Picturing a weekend

I had a great weekend, from Friday right through Sunday. As it happens, there I took several relevant photos, ones that add to the story of my weekend. Not that I said much on social media, though.

I shared the photo above on my personal Facebook Sunday evening, noting, “instead of talk, here’s my favourite photo of the weekend.” It was my favourite photo, but it’s one I actually took because of another one I shared in the comments on my Facebook post:

When I shared it to Facebook, I said, “And here’s another one from earlier this morning when I woke Leo up to have his breakfast,” which was also a completely accurate comment. However, I took the photo at the top of this post because I noticed that in the second one it looked like his fur was over one eye, and he doesn’t ordinarily look like that. I think it was because of the way the sun was shining on him (the reason I took the photo), and maybe the position he’d been sleeping in pushed his fur over his eye a bit. Even so, I took the second photo to show what he normally looks like these days.

As it happens, there was yet another photo of Leo, one I took Friday afternoon, right after I was done posting my podcast episode that day. I took the photo because I thought he looked cute, but I didn’t share it online or even show family.

There was one other thing about Friday’s photo: One of Leo’s favourite toys, what’s left of a blue dog soft toy named “B-Dog”, is between his front legs. That same toy is in teh background of the photo up top, just the right of Leo’s head. I took the photo a little while after he was done with his breakfast, when he jumped up on my lap, as he often does when I’m in my chair, in order to have a snooze after he’s played with a toy for a bit. That day, it was B-Dog.

Finally, there was another photo I took on Sunday, after I’d fed Leo. It’s two fried eggs (which I’ve become pretty good at making) on toasted store-bought bread, and baked beans straight out of the can, unheated. This was a meal that made me think of Nigel, for three reasons.

First, Nigel always ate the bean straight out of the tin, and I always did, too, but I can remember one of his sisters expressing disgust (mostly real) at this because she always heated them. Every time I have baked beans out of a tin, I think of Nigel.

The second thing was that I don’t recall becoming good at making fried eggs until after I shifted to Hamilton, though maybe I’ve just forgotten. I do know that I learned the technique from a TV chef, though I’ve forgotten who that was. I crack each egg into a ramekin in case the yolk breaks, because then I’ll make scrambles eggs instead, I do the same thing when I make poached eggs, and for the same reason. Once I’ve poured the eggs into my frypan, I add around a teaspoon or so of water and cover the pan. The heat form below cooks the whites, and the steam from the water cooks the top of the egg white and the top of the yolk. Personally, I prefer a see-though lid so I can keep an eye on teh eggs so I can plate them when the top of the yolk starts to get a bit cloudy and the white is clearly firm.

And finally, there’s the toast. As I’ve said before, Nigel had peanut butter and jam on toast nearly very work days for maybe ten years before he died, eating it on the car on his way to work. Sometimes, if he was running a bit late, he’d have me make it for him (especially when we lived in our last house). However, he always insisted that the toast must be cold before it was buttered, and I thought that was crazy—though, of course, I did as he asked. I’ve always buttered my toast hot so the butter melts into the nooks and crannies.

Last week, though—and for absolutely no particular reason—I made toast the way Nigel did, and my Sunday brunch I did it again, partly so see if my first impression was right, and it was: Nigel was right, and it was better when buttered cold because the toast stayed crispy. I tried it when, like Sunday, I was having egg on toast, which can often make toast a bit soggy—but not so much if its buttered cold. He would’ve thought it was hysterical that I tried his method with toast and liked it—though I’d still butter hot toast if I was having cheese on it so the cheese would soften.

Overall, none of these photos, nor the stories behind them, are particularly important, but they are a kind of visual slice of my life this past weekend. As I’ve said a few times now, I I like having reminders, especially from photos. That’s true whether I share them or not.