Sunday was more entertaining in the telling than the experience itself.

I made bread in the breadmaker, but the yeast was evidently too old to rise properly and it came out like a brick. Toastable, but a brick. I stewed some lamb in the crockpot and was pouring the whole thing into a pan on the stove to which I would add vegetables, when something went awry and half the liquid poured out all over the stove and floor. Bridget called it a Julia Child catastrophe moment. Appalling, but everything tasted great. Except, of course, for whatever hit the floor.

While the bread was mutating and the lamb was as yet unsavaged, I dashed out to get a wall calendar -- now that they're all half price. I took the A to 59th and went to Borders. The only calendars there were about dogs, airplanes, and Lord of the Rings. I walked up to Barnes & Noble. It was on fire and they wouldn't let me in, though I couId see quite clearly that the place where the calendars were wasn't burning at all -- or even smoking. Discouraged, I went across the street to the Folk Art Museum and found the perfect calendar on sale for $3.00.

All in all, a reasonably successful day.