This rose has turned its face out so I don't have to stand on tiptoe to look at it and smell it. Thanks, Dad.
I saw this Chickadee perched on top of the Hummingbird feeder the other day and had to take its picture when I realized that it was drinking out of the shallow pool of water on top meant to discourage ants from crawling down to the nectar. That same day a male Downy Woodpecker stopped by for breakfast on the suet and to show off the red blaze on his head.
You know, I can't stop taking pictures of my supper. This is Chicken with Roasted Cherry Sauce. First you roast 3/4# of grapes for 10 minutes and set aside. You sprinkle a little Herbes de Provence, salt and pepper on chicken breasts and skillet fry them in a couple teaspoons of olive oil. (I'm amazed at how little oil you really need to fry things. Two teaspoons was plenty to brown enough boneless chicken for us to have two meals.) Once the chicken is cooked and on a plate staying warm, you boil a cup of chicken broth and half a cup of red wine plus a couple chopped shallots until the liquid is reduced by half. Then you stir in a teaspoon of soft butter mixed with a teaspoon of flour and stir it until it thickens just a little. Finally you add the roasted cherries and a half-teaspoon of Herbes de Provence and let it reduce a bit more. Oh my goodness, it was delicious. For years I've been saying that I didn't like fruit and meat but I made up my mind last year to stop saying I don't like something and just give everything a chance again. So far I'm a fan of fruit and meat, don't mind raspberries (never really did but I let Durwood have my share because he loves them so), and appreciate a little cilantro on things. I'm not backing down on liver, though, and I won't be eating tarragon anytime soon. That herb tastes metallic, like a mouth full of nickels, to me.
I sat on the couch with ice on my ankle yesterday after we got home from Piggly Wiggly so I made lots of yarn-y progress for the day. In the morning while I watched CBS Sunday Morning I finished one and crocheted two more Xmas stocking hexagons, now I have half of them done. Woohoo! While icing after shopping and with my foot elevated after supper I cast on and knitted on August Preemie Hat #4. First I got smart and fetched up a box of dollar store sandwich bags with slider closures from downstairs, snipped one corner of each bag, and tucked each skein of this slippery and easily unrolled yarn into its own clear plastic home. Now I don't have to keep untangling a trailing end from the yarn I'm using. It's much less frustrating. Blue and white stripes (okay, periwinkle and cream) make a cute hat, don't you think?
August 22--Mel Curtis, Handshake. "We'll say it's a gentleman's agreement." As soon as he said it Ed knew it was the wrong thing to say. Sheila's hand froze in his and then she pulled it back. "I think not," she said, "I'll have my assistant, Justin, draw up a contract. We'll have our attorney go over it. I'll ask Justin to send you a copy and you can do the same." Ed felt his muscles tense at her tone of voice. No woman was going to tell him how to do business. He gave a curt nod, turned, and left her office.
I got up at 7 o'clock this morning and all I've done since then is go down to get the ribs we're having for supper so they can thaw out, lay out half of the chicken leg quarters we bought yesterday on a cookie sheet to prefreeze so Durwood can vacuum-seal them, eat breakfast while reading the paper, brush my teeth, make an appointment for a test for Durwood, and write this blog post. Now it's 11 o'clock and I need to shower like the wind so I can meet a friend for lunch at noon. That shouldn't have taken four hours (our newspaper's not that thick). Where did the morning go?
(P.S. I lost another 3# last week for a total of 16.5# gone. Yay, me! And I am not deprived, not by a long shot.)