her able hands

in the garden, in the kitchen and on the page

Archive for November, 2006


More good things - Day 22

Half day of work

Tastings at the local gourmet market which ended in my one splurge of fancy for Thanksgiving dinner: a slab of brie, cracked pepper table water crackers and a jar of (spendy but wow!) walnuts in lemon honey to pour over the top of the softened brie. Yeah. Mmmm.

Blue icicle lights for the front of the house-on sale at Tar-jay.

Unexpectedly finding most of the things for my stocking exchange with Cheril, all perfect and well priced.

Not having to cook and clean for this holiday dinner, just make a salad, some garlic broccoli and a roasted beets and fennel dish. Oh, and bread. And wine.

The sun.

Maintaining that gratitude attitude - Day 21

It’s so helpful to keep reminding myself about all of the good when I feel like I’m drowning in the not manageable.

Some good things:

    Our sweet little house and the cozy beds we nestle into at night under layers of flannel, down and wool.

    Soup.

    Patience.

    Mom and Steve in for the week. The kids are so happy to have their attention, and I’m so grateful to have walked in the house last night to a hot meal!

    Antibiotics. I really needed the help.

    The first coating of ice on the ponds in the area.

All is right with the world - Day 20

Because:

In case you haven’t heard the good word; the much-loved, much-missed WordyDiva (formerly known as Miz Untitled and/or Madame Insane) has returned her necessary voice to the blogosphere!

Oh Happy Day!

I guess it wasn’t all bacterial - Happy flipping Day 19*

A lymph node on my neck is huge
making it hard to move my head.
My throat is scratchy, my ears all mushy
and I really should stay in bed.
Twice I’ve thrown up
the meds don’t sit pretty
I must say it’s so
I’m feeling quite shitty.

* Is this month over yet?

running. out. of. steam.

I love a book with a mysterious key - Day 18

I’ve moved on to Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close: A Novel by Jonathan Safran Foer. Is it in bad taste to say I wouldn’t mind having this writer’s babies? It is. I’m sorry. But it’s true. And at the moment it’s the most intelligent thing I have to say (which is not at all) about the book, I’m too besotted for good words.

Then again, maybe he would sire a child like Oskar, his protagonist. I don’t know if I could love a kid like that. I love reading it because of the distance and because Safran Foer wastes so few words. The details mesmerize. The layers of family and history and emotions lock together and form walls around me so that twice today my own family came knocking and I didn’t know how to open a door and let them in. I was lost in the story.

How does he do that?