Friday, September 10, 2010

A Day Late

I had things to tell you yesterday. I did. But life has a way of telling us what we need and just as my fingers hit the keys last night, my soul opted to unhinge its years-long burden of harboring strange sleep secrets.

I'll have you know, I slept like a baby last night. Between the hours of 2:30 and 6:45.

It was a short night, on account of Calvin's sixth straight night of "I got a bad dweam!" and Silas's sore hiney.

But the day leading up to the night? Dreamy enough for the both of 'em.

The air was mellow and swept through like a song.

All day long, I mooned over my Surprise Rose bouquet in my paint-your-own-pottery vase. Who goes to a place like that and paints a vase a solid color? I'll tell you who.

My girlfriends were doing fun stuff, embellishing up a mean streak, whilst I kept my nose to the aqua grindstone. I did paint the inside lip a slightly contrasting, darker shade of aqua. I'm flashy that way.

I was having one of those days where my heart felt so full that just the sight of a little camper on a high chair made me sentimental and smiley.

I played with that camper as a kid, by the way. The little orange door opens.

The extent of my away-from-home excitement involved a 2 mile trip to Dollar General for milk and cat food. I took a shine to the sign. 'Twas just the mood I was in.

I followed the love rush back home, trailing skies the color of Junior High eyeshadow, beneath canopy of heritage and luck.

Back at the ranch, I caught Willie Nelson making eyes at Pinky Pie.

I played round upon round of "betend" with Mama and her little boy. As Grandma, if I do say so myself, I executed my lines with aplomb.

Then - dinnertime.

Empty the Fridge night. I swiped a salad and three jalapeno poppers.

It wasn't exactly picture-worthy, so I'll share this one instead, from the previous night. Isn't she lovely?

My first date with fennel and I have to say, maybe the last. I've never been a licorice kind of girl, especially when it comes to roast chicken with parsley and basil gremolata over orzo. And yes, it mellowed and melded, but it's just the idea of it. I'm one who can't get past the idea of certain things, try as I may.

As a whole, the flavor was good, but I won't make it again. I can't quite put my finger on it. Still, preparing it was like a back scratch for my soul. And sometimes, that's more than good enough.

We spent after-dinner hours talking with friends who are really more like kin. The kids stayed up late, the crickets were chirping and I oozed love for my pretty life dressed up extra with a pink balloon.

Then I wrote up that crazy blog post and watched an even crazier show with my honey. And then? I came down with a fierce stomach bug.

But the day was good. The day was every kind of grand.