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Pretty Much Just Flour and Water. Little oil, little salt.
I have tried my best to have a lazy holiday weekend, and to this end spent most of today drinking with James as we played video games and watched trashy television. (We did accidentally hold a production company meeting, but we kept it brief. We get excited about our films, yo. We can't help it.)
Yesterday was less successfully lazy, as I organized my computer files so I could more easily sort stories into in progress/finished/published bins. I also repaired the bathroom sink. I also pulled everything out of the linen closet (a glorified name for a plastic tub) and sorted the sheets into piles, which I have left on the floor until I make further decisions about the piles.
I've been resisting grocery shopping not because I dislike grocery shopping but because I'm enjoying scavenging the back corners of my pantry (a single small shelf) and coming up with meals from random ingredients. I considered trying to eat the mushroom I found growing in the rosemary plant, but decided this was a very bad idea. Instead, I made tortillas and they were small and tasty.
In further cooking adventures, I was undeterred by the accidental teacakes of last week. (They tasted all right, but were meant to be cookies and failed at this.) I decided it was time to pull out the big guns, by which I mean an old church cookbook. I figure cookies are the one food category best understood by old ladies. (See also: root beer.) And lo, the cookies turned out chewy and nutmegged and we basically inhaled them.
P.S. I forgot to mention that as C.Blacker said his goodbyes, a parade walked past the house as if to see him off -- hundreds of schoolchildren in red shirts (the uniform of the local elementary) and a mariachi band playing Mexican horns. This was particularly satisfying since nearly a decade ago I bought CB a cassette tape of Johnny Cash hits so he could listen, for the first time, to the marvel that is "Ring of Fire."
Yesterday was less successfully lazy, as I organized my computer files so I could more easily sort stories into in progress/finished/published bins. I also repaired the bathroom sink. I also pulled everything out of the linen closet (a glorified name for a plastic tub) and sorted the sheets into piles, which I have left on the floor until I make further decisions about the piles.
I've been resisting grocery shopping not because I dislike grocery shopping but because I'm enjoying scavenging the back corners of my pantry (a single small shelf) and coming up with meals from random ingredients. I considered trying to eat the mushroom I found growing in the rosemary plant, but decided this was a very bad idea. Instead, I made tortillas and they were small and tasty.
In further cooking adventures, I was undeterred by the accidental teacakes of last week. (They tasted all right, but were meant to be cookies and failed at this.) I decided it was time to pull out the big guns, by which I mean an old church cookbook. I figure cookies are the one food category best understood by old ladies. (See also: root beer.) And lo, the cookies turned out chewy and nutmegged and we basically inhaled them.
P.S. I forgot to mention that as C.Blacker said his goodbyes, a parade walked past the house as if to see him off -- hundreds of schoolchildren in red shirts (the uniform of the local elementary) and a mariachi band playing Mexican horns. This was particularly satisfying since nearly a decade ago I bought CB a cassette tape of Johnny Cash hits so he could listen, for the first time, to the marvel that is "Ring of Fire."