her able hands

I keep thinking it’s long past time for me to do a food post. I should be rolling out cookie recipes like my favorite food bloggers. My 25# sack of locally grown and milled flour sits waiting in the bin and the rolls of Amish butter crowd out the top shelf in the fridge. I bought good vanilla extract and ground cinnamon. Bags of pecans, walnuts and pistachios.

I’ve been invited to a cookie exchange and I have a brand spanking new pizzelle iron that’s eager for a workout (in a cutesy, holiday-ish, anthropomorphic sort of way). The iron’s got more gumption than me. I don’t know what all the nuts are for if I’m only making two kinds of cookies. That’s just the plan, but the kids will talk me into more. They always do. Tyler’s angling for peppermint pinwheels and chocolate kiss thumb prints. Lila wants sugar cookies with icing and sprinkles. I want my body/life back.

I’m not up to a real food post right now because I can’t really remember what I like about food. The only thing I’ve eaten for days is toast and well, there are only so many things to say about toast.

Butter or no? Light or dark? Cinnamon and sugar? Are you sure you can keep that down? Or in? Cut off the crust and feed that to the chickens. Nothing whole grain, and please, for the love of everything that is holy — NO NUTS. Have you no idea how much those little bits and pieces hurt on the way back out?

So yeah. Toast. I don’t think I need to give a recipe here, do I?

Am I crazy to be thinking some wonton soup from the local Chinese place might be a good thing tonight? I’m thinking it’s worth a try.

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