. We need to redefine our idea of perfection, we tell ourselves, because as much as opening a restaurant is about realizing a dream, at the end of every shift it's really about the food, the experience and the relationship we have our customers. In those areas, there is no room for compromise.
When you're starting any business, you'd think the big decisions would be the most difficult ones, the ones that result in long, drawn-out debate and endless discussion. That's what I thought because in my mind big decisions are, by default, equated with big money.
What I've discovered, though I suspect I always knew it on some level, is that the bigger the decision, the louder your gut speaks to you and its message is unmistakably clear. Things like choosing a logo or lighting or even the almighty point-of-service system were the cliche no-brainer decisions. Where we're getting caught up is in the little things.
Choosing staff shirts, for example. We don't have a large staff, so price per shirt isn't a huge consideration. Fit, however, is. So is color. Ditto sleeve-length. And we made a decision a long time ago that unisex isn't the way we want to go. Thus, locating a supplier with shirts that are the right style and weight, that offers compatible men's and women's versions with two sleeve-lengths per with a color palette that's in keeping with our decor and our brand? That's what results in the long, drawn-out debates and endless discussions. Add to that that staff will also wear bistro aprons, which come from a different supplier with its own rainbow of colors we'll need to match, and I've experienced my first hours of lost sleep since we started this venture.
Other things I've been working on behind the scenes include the Web site (choosing a design was easy, mostly because our designer is brilliant, but writing the content is another trial), coffee and tea selections (when everything you've tasted is great, paring down to your final offering is unexpectedly difficult), creating a mood music strategy (fortunately, I've got a friend who's aces at this and he's offered to put together a few custom mixes for your dining pleasure), and walking around the house with the menu folio to see how it looks next to the menu sheets in various levels of light (we may need to change our original color choice).
Then, there's that whole list of other little things that would, in our eyes, make Z nothing short of perfect but aren't necessarily in the opening budget. We can't do all of them, and the ones we'd most like to do are the ones that cost the most. There's time, we tell ourselves, to add these in after the opening. They are, we tell ourselves, touches that only we'll miss because we're the only ones aware of them. We need to redefine our idea of perfection, we tell ourselves, because as much as opening a restaurant is about realizing a dream, at the end of every shift it's really about the food, the experience and the relationship we have our customers. In those areas, there is no room for compromise.
Saturday, March 3, 2007
Four Thousand Words Worth
Tom says:
These photos were taken two days ago and already they're dated. That's how quickly things are progressing at Z. That's how quickly things need to be progressing at Z. To the untrained eye it probably looks as though we're nowhere near opening, but as is often the case, appearances are to the contrary. We've got lights. Banquette seating installation. Almost a bar. Obviously we've got a camera. Pretty soon I'll be able to call out, "Action!" And that, friends, is going to be a really really good day.
These photos were taken two days ago and already they're dated. That's how quickly things are progressing at Z. That's how quickly things need to be progressing at Z. To the untrained eye it probably looks as though we're nowhere near opening, but as is often the case, appearances are to the contrary. We've got lights. Banquette seating installation. Almost a bar. Obviously we've got a camera. Pretty soon I'll be able to call out, "Action!" And that, friends, is going to be a really really good day.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Some Side Effects of Opening a Restaurant
Maureen says:
You Stop Eating Out. You're broke, you're exhausted and most restaurants are closed by the time you get around to eating, if that time ever comes at all. Besides, any place you could go, you won't relax anyway. You'll be too busy guessing what font the menu is printed in, gauging the space between tables and debating the merits of providing individual specials sheets or having servers recite them instead of enjoying your meal. Probably you're going to be doing something like that anyway, so you might as well do it at home over a nice bowl of cereal.
You Lose Your Will to Live. Okay, you still want to live, it's just that when you finally call it a day, the will to do nothing but sit on your ass comes pretty close to trumping everything else, with the only reason to get up off the couch being to get another glass of wine. The solution is to keep the bottle with you, preferably within easy reach. If it's been a particularly trying day, bring a backup bottle. It's likely you're wearing the wine opener on a chain around your neck by now anyway.
No Matter How Much Laundry You Do, There Are Always Two Loads Waiting to Be Done. Who knew? While some of the volume can be attributed to the seasonal need to dress in layers, mostly it's the dirt. This polymathic business partner of mine not performs general contractor duties, but quite often, acts as a contractor himself and comes home filthy, sometimes to the point of disgust. So much for the energy-conserving practice of getting two wearings out of various items of clothing.
You Look Forward to Trips to Certain Box Stores. For things like toilet paper, cat litter, laundry detergent, Method household cleaners, dish soap, shampoo, razor cartridges and garbage bags. I never knew parting with a couple of C-notes at the home of the bull's eye would fill me with such joy, but it does. If I'm spending that much money there at once, it means I don't have to go back for another three months.
Your Listening Skills Improve. You're not only in want of break in living/breathing/talking about your endeavor, you need one. Consequently, you listen to the goings on in the lives of friends and family with heightened interest. I mean really listen. Not the sort of pretend listening where you're really just waiting for a break in conversation so you can jump in with the next thing you want to say. Active listening. And you realize that everyone's got their own version opening a restaurant happening in their lives. And okay, whatever--kumbaya--we're all in this crazy thing called life together, marching to our personal drum beats and making our own kind of music. So you put down your wine glass, get up off your ass and do the damned laundry. You write a blog post. You call it a night.
You Stop Eating Out. You're broke, you're exhausted and most restaurants are closed by the time you get around to eating, if that time ever comes at all. Besides, any place you could go, you won't relax anyway. You'll be too busy guessing what font the menu is printed in, gauging the space between tables and debating the merits of providing individual specials sheets or having servers recite them instead of enjoying your meal. Probably you're going to be doing something like that anyway, so you might as well do it at home over a nice bowl of cereal.
You Lose Your Will to Live. Okay, you still want to live, it's just that when you finally call it a day, the will to do nothing but sit on your ass comes pretty close to trumping everything else, with the only reason to get up off the couch being to get another glass of wine. The solution is to keep the bottle with you, preferably within easy reach. If it's been a particularly trying day, bring a backup bottle. It's likely you're wearing the wine opener on a chain around your neck by now anyway.
No Matter How Much Laundry You Do, There Are Always Two Loads Waiting to Be Done. Who knew? While some of the volume can be attributed to the seasonal need to dress in layers, mostly it's the dirt. This polymathic business partner of mine not performs general contractor duties, but quite often, acts as a contractor himself and comes home filthy, sometimes to the point of disgust. So much for the energy-conserving practice of getting two wearings out of various items of clothing.
You Look Forward to Trips to Certain Box Stores. For things like toilet paper, cat litter, laundry detergent, Method household cleaners, dish soap, shampoo, razor cartridges and garbage bags. I never knew parting with a couple of C-notes at the home of the bull's eye would fill me with such joy, but it does. If I'm spending that much money there at once, it means I don't have to go back for another three months.
Your Listening Skills Improve. You're not only in want of break in living/breathing/talking about your endeavor, you need one. Consequently, you listen to the goings on in the lives of friends and family with heightened interest. I mean really listen. Not the sort of pretend listening where you're really just waiting for a break in conversation so you can jump in with the next thing you want to say. Active listening. And you realize that everyone's got their own version opening a restaurant happening in their lives. And okay, whatever--kumbaya--we're all in this crazy thing called life together, marching to our personal drum beats and making our own kind of music. So you put down your wine glass, get up off your ass and do the damned laundry. You write a blog post. You call it a night.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
"But All Shall Be Well...
...and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well."
T.S. Eliot quoted this line from Julian of Norwich in the fourth of his Four Quartets, Little Gidding, and it's a relevant balm for the rash of stress and chaos spreading across our lives at the moment.
But my favorite quote from this English Mystic called Julian, the mantra if you will that's getting us through these days, is this:
"Start by doing what is necessary; then do what is possible; and suddenly you are doing the impossible."
We wouldn't mind a few of those miracles you hear about sometimes either. I'm just sayin'.
Oh, yeah: this is Maureen if you hadn't guessed already. Carry on.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Wednesday, February 7, 2007
Since We Last Blogged (a break down of the last five days)
Maureen says:
Problems bank fraud policies have caused versus prevented: 3
Instances where I said the F-word in a conversation...with my mother: 2
Chefs hired: 1
Business cards printed: 1,000
Menu layouts approved: 2
Personal guarantees signed and notarized to waive exorbitant deposit fees: 2
Tax returns filed: 4
Solicitations to provide credit-card processing machines: 17
Life/business partners with water-on-the-knee: 1
Ounces of coffee I used to drink daily: 16
Ounces of coffee I drink daily now: 40
New coffees tasted in the search for a supplier: 3
Times the phrase "I'm tired," has been uttered in our house: 13
Personal emails and phone calls I owe: 11
Days since my appetite up and left: 2
Nights waking up in blind panic: 3
Stitches I've knitted in attempts to maintain sanity: 3,776
Realizations that we're fortunate to be doing what we're doing despite the aforementioned exhaustion, panic and a loose grip on sanity: countless
Problems bank fraud policies have caused versus prevented: 3
Instances where I said the F-word in a conversation...with my mother: 2
Chefs hired: 1
Business cards printed: 1,000
Menu layouts approved: 2
Personal guarantees signed and notarized to waive exorbitant deposit fees: 2
Tax returns filed: 4
Solicitations to provide credit-card processing machines: 17
Life/business partners with water-on-the-knee: 1
Ounces of coffee I used to drink daily: 16
Ounces of coffee I drink daily now: 40
New coffees tasted in the search for a supplier: 3
Times the phrase "I'm tired," has been uttered in our house: 13
Personal emails and phone calls I owe: 11
Days since my appetite up and left: 2
Nights waking up in blind panic: 3
Stitches I've knitted in attempts to maintain sanity: 3,776
Realizations that we're fortunate to be doing what we're doing despite the aforementioned exhaustion, panic and a loose grip on sanity: countless
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Avoidance. Sort of. Not Really.
Maureen says:
Am nearly out from under the weather, although winter-chapped skin and a nasal tone would lead you to believe otherwise. My sense of taste, however, has returned and just in time to sip my way through a package of sample teas that arrived in yesterday's mail. Three bags into my tasting, a fourth steeping now, and my choice of suppliers is simple. I'll opt out of revealing which Choice Organic Teas I've selected, but I'll promise you that each of them is perfectly lovely. I've also located a local, independent coffee roaster that, like COT, supports Fair Trade. Am very excited to schedule the tasting as, whenever possible, we'd like to do business with local independents (if you'd like to learn more about Fair Trade click here; to find Fair Trade Certified products near you, click here).
Tea is one of several things I turn to in moments of overwhelm. I'm sure Tom would prefer that I turn to it always as some weeks ago the panacea-of-the-day was dismantling my home office somewhere between the time he started dinner and well past my bedtime. Three hours and many reconfigurations later, it became a much better-functioning space (still in need of paint, still with no art on the walls or blinds in the window, but, you know: Rome. A day. Not built in).
I know, I know--my behaviors are transparent even to me. Create an illusion of control over the world? Check. A quick and easy sense of accomplishment? Check. Impose order on a room that has, for months and months also served as a catch-all for things like the cordless drill, shipping boxes and gift wrap? Check. Channel nervous energy? Check. (If you find yourself in a similar state of anxiety but without a home office to reconfigure, then I highly recommend the also-satisfying task of tidying the pantry cupboards.)
It may seem to some that I'm resisting overwhelm or worse, denying I'm overwhelmed by procrastinating and thus making matters worse. The truth is, I'm actually working with overwhelm the best way I know how: by performing tasks that produce tangible results. Call me daft, dotty or dim, but when the last book's spine is aligned with the edge of the shelf and various half-emptied boxes of corn starch are combined into one, I feel a little bit stronger. A little more equal to the tasks waiting for me. A little more David to the GIANT that is opening a restaurant.
Because, while I can afford myself the luxury of vacuuming the dryer vent or deleting watched items off the DVR, a moment spent in self doubt would break the spiritual bank.
This post? Provides the joy of having written without the pain of writing about the 427, 982 things that are freaking me out right about now.
Am nearly out from under the weather, although winter-chapped skin and a nasal tone would lead you to believe otherwise. My sense of taste, however, has returned and just in time to sip my way through a package of sample teas that arrived in yesterday's mail. Three bags into my tasting, a fourth steeping now, and my choice of suppliers is simple. I'll opt out of revealing which Choice Organic Teas I've selected, but I'll promise you that each of them is perfectly lovely. I've also located a local, independent coffee roaster that, like COT, supports Fair Trade. Am very excited to schedule the tasting as, whenever possible, we'd like to do business with local independents (if you'd like to learn more about Fair Trade click here; to find Fair Trade Certified products near you, click here).
Tea is one of several things I turn to in moments of overwhelm. I'm sure Tom would prefer that I turn to it always as some weeks ago the panacea-of-the-day was dismantling my home office somewhere between the time he started dinner and well past my bedtime. Three hours and many reconfigurations later, it became a much better-functioning space (still in need of paint, still with no art on the walls or blinds in the window, but, you know: Rome. A day. Not built in).
I know, I know--my behaviors are transparent even to me. Create an illusion of control over the world? Check. A quick and easy sense of accomplishment? Check. Impose order on a room that has, for months and months also served as a catch-all for things like the cordless drill, shipping boxes and gift wrap? Check. Channel nervous energy? Check. (If you find yourself in a similar state of anxiety but without a home office to reconfigure, then I highly recommend the also-satisfying task of tidying the pantry cupboards.)
It may seem to some that I'm resisting overwhelm or worse, denying I'm overwhelmed by procrastinating and thus making matters worse. The truth is, I'm actually working with overwhelm the best way I know how: by performing tasks that produce tangible results. Call me daft, dotty or dim, but when the last book's spine is aligned with the edge of the shelf and various half-emptied boxes of corn starch are combined into one, I feel a little bit stronger. A little more equal to the tasks waiting for me. A little more David to the GIANT that is opening a restaurant.
Because, while I can afford myself the luxury of vacuuming the dryer vent or deleting watched items off the DVR, a moment spent in self doubt would break the spiritual bank.
This post? Provides the joy of having written without the pain of writing about the 427, 982 things that are freaking me out right about now.
Saturday, January 6, 2007
Oh, the Irony
Maureen says:
Tom's come down with a cold. Ironically, he was exposed to the germs at the Health Department. I've taken approximately 5,000 milligrams of vitamin C today in addition to washing my hands something like fifty times to minimize my risk to exposure.
"How bad do you feel?" I asked him this morning.
"Bad," he said, stifling a cough.
But not bad enough to take to bed or stay at home. And even if he were feeling that bad, appointments in Massachusetts meant I wasn't going to be around to force him to rest (not that that would have done any good).
Fortunately, culling through china and other tabletop-wares catalogues takes little effort. Tom's gone through them all, marking the items he likes with Post-It notes. Now, after what seems like a long day with little finished work to show for it, it's my job to narrow the final candidates by removing the Post-Its from the pages with items I don't like.
Right after I disinfect them.
On another note, being that I'm a prolific tea drinker, Tom's tasked me with tea selections for the menu. I know which brands I favor and there's one in particular that I'm leaning toward, but I'd love to hear what teas are your favorites. Leave your thoughts in the comments section or email them to me at maureen_at_z@comcast.net.
Tom's come down with a cold. Ironically, he was exposed to the germs at the Health Department. I've taken approximately 5,000 milligrams of vitamin C today in addition to washing my hands something like fifty times to minimize my risk to exposure.
"How bad do you feel?" I asked him this morning.
"Bad," he said, stifling a cough.
But not bad enough to take to bed or stay at home. And even if he were feeling that bad, appointments in Massachusetts meant I wasn't going to be around to force him to rest (not that that would have done any good).
Fortunately, culling through china and other tabletop-wares catalogues takes little effort. Tom's gone through them all, marking the items he likes with Post-It notes. Now, after what seems like a long day with little finished work to show for it, it's my job to narrow the final candidates by removing the Post-Its from the pages with items I don't like.
Right after I disinfect them.
On another note, being that I'm a prolific tea drinker, Tom's tasked me with tea selections for the menu. I know which brands I favor and there's one in particular that I'm leaning toward, but I'd love to hear what teas are your favorites. Leave your thoughts in the comments section or email them to me at maureen_at_z@comcast.net.
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