Amy and I planned a cheesy-potatoey bake for our zoom cooking last weekend because I wanted to use up the sprouting purple potatoes in something I could freeze in portions for later.
I was dismayed when I dug into the box on Sunday to find that all the potatoes had sprouted, not just those in the top two layers. So much for a big dish and lots of leftovers. I repacked most of the potatoes in brown paper in a new box to save for planting, and knocked the sprouts off of just over a pound so I could make dinner.
Amy made half the recipe by choice, I by necessity. For that amount of potatoes, we mixed together ⅔ cup of heavy cream, a couple tablespoons butter, and a garlic clove minced, and poured it over the potatoes one layer at a time, with a little salt and pepper on each potato layer. It might look like a lot, but the potatoes were tiny, and the dish is only about four inches wide. We baked at 375 degrees F for about 50 minutes.
Then the piéce de résistance, half a small wheel of Brie with an olive oil drizzle, and another 15 minutes in the oven. So simple, so delicious! Rich enough that I got three meals out of it. I might just dig into that potato box again before planting time.
The Walk for Peace monks are finally getting the coverage they deserve, at least in local media. Their stop in Columbia, SC drew thousands of supporters along the route and around the State House, where Venerable Bhikkhu Pannakara spoke at length about the motivations and aspirations for their journey, then offered a blessing. The event was covered live by local TV station WLTX, and I was grateful to get to hear their message in greater detail. (Photos from Instagram)
Tomorrow they cross into North Carolina as they continue their arduous pace to DC, with the White House their apparent destination. God bless their everlovin hearts. With each day and each thousand people they reach with their message of peace, loving kindness, cooperation, and compassion, my curiosity grows around their reception in Our Nation’s Capitol.
And Puzzle Season continues to keep me grounded with a bounty of options flowing around the community…
From the Great British Bake Off news page, host Noel and judges Prue and Paul listen to baker Rahul describe his signature bake. Or it might be his showstopper. But it’s definitely not the technical challenge, because the judges aren’t in the tent for that one.
I don’t remember when I started watching the Great British Baking Show, but know that it became a real inspiration in 2020. My interest has only grown with each subsequent season, to the point that when this season ended (Series 16) I started rewatching the previous seasons. US availability starts with Series 5 on Netflix which is actually Season 8 in the UK where it’s called the Great British Bake Off. Not gonna try to make sense of that. There have been four pairs of hosts (at least) and two companion judges to the majordomo, the one consistent character throughout, bread legend Paul Hollywood. Like Drag Race, the show is a phenomenon with its own internal culture and even more camaraderie and less drama. Though the tension in the tent and in living rooms across continents can be equally intense as bakers come down to the wire with some showstopping creations.
They bake a lot of savory pies, which I’ve never done, and I was inspired a couple evenings ago by a pie filled with a veggie curry. I had all the ingredients and then some, so last night I threw chopped kale, garbanzo beans, and roasted butternut squash in a skillet and cooked them down a bit, then added leftover ‘risotto with kale and peas’ and stirred it all up with a good splash of Penzeys curry powder. So simple, so delicious. Tonight I whipped up a quick shortcrust in the food processor, kneaded it just enough to roll it out thin, and used a heart-shaped empanada mold to make four little hand pies.
I really don’t know what I’m doing, I’m just not afraid to take risks in the kitchen. They turned out beautifully, not a single leak or tear. Maybe I could have left the tiny dough hearts in place but I wanted to make sure the pies didn’t blow up so I pulled them off to release steam before baking at 375℉ for about thirty minutes.
I ate one for dinner, froze two for quick meals later, and saved one for tomorrow. That single bunch of kale has gone a long way, through four nights of dinner with several more to go, plus Wren got the stems for treats. It’s good to practice frugality and creative leftover cuisine these days as the cost of everything continues to rise thanks to the commander-in-thief. All I want for Christmas is for Americans to wake up and stand up to the billionaire class that is robbing us blind. Check out this graphic from The Guardian illustrating how roughly 56,000 individuals control three times as much wealth as half of humanity.
So I’m extra grateful tonight for homegrown bounty, like this pile of Meyer lemons and bag of red limes that arrived the other day after a long journey from a friend’s backyard citrus trees. Tomorrow I’ll figure out how to make the most of the juice and the zest and the peels and every bit of these gorgeous fruits, and I’ll start by using the leftover pie crust to make lemon curd tartlets. I’ve never made them before, but how hard can it be? We’ll know more later!
Every now and then over the past two days I’ve pressed the pause button and sat down outside to savor the still-blooming patio flowers and the slowly changing colors of the yarden. But in between pauses and work I’ve focused on a fun and labor intensive project: Jelly.
Not just any jelly… not just rosehip jelly, either, though it did require a bowlful of those. These wild rosehips are small and seedy, not much flesh or juice, so I knew it would take a lot of them. And they’re not easy to harvest; even the rosehips themselves have pickers on them, so I took kitchen snippers out to clip them off by ones and twos, invariably snipping plenty of leaves. I picked out the leaves as I dumped the fruits into a bowl of cold water with a splash of vinegar.
Then onto the crabapples! My gorgeous tree produces the tiniest crabapples I’ve ever seen. The rosehips are small, but the crabapples are no bigger than the rosehips! I plucked them from the tree by ones and twos and threes, reaching overhead for most of them and dropping plenty on the ground. It took awhile, but I refilled the bowl, picked out the leaves, and dumped the crabapples into another bowl of cold water and vinegar wash.
It took an hour to rinse the rosehips and pick off blossom ends and residual stems, but at least the prickers had softened during the soak. I put them in a pot, covered them with water, and simmered for well over an hour, mashing them some about halfway through to release even more rosy essence, adding water a couple times to keep them submerged.
When they were sufficiently softened I scooped the mash into the ancestral chinois cone strainer that my sister from another mister gave me a few years ago, which had belonged to her mother. I let it drip for about five hours, squeezing out more pulp a few times with the elegant wooden pestle that you swirl around the edge simply using the palm of your hand on the smooth handle.
Once I’d extracted all the goodness I could from the rosehips, I put the crabapples on to boil, again keeping them just covered with water, and mashing halfway through cooking. They were just as hard to prepare because I had to pull off each stem using small pliers. I cooked them for only around 45 minutes, as I’d read that if you overcook them you ruin the pectin.
This mash strained for a couple hours before bedtime, with a couple of pressings, and then I left that in the strainer overnight, covered with a mesh tent to keep out the one or two pesky houseflies remaining inside.
In the morning I pulled the rosehip juice from the fridge, swirled the two bowls full together, and dumped them into a larger saucepan with an equal volume of sugar.
I brought this to a rolling boil, then reduced the heat and simmered until the jelly had reduced to the proper thickness. Or maybe just a bit longer. I used the “wrinkle test” to determine when to stop cooking: put a couple of small plates in the freezer, and when you think it’s close, pull one out and drop a spoonful of jelly onto the cold plate, let it sit for two minutes, then draw your finger through it. If it wrinkles on top it’s ready; if not, cook a bit longer. Pretty sure I could have called it good after the first test despite not getting the wrinkle but I let it cook another five minutes until the next test wrinkled.
I knew I wouldn’t get much jelly out of all this effort, but volume wasn’t the point. Some kind of crazy satisfaction from the process was the point, and a few mouthfuls of powerful flavor. I optimistically sterilized six 4-ounce jars, and was delighted to fill five of them. While they processed in the hot water bath for twenty minutes, I scraped the saucepan clean and slathered a piece of buttered toast.
I slowly savored every single tart, sweet, slightly flowery mouthful.
Twenty-four hours and uncounted steps later, the labor intensive fun resulted in five tiny jelly jars full. How I wish I had enough to give some to everyone I want to share it with! Oh well. That’s why they say “Mashed potatoes are so everyone can have enough.”
There are still tons of even smaller rosehips on the bush… will I decide to spend another day harvesting and processing another batch? Maybe… but most of the crabapples left are out of reach so it would be purely rosehip jelly if I do it again. Who knows how the wind blows? Who knows where the time goes?
Meanwhile, as I labored away, the lazy little animals just sat around enjoying the gorgeous fall days. Ok, well, I did sit with them some of the time, grateful for the time to sit, and grateful for those bright hours making such extravagant jelly.
Little Bambino drinking from the bird bath BLT under construction, with added basilUsingmore gifted basil with leftover squash in a layered pickled salad with garden red onion and Prosecco vinegar Rain-drenched moss glowing underjuniper on evening walk Quick pasta dinner with leftover gnocchi dough and tomatoes leftover from the BLT reduced in sage butter with a dollop of bacon fat This morning’s joy while filling the small-bird feederMidafternoon walk to the sunlit canyon, playing with Hipstamatic appA tote bag full of geraniums broken up and potted to give away at No Kings Day rally on Saturday. I’ll be keeping just one, of course
I woke this morning and considered how all the conditions of my mostly contented life have been dependent on tens of thousands of beings, human and otherwise. I’m grateful that this reflection has become habitual. I intended to focus on my blessings and sift attention away from my sufferings. But one negative thought led to another and I was soon swept onto a bad train and carried far from my intention.
Baking molasses cookies and then exercising for an hour with Mel both helped derail the glum train, and then a long meditation reset my perspective back on the right track. Just in time for zoom cooking with Amy.
It was so good to see her, it’s been a while. We started Tomato Night with a spontaneous tomato martini. We smashed a couple of cherry tomatoes into the shaker with a splash of balsamic vinegar, a pinch of salt, and the regular gin and vermouth, with another cherry tomato for garnish.
While eight ounces of cherry tomatoes roasted with olive oil and salt (for tomato butter), we mixed pesto with cream cheese and cut puff pastry to bake upside down tarts. Sliced tomatoes lay on parchment paper drizzled with olive oil and balsamic awaiting their pastry tops.
A quick egg wash, and into the oven for twenty minutes. While they baked we pulsed the roasted cherry tomatoes with salt and pepper, and mashed them with softened butter.
The tarts came out perfect, and we flipped them over to serve.
I toasted a slice of sourdough to dip in the butter, Amy had ciabatta. We sat down together miles apart for dinner. I’m grateful for the anchor of awareness flowing through the day, for the ability to consciously choose where I place my attention.
I’m grateful for this beautiful Sunday. I felt cranky most of yesterday. Because I wasn’t able to attend a Hands Off! rally, I planned to watch live coverage throughout the day, but couldn’t find any. I was expecting news networks to have cameras on the crowds in every major city, but the legacy media was suspiciously absent—Sadly, once-realistic expectations are rapidly becoming unrealistic. At least social media provided my crowd quotient.
I was thrilled this morning to read estimates of five million Americans out in the streets, and that good news came on the heels of a vivid adventure dream. Dan Rather offered this link to a CCR classic song, “Fortunate Son,” in his Reasons to Smile column from yesterday. The song is eerily relevant. I couldn’t stop at one CCR song, so I played Creedence tunes while I watered the houseplants.
The day kept getting better. I attended Upaya’s Awareness in Action zoom with Valerie Brown later, and Wren and I walked to the canyon after lunch for the first time this year.
Ice Canyon still has plenty, and a precious little Townsendia all curled up like a globe cactus is already blooming.
While we sat on the bench a golden eagle circled down to check out the possibility of a snack but flew on over us when it realized Wren had protection. I enjoyed a good long talk and a hearty laugh with my cousin, which also helped dispel the gloomy undertone so many Americans are feeling. I mean, Social Security, seriously? “Understaffed agency sent into ‘death spiral’ as employees warn Musk-led cuts will lead to structural collapse” reads the subheading of this Guardian article this morning. Are US media paying attention?
Tonight was a planned Zoom Cooking with Amy, and I’d been looking forward to that. We started with these little—I’m going to call them Doge Deviled Eggs—they’re not eggs, because who can afford eggs anymore, am I right? We saw this idea on Instagram a month ago: boil baby gold potatoes til tender, let them cool, scoop out the middles, mash up with anything you’d use in deviled eggs, and fill ‘em up again. Mel said it sounded like an awful lot of trouble, but it took less than half an hour not counting boiling and cooling. And they were delicious!
Next we crisped some prosciutto in butter, sautéed shallots, and tossed in frozen peas, fresh (store bought) cheese tortellini, along with chicken bouillon and cream, et voila! A marvelous one-skillet pasta eleganza.
It really was so simple, so delicious. After we concluded our lovely dinner, I was thinking about our culinary history together. It goes back to the earliest days of our friendship. In seventh-grade French class we had to perform a skit on stage that neither of us has forgotten. She was the French waitress, and I was the bumbling American tourist at the café. We don’t remember the entire dialog, but I pretended to know how to read the menu and ordered escargots. She questioned me (in French of course), and I insisted Oui, oui… er… (and here’s the punchline) avec syrop! We thought we were so funny, and we still laugh about it. Snails… with syrup!
I’m confident that our spring tortellini was much tastier than that imaginary meal 54 years ago. Wren curled up under my desk in the new bed Garden Buddy made for Topaz. I’m grateful I managed to find my joy throughout this day. I am indeed a fortunate one, but not like in the song.
As the coup continues to unfold, I am hearing from friends and about friends of friends who are losing their jobs in the great federal purge. It won’t be long before Mump supporters feel the pain: but will they be able to admit where it’s coming from? Meanwhile, here in the kaleidoscope, climate chaos keeps the colors and textures of the changing season spinning.
I woke up Saturday morning in a vivid memory of the dim halls of the Pentagon when I was six and the Colonel took me there to get my social security card. My breath caught as I thought of his admonishment then. I don’t recall the words but the message was loud and clear: This is who you are now: memorize this number and never let anyone take it from you. Well, I no longer have to worry about identity theft since that’s just happened to every one of us now.
Another sunset, another casserole. I’m calling it the Three Soup Casserole, and this time I added chopped broccoli and my new favorite Penzeys seasoning, Wauwatosa Village.
This gave me a couple of meals for the week, one for the freezer, and some to share with a neighbor. It is truly so simple! And pretty darn tasty, too.
Simply spending time in my kitchen cooking and baking to nourish and treat myself and others brings me comfort and peace. I’m also staying engaged with the resistance in the ways that suit my constitution and current abilities, including amplifying accurate information and upcoming actions. Monday, for example, there’s a “Not My President’s Day!” protest near you. And everyone is jumping on the “No Buy New Year” bandwagon, more about that later.
But once I have done in a day what I’m capable of contributing to the greater good, I allow my attention to return to my simple life, the result of all the choices I’ve made in every moment leading up to this one, and I let myself rest in contentment, with profound gratitude for the conditions of my little life in every moment flowing into the next. As I slice pats of butter to finish the casserole, I slice extra thin to use less butter now so that a) there’s more butter for later because who knows how long we’ll have it, and b) my heart really doesn’t need an entire stick of butter on a single casserole. I slice slowly and feel the butter, and lick my finger when I’m done carefully placing all the pats and taste the butter, and appreciate the butter, because that’s the truth of that moment.
When I serve myself a portion, I taste all the ingredients and savor the nutrition, and feel in my body my gratitude for this food, and for having enough to share. When I vacuum the rugs, I appreciate the machine, the rugs, the electricity, and the sun that provides it, and each element that transforms the sunbeams into vacuum energy; and I appreciate a clean floor.
And the Saturday burbles along with a meditation here, a short walk there, a few conversations; evening comes noticeably later now, and then dark, some mindful entertainment on TV with little Wren, and gratitude for turning into a warm bed. If you also have one, I hope you appreciate your good fortune as much as I do mine.
Like magic, I wake up alive and it’s time once again for breakfast ritual. This morning it was truly simple, a couple of big soft ginger cookies and a hot latté, made even more special by switching to an old favorite mug I haven’t used in awhile. A special friend gave it to me, and I pulled it out when it dawned on me that a tall mug would probably keep the latté hotter longer than the wide bowl I’ve been using (also a special gift) — and it did! Simply using this mug, this special plate, infuses the breakfast ritual with meaning. Even the preparation of the beverage this morning was more of a meditation than usual, as I contemplated the essence of elements: distilled nectar of the vanilla orchid, boiled sap of a Vermont maple tree, steamed fruit of the tropical evergreen coffee shrub. How they all made their ways here! to this moment, in this kitchen! It’s a miracle.
I can see that tonight’s theme is food, sigh. I started a post about drag queens a couple of days ago but it got unwieldy and I’ve had to set it aside to keep working on, so I return to my other happy place. Lunch. Except for days I can’t, I make a point to have lunch right around noon, and take a break from whatever else I’m doing to sit and enjoy a cheese sandwich and a good book. I’m grateful for the old Kindle, and today I’m especially grateful for the recently deceased author Tom Robbins. Some of his earlier novels delighted me and I believe imparted a sense of adventure that wouldn’t have sprung naturally from my upbringing. I was sorry to hear of his passing last week, and immediately checked out his last novel, Villa Incognito, which I hadn’t yet read. Like all his novels, it’s hard to say what it’s about, but it does resonate strongly with me at this time. I highlighted many passages about the folly and corruption of man, and the nature of god or gods.
Ice cream is a gift from the gods, which no one can deny. I’m grateful when I have some in the freezer, and even more so when I have both chocolate and vanilla, so I can swirl them together and savor every smooth spoonful. After more spring cleaning today, and exercising with my long-distance exercise buddy, I got back into the sunroom and planted seeds for three varieties of onions, bulbing fennel, and two types of cabbage. I’m late getting them in, but I’m recommitting to growing as much as possible of my own food this summer, now that I have a new hip and am getting some energy and mobility back.
And then, the kaleidoscope outdid herself this evening…
I drove to the big city yesterday for a dermatology exam, and was grateful to get only two spots frozen off my face. But mostly I was grateful to make the drive there and back safely: Anything can happen, any time. I wanted to live to see this morning. I’m uncomfortable driving behind trucks with heavy loads, and successfully passed this one after about twenty miles. It hurts my heart to see any kind of log truck, but I know it’s part of forest management to remove some trees, and that’s a complicated logic I won’t get into here. Maybe these were all standing dead trees like those that end up in my wood pile. Anyway, I’m cautious about the potential for lethal objects to fly off of big loads, so I was glad to finally get around it.
I took little Wren with me, so we stopped at a park before my appointment to stretch our legs. We were both curious about these comestibles set at the base of a light pole. She sniffed but neither of us touched them, so I don’t know if they were empty litter, or full offerings. Across the park an apparently unhoused person sat on the grass with his bundles but we didn’t walk that far. It was a provocative combination that stirred compassion, and an interesting juxtaposition with the tons of food and other donations coming into various relief organizations for the climate catastrophe unfolding in Los Angeles.
After our drive home and a brief rest, I finally got around to making healthy granola, with protein oats, pecans, olive oil, maple syrup, vanilla, and dried apricots, and found the perfect jar to hold the exact recipe: a simple pleasure.
Wren resting among her frogs after our excursion.
Topaz resting beside me this morning after her long night’s sleep…
I was grateful to wake up this morning and have fresh homemade granola to enjoy for breakfast, with a healthy dollop of Greek yogurt on top, sprinkled with cinnamon.
This morning I awoke filled with joy and gratitude. After dabbling for awhile with a practice designed to cultivate lucid dreaming, I finally experienced my first intentional lucid dream. I used the trick of noticing something in the dream that could never happen in waking life, which caused me to recognize the opportunity to wake up inside the dream, and then choose my actions in the dream without waking my body. It was empowering, especially since I was able to save humanity from the aliens who had occupied the bodies of some of my friends; but really, it was empowering because lucid dreaming gives one access to agency within the subconscious, and opens more opportunities for PG&D (personal growth and development).
I was also joyful when I woke because today was my birthday: I’m grateful to have been on this beautiful earth for sixty-six years. My brother called for our annual combined birthday call (his was last week, two years older). As we talked, I watched out the window while this handsome buck browsed the patio. I’m grateful for a finally-peaceful relationship with my brother.
Later, after some work, I got to eat again! Leftover flat chicken, havarti, mayo, mustard, and lettuce on a slice of homemade bread for lunch. I savored every bite of it. Partly I love flat chicken because it’s delicious, and partly because my friend taught me how to make it so I think of her while I’m cooking, and while I’m eating. Everything can be meaningful from a certain perspective. Later in the afternoon I fully enjoyed teaching a mindfulness class, and finding a surprise on my doorstep afterward: a delightful cookbook I can hardly wait to explore.
And then later, I got to eat again! It is never lost on me that having food is very fortunate. I was just heating up some dinner when FedEx arrived with a birthday package, which was filled with tiny cupcakes! Not only are they adorable, they’re delicious. Today, I fully lived my intention to be grateful every living moment of the day: grateful for the many birthday wishes I received via emails, texts, phone calls, and even a couple of zooms, all reflecting meaningful and cherished relationships; grateful for natural beauty and the peace of a quiet home; grateful for good work, good food, good pets, good friends, good neighbors, so much good in this one precious day that will never come again. Grateful for all the days, the lessons, the joys and sorrows, fun and trials, that preceded this day; and grateful now to be able to climb stairs like a grownup and tumble into a comfortable bed. Grateful for the wisdom to not take any of this for granted.
It felt like spring for a couple of days before Christmas, so I thought to check the solitary bee house on the south side of the solitary person house. The previous unit filled up, and didn’t seem to be getting reused, so I hung that in the desert willow just in case, and installed the new unit last summer on the south window buck. I’m pleased to see a few bee nests occupied.
My dear Yarden Helper brought his Norwegian specialty bake when he came to work on Christmas Eve, äpplekakke. I enjoyed a slice for Christmas breakfast. Then I enjoyed another perfect slice of potica for elevenses.
A portion of the crust dough during the laminating process.
And in between, I set to work on the pie. I used Vaughn’s laminated pie crust, and had mixed the crust the night before, leaving some big blobs of butter as directed. I froze half, and let the other half sit in the cold mudroom overnight. It was perfect after about an hour in the kitchen, and rolled out as beautifully as any crust I’ve ever made. Maybe more so. See the Thanksgiving pie disaster with the same crust, different approach.
Speaking of the Thanksgiving pie disaster, it’s what inspired this classic pecan pie, with an old-fashioned Karo-brown sugar filling instead of adding cornmeal — yuck! It was perfect: so sweet it made my teeth hurt.
I took the pie, and a loaf of bread, and some citrusy roasted cauliflower, up the driveway to share a casual midday Christmas dinner with the Honey Badger family. The fog was so dense on that short drive I turned on my headlights on the off-chance someone might be heading down my driveway. From their house, you couldn’t see the neighbors’. But by the time we’d finished our delicious meal and overdue visit, the unusual fog was breaking up, and the drive home — two driveways worth — was equally beautiful.
Clearly, I am still catching up with myself, since it is already a week past Christmas. Only a few more posts til I am up to speed for the new year. And then I’ll tell you about No-Buy New Year…
I am a creature of routine. Since discovering mindfulness practice I have been slowing down, gradually, in a good way. Living with tortoises for many years had already primed me to dwell in slow time. Mindfulness expedited that process. As I’ve slowed down, ‘busy’ elements of my previously hectic, disorganized life have fallen away, leaving me genuinely content as I move slowly among the wonder of this life, finally finding the routine that I craved for decades since leaving my natal home to ‘adult’ on my own.
This hip surgery upended my comfortable routine. I’m not complaining; it’s just that it takes so long to make a pot of coffee, feed the dog, make toast, let alone cook an entire meal, never mind wash dishes. To walk to the toilet is an exercise in concentration, never mind to shower. Knowing when these hips need to stretch out supine or can sit for awhile at the desk, even remembering whether supine or prone is the right word, takes considerable focus.
Riding home from my first post-op visit a week after surgery, grateful for Philip driving me and for the view of a beautiful autumn out there.
I have not stopped being grateful, but my habit of sharing my gratitudes has fallen off. By evening I am spent, and during the day I’m concentrating on doing every little thing to keep us all alive and thriving here at Mirador. I have not forgotten the miracle night I spent in the hospital after surgery, and elements of it return to me throughout each day. The entire experience, from the moment I left Wren in the car with Dawn and entered the hospital surgery door alone, was an amazing 28-hour immersive mindfulness retreat. A month afterward, I am beginning to have the energy to write about it. Stay tuned.
Wren gives hugs to one of the wonderful North Fork Community Paramedicine nurses who have come to check on me several times. This service from our amazing local EMS is funded by several grants and provides non-emergent care in a variety of situations, including for people who have just come home after surgery.
Meanwhile, I’m trying to catch up, a little at a time. Here are the photos that refused to load at the end of the last post.
During my second week of recovery, PT included walking to the end of the patio three times a day, first with the walker and eventually with the cane.
Wren rolls over for Ellie who brought meals and comfort several times.
Sydney brought a fantastic breakfast bagel with seasoned egg and homegrown tomato.
Garden Buddy brought her husband’s famous nachos, vegetarian for Melinda and ground beef protein for me: just microwave and enjoy!
It was a big deal the first day I was able to carry my own coffee and toast out to the patio during that second week.
Kathy harvests what potatoes the grasshoppers left me.
After two weeks of community care, it was restful to have Kathy arrive without Covid and settle into her own routine of attending to everything. I’m grateful that she likes to keep busy, and she tackled many home and garden projects in addition to keeping me and the critters well fed.
With the ‘new’ potatoes, she makes a favorite meal of her family’s, which I also love: flat chicken, parsley potatoes, and broccoli.
Despite my best intentions, I overdid a few times just keeping track of our daily to-do list. Between being up a lot and starting some standing PT, arthritis flared up in the other hip. I was advised to return to using the walker part-time after days of only the cane. So it was restful in a different way once she flew home to Florida, thankfully unhindered the day after Milton swept across the state. I’ve spent the past week resting a lot more, but not eating near as well.
I taught Kathy how to make sourdough bread and we went through two loaves in a week. With an abundance of BDR fresh eggs we indulged in egg salad sandwiches.
With leftover new potatoes and the last of the apricot jam discovered on a back shelf in the pantry, we indulged in a classic big breakfast on the patio.
Friends continued to bring sustenance as well, including garden fresh lettuce for a couple of healthy salads. We had defrosted the freezer and discovered a jar of last year’s marinara in the back, and manicotti and shredded cheese were delivered minus sauce, providing two delicious meals apiece.
What’s wrong (or very right) with this picture? ColorKu caused sensory cravings…
ColorKu (“It’s Sudoku in color!”) was also delivered for our puzzling amusement, and we pulled out the first Liberty puzzle of the season, the extra-whimsical “San Miguel de Allende.”
A few nights before Kathy left, we celebrated our time together and my increasing mobility with a special trek to the pond for happy hour. It was my first cocktail since well before surgery: a perfect gin and tonic on a perfect fall evening.
