Discombobulated

This is the last time I'll complain about Daylight Savings Time.  I promise.  Cross my heart.  (at least until it's time to Fall back, anyway)  It looks wrong when I wake up (and I haven't had to set an alarm yet, but that's coming), we eat supper after 7 o'clock, and I tend to stay up too late because I don't get sleepy.  Yeah, yeah, I'm old and set in my ways but, dammit, I want them to quit screwing around with my internal clock.  Whoever "them" are.

Now that that's off my chest, staying up late last night did let me finish one of my Design-a-thon entries.  Once I had woven in the tails this is how much yarn I had left.  The short piece is 1 1/2" and the longer one is 2 1/2".  That's getting value for my yarn dollar--and the yarn was on clearance.  I win!  (No, I can't show you my entries.  Judging is at the April meeting and I don't want to poison the competition with my fabulous designs. *ahem*)  Today I'll be working on final editing my patterns.  It's funny how much you leave out when you're just jotting things down for yourself and how bass-ackwards I write things sometimes.

I made soup today.  There was no more lunch soup in the freezer so it was time to make some.  This is Hearty Minestrone Soup from Taste of Home (I think) and, of course, I didn't follow the recipe exactly.  I started out just like it said, with a pound of Italian sausage, 1 cup of diced onions, 2 cups of sliced celery, and 1 1/2 cups of diced bell pepper but I had half a large can of crushed tomatoes in the freezer that needed using so I added that and a regular can of diced instead of a big can of diced.  Then there was no way I was buying enough zucchini to make 6 cups so I used a bag of frozen mixed vegs from the freezer.  I carefully measured out the herbs according to the recipe but left out the salt, and I added 3 cups of homemade chicken stock so it'd be soupier.  Oh, and I boiled 2 oz. of tiny pasta rings (it made about a cup) to stir in after it's simmered.  So it's a version of the original recipe using what was on hand. All's fair in love and soup.  (that's a saying, right?)

March 14--Tom Collicot, Fruits of Your Labors.  Sal went to the mailbox expecting to find the usual catalogs, insurance offers, and bills.  That was what she found but there also was a letter.  A real, handwritten letter on actual stationery with what looked like a fountain pen.  Who wrote letters anymore?  She turned the envelope over, half-expecting it to be an invitation to one of those investment dinners but it wasn't.  The return address was her granddaughter's at college.  She hoped nothing was  wrong.  They emailed weekly and every once in a while Nancy texted her but she had never before gotten a letter from her.  Sal sat down on the porch rocker to read what Nancy had to say.

I know, I know, you want to know what the letter said.  I had it in my mind last night but was too sleepy to commit it to paper.  Seems Nancy had been reading Jane Austen novels and was enchanted by all the letter writing in them so she decided that her Meemaw was the only one likely to be open to an epistolary relationship and she was right.  See?  Not too exciting, just me bemoaning the loss of that little thrill you get when you open the mailbox and a letter is there.  Maybe I'll figure out who I can write a letter to...  Anyway, Durwood's got an appointment to get his hearing aids adjusted this afternoon so I should probably get dressed.
--Barbara