I just savored whatever that fake fajita meat was, that I mixed with Omega-healthy penne pasta, broccoli and peppers, which I threw tomato sauce on with more garlic salt than can safely be thought a mere venial sin. The bathroom scale says 100 (you’d NEVER guess it’s that low) which reflects a couple pounds’ loss, but it’s also not accurate — one has to add 3 lbs. for that. 103 is acceptable — my poundage doesn’t go above 105 anymore, but I can’t really spare any losses while working so physically and running my asp all over creation.
I’ll soon be savoring the new kicks I got at Saver’s a couple of hours ago after visiting DH, as well as the wicked cute peasant top that is so incredibly me (more complicated than fancy). It’s a light print all over, has a few bodice buttons on the pin-tuck or smocking, and is edged in brick-colored embroidery, with slightly bell sleeves. It’s very, very lightweight and covers everything so femininely well. It’s a keepah! Plus, someone handed me a coupon for 50% off clothes and shoes just for today. Otherwise, I’d have gotten only the extra (and comfy) work shoes — and only because I didn’t find the etagere for which I went in there to look. I will just have to dismantle the one I have and move it; it has to be high enough to store DH’s clothes for his easy accessibility. DH is doing well, and it looks like Friday will be his discharge date, but we won’t know until Wed. He is far more like himself, now. That makes one of us, but it’s a relief.
I was thinking about savoring some deck time, out there where the catbird is as bold as a saloon girl, where the hydrangea blossoms are huge and mostly almost blue, the tiger lilies are running riot, the basil is enough for all of Italy and Sicily and perhaps Greece, and where there’s usually wine. I can never decide between good coffee fresh and hot, or some merlot. Often, I have both. As I say, complicated, as opposed to fancy. It’s our baby’s 30th birthday. She’s far away having fun; perhaps a silent toast is in order, but perhaps winelessly — her birthday is a feast day of someone very special, very holy. That might be all the post-coffee nectar one could wish for, while musing God’s sleek little catbirds.
It’s that kind of gorgeous-heading-to-evening day. I hope it is for you, too, though I hope I didn’t take the blouse you had your eye on. That would just kill this friendship, ’cause I ain’t partin’ with it. Unless you need to borrow it. Once. Twice, if you put in writing that you’ll handwash it, and sign that in brick-colored *ink!*