Remember the other day when I burned the roasted veggies to make my soup? Well, I took another stab at it today and didn't burn them and made Roasted Carrot Soup. I even had a cup of it for lunch, it was warm and thick and felt good on my cough-sore throat and, even better, there are enough little bowls of it for work lunches for eight days plus a bit more for tomorrow's lunch.
Last weekend's cold has turned into this weekend's cough. I am not amused. Earlier I took myself to the pharmacy to get a recommendation for the best cough medicine and how to quell the tickle in my throat that starts the whole coughing, sweating, eyes tearing mess. Not restful, nope, not at all. But when I got home I took what he told me too and 2 hours later I haven't had a coughing fit and feel a tad better. Thanks, Mike the Pharmacist.
Yesterday afternoon I sat down on the couch intending to finish my Elf on the Shelf. I dug out some dark red Wool Ease to use to finish his hat because I was out of green and, of course, I don't have dark green in the stash, and I found some black to use for the hands and feet. They're also supposed to be green but see above. I had a walnut sized ball of the white with black strings left from knitting the head and ears to use to make the arms and legs so I started with the legs figuring if I had to use the plain creamy white I had on hand I could say that the Elf has hairy legs. That makes sense, right? But at Friday Night Knitting I managed to make all the arms and legs with about a foot of the hairy legged yarn left. Whew. Now all I need to do it make the shoes, embroider a face on him, and sew the jingle bell on the end of his green and red hat. Piece o'cake. I'll get him done later tonight when I'm piled up on the couch watching something mindless on TV or improving my mind with something I've DVR'd or maybe I'll wait until tomorrow to embroider his face since I'll use black floss and that'll be easier to see in daylight.
November 8--Iran, Bowl. Kae used a steady hand to scribe the spell into the greenware bowl. She planned to use bright, cheerful glazes to finish the piece so no one would suspect why food eaten from the bowl did them no good. Soup would be unsatisfying, meat would give no strength, pudding would curdle. No one got away with saying her art wasn't real art. Her hand flowed in the rhythm of the symbols as a smile bloomed on her lips.
I've got all the soup making pots and pans washed and I washed the bowl from Durwood's batch of chicken stock yesterday (I am a gem!) so I think I'm going to go pretend to knit but really doze on the couch.