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It isn’t the great big pleasures that count the most; it’s making a great deal out of the little ones–I’ve discovered the true secret of happiness, and that is to live in the now. Not to be for ever regretting the past, or anticipating the future; but to get the most that you can out of this very instant.
Jean Webster
Caught up in the first real warmth of the year, however desperate for green. I love my full shade hat!
It had been ages since we’d enjoyed a grilled cheese sandwich! This was smoked gouda on rye with my homemade spicy tomato chutney for dipping. The word is splendid.
Our first burger of the season, also with spicy tomato chutney and a homemade brioche bun. Summer on a plate!
Does anyone else remember the 80s t-shirt of Richard Nixon – Tan, Rested, & Ready? Well, I’m not exactly tan, but am feeling refreshed, thank goodness. Could be the dazzle of sunlight on my keyboard or maybe something else. Whatever it is, I’ll take it!
Biscuits two ways! With crunchy-sugary blanched almonds and and ye olde gravy topped version with left over smoked chicken and mushrooms. Small luxuries.
Homemade minestrone, damn good. When I was a teen and bussing tables at the Italian joint, I ate this all the time, dunking crispy hunks of garlic bread like there was no tomorrow. It didn’t have zucchini noodles but did have tortellini, which was better, truth be told, but I made do.
Sunday is raw marrow bone day for the Juper-dog, and darn it if she doesn’t know. She gets it in place of her usual afternoon snack and is positively wild with anticipation. She works herself into a lather for about half an hour, utterly cleaning it of any doggy desirable, before collapsing with exhaustion on the couch. It is ALL the things and keeps her teeth clean, too.
In a strange reversal, my constant coldness pre-menopause has turned to coziness or straight up hot flashing, barefoot on the frozen porch and loving it! Poor Greg is often left shivering. So this started as a joke, a weird contraption from Poler called a Napsack that had me chuckling. It’s basically a sleeping bag with arm and leg holes! Then the genius of it sunk in, and here we are, peeps. The hubster loves it!
In an attempt to be less wasteful, instead of donating a sheet that got a small tear (Juniper and her bed hopping!), I repaired it. Looks nifty, I think.
Camille Pissaro
Yesterday it rained, gloriously fat splashy drops, and now, the finest globe style snow drifts ever so slowly down, down, down. In an hour, it will be sunny and wonderfully jarring, a typical spring hereabouts.
Again, I let a long time pass between these posts, so short on words am I. Writing is hard when I can’t hear what to say. So, I fill my time with the usual HGTV fare, movies, and books, searching for the perfect story and am mostly, sadly, underwhelmed. The best have been rather old, Stoner, by John Williams, not a pot head story, by the by, instead a vivid tale of an ordinary life. Some Tony Hillerman (definitely not all), with their watercolor renderings of idyllic Southwestern landscapes. Those leave me breathless, and I reread passages, devouring more-like, a harmless drug. Oh, the power of words.
Often my mind turns to darker places, and I let my heart rest a moment there before lifting a prayer for better days. Tulips and crocus are emerging and tree leaves budding and little joys everywhere I remember to look. Don’t ever forget to look, Colleen!
Alright, back soon….
