It's no secret that I like to cook. And travel. And plant day lilies. And play with my grandkids. And I love to read about food. And travel. And family life. There used to be a hell of a lot more story bloggers out there who cared to write carefully on these topics. Reading them was a joy! (I say "write carefully," because in my mind, rants and scribbles are good for notification, but you rarely savor them.) Over the years, many bloggers grew tired of the constancy of the enterprise. Many moved on to other things (having to do with food or travel or family life). The list of blogs that I look at has grown really small.
But, not all is lost. If you're like me and you like personal insights and stories on at least food and France, I have something for you, snitched directly from the blog of David Lebovitz (whom I do read regularly and enjoy immensely): go read his latest post! (There's always a link to David in my side bar but if you can't be bothered to dart your eyes to the right, just click here). You'll see his own listing of some lovely email newsletters! They're like blogs, only different. David is correct -- if you decide to subscribe to any of them, you'll look forward to checking your email again. And that's saying something. (To keep myself happy, I read zero political blogs and subscribe to only one political daily email newsletter and even though it skews toward my way of thinking, it's still depressing to read. You need to provide email counterweights!)
In the meantime, here I am on a windy and gray October day, trying to work up enthusiasm for the weather as I work my way through the usual Friday shopping chores. I don't at all mind food shopping (so much hope for the next week's cooking!), but I do wish we had had one more day of brilliant sunshine, to kind of round off the week. So that I could end today's post with these words: now that was one luminous set of days!
Breakfast is hurried and in the kitchen. Ed has his meetings, I have my food buying. Still, it's good to start our day together. (Note the beard trim! I'm getting him spiffy and ready for the weekend!)
In the afternoon, well of course, there is Snowdrop!
(Stealing Ed's bag of chips. At least they're multigrain...)
(Insisting on hair ribbons and pigtails...)
I suggest we play art class. It's one of my favorites, because it combines so well Snowdrop's love of the dramatic with her fancy for the arts. And there's always a happy, half-observational role for me -- as student or art teacher or baby sitter to her babies.
As she sets up shop, pulling out our little coffee table (which is always her preferred art table), Ed asks her if she knows its shape. Of course she does, telling him its a square (with a touch of the "what kind of a dummy are you, anyway" in her tone). He quizzes her further and to his surprise, she distinguishes it from, say, a rectangle. He is impressed.
Where did you learn that? -- he asks, genuinely curious.
She thinks about it for a minute. In my belly, ahah.
How a book is (once again) born:
And now it's time for her to go. Her babies are fussy (says the baby sitter, aka Gaga) -- she tucks them in, kisses them goodnight.
I start dinner -- a stir fry. Lots of veggies, lots of patient chopping, steaming, stirring. I glance out the kitchen window and I have to smile: the setting sun chooses this moment to show its lovely face, touching just the tips of the willow, the birch, the crab apple.
So I can say it after all -- that was one luminous set of days!
But, not all is lost. If you're like me and you like personal insights and stories on at least food and France, I have something for you, snitched directly from the blog of David Lebovitz (whom I do read regularly and enjoy immensely): go read his latest post! (There's always a link to David in my side bar but if you can't be bothered to dart your eyes to the right, just click here). You'll see his own listing of some lovely email newsletters! They're like blogs, only different. David is correct -- if you decide to subscribe to any of them, you'll look forward to checking your email again. And that's saying something. (To keep myself happy, I read zero political blogs and subscribe to only one political daily email newsletter and even though it skews toward my way of thinking, it's still depressing to read. You need to provide email counterweights!)
In the meantime, here I am on a windy and gray October day, trying to work up enthusiasm for the weather as I work my way through the usual Friday shopping chores. I don't at all mind food shopping (so much hope for the next week's cooking!), but I do wish we had had one more day of brilliant sunshine, to kind of round off the week. So that I could end today's post with these words: now that was one luminous set of days!
Breakfast is hurried and in the kitchen. Ed has his meetings, I have my food buying. Still, it's good to start our day together. (Note the beard trim! I'm getting him spiffy and ready for the weekend!)
In the afternoon, well of course, there is Snowdrop!
(Stealing Ed's bag of chips. At least they're multigrain...)
(Insisting on hair ribbons and pigtails...)
I suggest we play art class. It's one of my favorites, because it combines so well Snowdrop's love of the dramatic with her fancy for the arts. And there's always a happy, half-observational role for me -- as student or art teacher or baby sitter to her babies.
As she sets up shop, pulling out our little coffee table (which is always her preferred art table), Ed asks her if she knows its shape. Of course she does, telling him its a square (with a touch of the "what kind of a dummy are you, anyway" in her tone). He quizzes her further and to his surprise, she distinguishes it from, say, a rectangle. He is impressed.
Where did you learn that? -- he asks, genuinely curious.
She thinks about it for a minute. In my belly, ahah.
How a book is (once again) born:
And now it's time for her to go. Her babies are fussy (says the baby sitter, aka Gaga) -- she tucks them in, kisses them goodnight.
I start dinner -- a stir fry. Lots of veggies, lots of patient chopping, steaming, stirring. I glance out the kitchen window and I have to smile: the setting sun chooses this moment to show its lovely face, touching just the tips of the willow, the birch, the crab apple.
So I can say it after all -- that was one luminous set of days!
