I’ve kind of been punishing myself, not allowing myself to write at my blog until I make major progress on my creative project that is due for Lucy’s birthday, or really, well BEFORE her birthday, as we will be drowning in family activities and there will be no time on her actual birthday. I have several creative things I am working on, and quite proud of myself really, but let’s not toot that horn til there is something to SHOW for it, mmmkay. Meanwhile, daily life goes on and I am thrilled to report there are things worth seeing, doing, documenting and sharing. Perhaps not Pulitzer Prize material, but not a thousand percent boring either. One tiny sliver…the amazing food that comes into this house, dare I say Praise the Lord or just PTL, because there is no equivalent expression to convey my gratitude for the massive amounts of DENSE NUTRIENTS that come into this house and how can I not be humbly, non-deservingly grateful? I’m not worthy. But I do pay for the food, which we receive, but I am grateful to even have the opportunity to obtain healthful, organic food of the Earth, thanks to the hard work of some cheese-y Wisconsin farmers no different than you and me. I also cannot stop taking photos of the food, which probably seems nutty to most, but my heart warms at our variety box of produce, our greens and oranges and yellows and all the colors that doctors and PSAs are always yelling at Obese America to eat. I AM EATING OK?? Stuffing kale into my facehole as fast as I can, replenishing cells and warding cancer and all that jazz. PTL. SRSLY. We eat the rainbow foods, we cook meals, despite what a pain it is. Squash au gratin with parmesan. Vegetable pot pie. Cabbage soup. Sweet potato fries. Baked onions with butter and grown sugar. Tonight: chicken dumpling soup. Monday was leek potato with buttermilk. Cortland apples, totally imperfect and with spots and bruises. Not huge, not shiny and waxed and red. Mmmm.Lucy loves the produce, each one with its unique texture, weight and size. She generally puts each one into her mouth to test its firmness with her one half-tooth. She has her own little root cellar, wedged between the ottoman and the window, where she hoards her vegetables.
Inspecting each piece before deciding which ones are worthy of being hoarded in the cellar.
Slyly hiding her potato. As if I would take it away.
I’ll find her snuggling her animals, and there’s always a root vegetable nearby.