The Soup Was Saved

Whew.  The overnight timeout in the back of Durwood's van gave the Five Spice Powder time to incorporate itself into the Chinese Chicken & Vegetable soup so it was an accent not the whole symphony; that and the addition of a tablespoon of lemon juice saved it.  It's not the best soup I ever made but it's good enough for work lunches and sharing with DS & DIL1 later.  The toasted wonton wrapper strips on top really made it great.  (that's my favorite part, I'm a big fan of crunchy and salty)

I didn't go outside yesterday after all.  Well, I only slipped on the boots and topped up the birdbath, I did not mail packages or go get my nails done, it was just too cold and windy.  Windy!  Oh my goodness, in the bright and slanted afternoon sunshine the backyard looked like one of those topographical models with the wind-carved snow standing in for land elevations, very pretty but very much a reason to stay indoors.  The birds and squirrels were supremely happy to stop over for a snack.  Durwood says he's noticed that all the squirrel trails in the neighborhood lead right into our backyard.  Hey, wouldn't you trek to where the food was easy to get?  Yes, you would; have you watched people at all-you-can-eat buffets?  Today I get to go outside and shovel away the inch or so of snow that's fallen in the last couple days.  It isn't a lot but it's too much to just leave in place, especially at this stage in the winter.  In two months I won't bother with this level of snow but there's just too much potential for the darned stuff left to let it pile up now.  And I'm kind of over goofing off, which I did all day yesterday, so it's time to get out and about.  I'll call for a nails appointment, see when I can deliver peels to the chickens and soup to the kids (and have a little LC snuggle), and call KW about going bowling again this afternoon.  My lower back is sore but an hour's bowling won't change that much, it might even help.  Sitting around only seems to make my aches and pains worse, moving is the cure.  Turns out joints don't have or make the lubrication (synovial fluid) they need on their own, you have to move around to produce it.  Illogical, I know, but I've proved it to myself more than once.  It's a hard sell when you're hurting.

January 26--India, Bookbinding.  When Lina stood on the bluff that overlooked the lake all the lines and squiggles on the old map made sense.  She stood as if suspended above the ground seeing the roads and rocks and the trails among the trees.  Now that she knew what the faded brown lines on the brittle paper meant she could follow it and find out why someone drew it.  Did it lead to a treasure or reveal family secrets?  Maybe Uncle Ben could help her.  Mom called him "the family historian" but Dad said he was just too nosy for his own good.

Now it's snowing a little harder, the flakes slowly falling almost straight down so there's not much wind.  That's good, I don't like it when the wind cuts through all my warm layers and blows snow down my neck.  I promised to make us a Dutch Baby oven pancake for breakfast/brunch and Durwood just got up, maybe for good for the day, so I'd better go get cooking.  (isn't that kind of an unfortunate name for something that looks yummy?  did people think the Dutch ate their babies?  couldn't have.)  Shovel on!
--Barbara