i don't seem to be able to talk about much besides food and the weather lately, in spite of having so much to say.
it's one in the afternoon and there are meatballs finishing in the oven, tomato sauce simmering on the stove. spaghetti squash roasting, for those of us who prefer it to pasta. i can't quite explain how much comfort this gives me (more, once the dishes are done. but i'm typing instead.) - knowing that our supper is wholesome. and ready. that though i'll be driving carpools this afternoon, we'll come home to dinner.
the sun is shining. and it's strong. and this fills me with a certain kind of life that i also find hard to explain. or maybe i'm not looking very hard for the words. there are dishes waiting, after all.
the windows are open. there are sunflowers on the kitchen table. i've started (and re-started) hand stitching the binding of my quilt. i spoke to my grandmother. i'm waiting to speak to my other grandmother this afternoon. there is laundry waiting to be folded. i ate an apple with peanut butter for lunch. and crossed four things off of my to-do list before noon. it is wednesday, and i am alive.