
Aside from the obvious, this was an absurd plan for other reasons. Of course every recipe required at least one item that I didn’t have, so on top of greasing pans and whisking eggs into oil, I had to schlep over to the store to acquire some ingredient that I wouldn’t use all of. My muffin tins and cake pans were packed, so I had to buy disposable aluminum ones. I was one egg shy of a coffee cake, had no milk, needed a bottle of almond extract, and spilled my last two teaspoons of vanilla. All just to avoid packing a box of biscuit mix and a pound of flour. Thank god I learned my lesson before deciding to use up the remnants of 47 different condiments lining my fridge door. I don’t even know what Spicy Tahitian Baja Tomatillo Marinade is.
When finished, I had a dozen dirty bowls and utensils that now not only had to be packed, but cleaned as well, and my kitchen counter, floor, and stovetop were coated with a sticky batter that could probably hold 747s together. Also, the muffins totally sucked. If you’re ever thinking, “Gee, my mouth feels overly moist and saliva-enhanced. I think I’ll dry it out with some surgical gauze and a cotton ball,” STOP RIGHT THERE. Call me and you can have my dry, flavorless “carrot cake” muffins. I also think they might be useful for absorbing wet spills, and possibly as doorstops (I call them Muffin Stops).

Plus there's this whole other "new house in progress" business. I've got to select locations

Multi-tasking? I’ve got a PhD.
Thus, the REAL reason I’ve fended off offers to help with the packing—I don’t want to reveal what’s really going on over here—the baking, scrapbooking, and boxing interrupted by periods of napping, spectating, and the occasional trip to Lake Padden for a swim and a dog-
dunk. NONE OF IT in any particular order. “Oh, Belben, you’re so random-abstract!” my psychologically-minded friends might exclaim. But the truth is, I’m not. I’m one of the most linear left-brainers on my alphabetized list of linear left-brainers. I just have a lot of lines going at any given time, and they’re aimed in a hundred different directions. Right now, one leads to Discovery Park Mini-Storage, one to Goodwill, one to the Dumpster, and the others? They lead, in loop-de-loops and curlicues, into the future.
Thus, the REAL reason I’ve fended off offers to help with the packing—I don’t want to reveal what’s really going on over here—the baking, scrapbooking, and boxing interrupted by periods of napping, spectating, and the occasional trip to Lake Padden for a swim and a dog-
