Seriously? We're going to go down that low? Yes, I feel it. So much so that we turned on the furnace yesterday. 43F (6C) outside means that the old farmhouse quickly sheds its summer warmth. Turns out that the ancient shibboleth about old people not liking to feel cold holds some truth to it. Ed and I are not aiming to move south for the winter, but I have noticed that we use throws and quilts on the couch, especially in the evenings (but not only), more and more often.
Cool or not cool, morning chores beckon.
But breakfast most assuredly is indoors. For both of us today!
I wouldn't call it the best day for a bike ride and honestly, I'd happily spend the rest of the morning elevating my foot and reading my crime novel, but the fact is, we are on the last days of Stoneman's corn and I want to stock up for a couple of weeks of rather regular evening corn nibbling. Too, I think I could use another dozen for shucking and freezing. So we set out.
(the ones on the bench are ours: we're figuring out how to pack them for the very windy ride home!)
(for winter eating)
And now the day (and indeed, the entire weekend) turns interesting. Yes, I have to pick up the two kids at school -- first Sparrow then Snowdrop.
(no, not these three! just the kids!)
But we do not come back to the farmhouse. Instead, I spend the afternoon at their place, because my daughter is having a get together of friends and associates and I promised her I'd bake my famous gougeres for the event.
My famous gougers -- now that's a laugh. They are not mine. The recipe belongs to L'Etoile Restaurant, But a couple of decades ago, I worked there as a weekend baker and I was charged with baking croissants occasionally and gougeres rather regularly. And I'll say this much: when I quit (because working two jobs and rasing a family and volunteering at the kids' schools was proving to be too much), the person who took over the gougere production did not get them 100% right, producing, in my opinion, inferior gougeres! Oh the horror of seeing flattened puff balls sold at their Saturday bakery stand!
The problem is this: I haven't baked them in decades. I do not even remember what small piece of wisdom I introduced to the task that would in fact produce a stellar cheese puff ball. And still, I agreed. And in my daughter's kitchen no less. And with kids darting in and out of my field of vision. And other cooking projects underway as well.
Were they as good as those way back when? Who can remember! They seemed good enough.
The gathering of friends and colleagues was a delight and a success, though I have long realized that I am not great with remembering people I met only once or twice in the past, so I spend a lot of time avoiding treacherous topics that would reveal my confusion. And at this party, I was easily twice the age of most attendees (well, maybe not twice, but close!) and I surely did not want anyone to feel they were stuck to talking to the old lady present, so I roamed from one group to the next, and baked, and roamed some more, and drank lots of nonalcoholic beer.
And then I came home -- late, quite late -- and had a bowl of soup with Ed, burrowing under a quilt on the couch with him because guess what -- it's cold out there!
with love...
