“Well," said Pooh, "what I like best," and then he had to stop and think. Because although Eating Honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn't know what it was called.”
― A. A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh
Tomorrow I head to a local island for the weekend, to meet up with eight other woman; my #photoladyfriends! It is a bit like waiting for these Brussels sprouts. We have met up before, so I know it will be pure goodness, but the anticipation is pretty substantial and mind-blowing. I woke last night, in the middle of the night, and could not go back to sleep, thinking about the weekend ahead.
“It already smells good," he said, pointing toward the stove. "It smells... quiet." He looked at her.
"Quiet? Could something smell quiet" She was thinking about the phrase, asking herself. He was right. After the pork chops and steaks and roasts she cooked for the family, this was quiet cooking. No violence involved anywhere down the food chain, except maybe for pulling up the vegetables. The stew cooked quietly and smelled quiet.”
― Robert James Waller, The Bridges of Madison County
Easter Baskets, hanging in the garage. I can't decide which photo I like best.
My cookbook for the month.... but so far all I have done is read it.
“Gardens are not made by singing 'Oh, how beautiful!' and sitting in the shade.”
― Rudyard Kipling, Complet Verse
My week has been full of walks along the river and calm. Maybe too much calm, because for some reason I have missed my kids and him heaps. I am thinking it might be a long, dark winter at times. I have four books started, all in different stages of reading. I have made numerous pots of robust soup. I have been culling through photos on my computer and telling the dog my deepest secrets. I have dug out all my old CD's and turned NPR off in my car and yesterday I bought a pair of red and black plaid shoes because they reminded me of the plaid flannel shirts my father wore. How was your week?
“After the keen still days of September, the October sun filled the world with mellow warmth...The maple tree in front of the doorstep burned like a gigantic red torch. The oaks along the roadway glowed yellow and bronze. The fields stretched like a carpet of jewels, emerald and topaz and garnet. Everywhere she walked the color shouted and sang around her...In October any wonderful unexpected thing might be possible.”
― Elizabeth George Speare, The Witch of Blackbird Pond