I had the first one a few days ago, so I don’t know if this one tasted better because it is a better nectarine, or because my head is clearer. I remember that when I bought them, I could smell them a good way off in the produce aisle.
I like peaches, but not the fuzz, nor the work it takes to get the fuzz off. I really miss my mother’s canned peaches. Maybe this summer I will get a bushel of Parker County peaches and put up a few quarts of my own. (I would not hold my breath over this.) I think the next time I go to the grocery store, I will pick up a few tins of peaches to put in my pantry. A peach half with a dollop of ricotta in the hollow and a little fresh nutmeg grated over it, is a nearly-perfect dessert in the summertime, with the caveat that if you are pregnant, you should not eat freshly-grated nutmeg.
[The chances of my being pregnant this summer (at 58) are right up there with my chances of winning the lottery, and for the same reason: I do not participate in the activities affecting those odds.]
I like apples, too, but not eaten out of hand. I just have this thing about apple cores turning brown, so I quarter my apples, cut out the seeds, and cut each quarter in half. If I am feeling decadent, I dip the slices in caramel sauce, but mostly I eat them au naturel. (The apples, not me.)
I am waiting for it to be 6:00am so I can start dosing my foot. Some of you are waiting for 5:25 tonight so you can start watching the game. Yes, I am [vaguely] aware that this is Super Bowl Sunday, but only because the wine bar down the street and around the corner is having a big party tonight; I know that because I passed their marquee several times this past week.
You know that I am the Anti-Sports. And here I am dating a guy who played football in high school. (And knowing him, was probably very good at it.) The irony of this cannot be lost on my girls, after all the years I warned them, “Do not date football players. Most of them have a sense of entitlement. They are trouble.”
I based that counsel on my own experience with the jocks, football and otherwise, who hung out around the trophy case at my high school and vocally “rated” the girls as we walked past. (No, I have not friended any of them on Facebook. I have forgiven them, but the scars have contributed to my shyness with men for the past 40 years.)
Thumper’s mama was right: “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.” I wish people, especially teenagers, were nicer to each other.
But we were talking about my poor feet, or rather my poor foot, which is looking significantly less sad than it was. I will spare you the visual. I think it is still going to be weeks before it is fully healed, but I think we are limping in that direction. I will not be barefootin’ it at the ward sock hop on Friday, nor at the dance where Brother Sushi is DJ’ing, later that same evening (which saves my having to call him to ask, “Can we reschedule our monthly dinner for another evening, because my ward is having a party, and I really want to go?”)
Though we do need to figure out when we are getting together this month. I have so much stuff to discuss with him.
I am also waiting to go to church this morning. If I am no sicker when I come home today, then this respiratory yuck was just some random thing that was passing by and latched onto me. Or NintendoMan was right, and he gave me the cold that his grandkids gave him. If I get steadily worse, then it is the building, and we have a serious problem on our hands.
I have a friend in another ward who cannot attend church in her assigned congregation, because there is a creek that flows several feet down, under the building, and there is mold and/or mildew in the walls, and she is violently allergic to it. I cannot be an effective Relief Society president if I get sick from hanging out in the Relief Society room.
I was fine in the other stake’s stake center yesterday. I was fine in Bishop’s office last week for all of our pre-church meetings. I most devoutly hope that I will be fine during Sunday School and Relief Society today.
I took my secretary’s advice yesterday, after our leadership training. I did not put my coat on before leaving the building, and I was coughing (but only a little) by the time we got to Lorelai. She looked at me over the top of her glasses and said in her Mommy-voice, “Now, you go straight home and get warm and baby yourself for the rest of the day.” So I did. I ate some of that good fiery bean soup that I made when I was home last week, and slathered my foot on schedule, then took a nap.
We are having our stake’s monthly singles’ fireside and break-the-fast this evening. Much as I love those activities, I do not plan on attending. I am going to come home and eat leftovers or fix something simple, and then take a nap while some of you are watching football. And then I will get up and dose my foot, noodle around a little on Facebook, and go back to bed. I may or may not be at Knit Night on Tuesday. By the grace of Heaven, I have avoided bronchitis, and I feel pretty good this morning; I want to keep it that way.
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!