Friday, April 29, 2011



The day before Easter here was gray and cold. My mother and I found these first wildflowers on our walk:


They were furry, as if equipped for the harsh weather.


Some of our own bulbs had come up too.


The sun came out later-- a little preview of the next day when it was sunny and 60 degrees and I felt uncomfortably hot sitting on the lawn in the sun with my cousins while the two who were still young enough to hunt for candy had their pick over what they thought was most desirable. The bottlecaps were generally left to be eaten by my grandpa's very sadly neglected dog.


I baked some delicious soft cinnamon rolls (best recipe ever), because nobody was very much into the idea of hot cross buns. Slimy little raisins generally ruin a good soft yeast bread in my opinion. We also had almond-scented pound cake in a bundt pan and in the shape of a lamb, as is tradition. Last year my mom finally realized that she'd been baking it upside down all these years and that was why it never had a nose. She serves it with green coconut and jelly bellies.


At night, I had an uncharacteristically healthy snack to save up for the cake and jelly beans the next day.


Wednesday, April 20, 2011

bipolar weather

This morning at seven:


Tonight at seven:


The temperature is still in the thirties and forties-- about the temperature all my favorite UK blogs were complaining about as "cold" in January. At least things are growing and somewhat green now.

I'm working full time for these past two weeks, which equals a little less than 40 hours plus six hours of cleaning in four days. I'm just about dead from lack of sleep, but hopefully I'll be able to get my new laptop soon.

Sunday, April 10, 2011

a sense of spiritual adventure?


A snippet for you, before I have to give it back to the library:

"Many men whose prime business is the art of writing find rest and refreshment in other occupations. They marry or they keep dogs, they play golf or bridge, they study Sanskrit or collect postage stamps. Except for a period of ownership of a dachshund, Henry James did none of these things. He lived a life consecrated to the service of a jealous, insatiable, and supremely rewarding goddess, and all his activities had essential reference to that service. He had a great belief in the virtues of exercise, and he was expert at making a walk of two or three miles last for as many hours by his habit of punctuating movement with frequent and prolonged halts for meditation or conversation. He like the exhilaration of driving in a motor-car, which gave him, he said, "a sense of spiritual adventure." (Henry James at Work, 22)