Little Peeks of Spring

The hyacinths and tulips are bravely inching their way up into the chilly air.

Overnight the birdbath thawed out--again.  And the snow almost disappeared from the backyard--again.  And the chipmunk came scampering around looking for seeds and a place to hide from the hawk--again.  But it's supposed to get cold again tomorrow, after a thunderstorm comes through tonight--cold for sure, thunderstorm maybe.  I hope a storm comes when I'm awake.  I love being all cozy indoors when thunder rolls and lightning walks about outdoors.




I got the baked spaghetti made for the weekend but not until late in the afternoon yesterday, too late to feel like making something else for "official" supper, so I cut up the baked spaghetti and we had it.  The recipe makes 10 servings so there's plenty left.  A good thing too because otherwise we'd have taken it along to eat on our runaway next weekend not knowing that it's a little dry, that it needs extra spaghetti sauce.  Whew.  Not that we couldn't have picked up a jar of sauce up in Door Co. but what if they didn't have the kind we liked?  What about that, huh?  We'll have last night's planned Salsa Fish for supper tonight.  Don't tell Durwood but I bought an avocado to slice and garnish the bed of baked veggies with.  He discovered last year that he loves fresh avocado.  It'll be decadent and delicious with a squeeze of fresh lime juice on it.



I made some sock foot progress last night after supper but first I dug out our old travel diaries to find when we'd first had the fish dish in a restaurant in Anguilla (in the Caribbean) that our Salsa Fish recipe grew out of.  It was 1991.  Doesn't that seem like a lifetime ago?  It was fun reading our comments about the dives and the people around us.

March 6--Claude Monet, In the Woods at Giverny: Blanche Hoschede at her Easel with Suzanne Hoschede Reading.  "Hold still, Suze," Blanche said, "I need to get your arm right."  She lifted her brush to her canvas again.  "And quit moving your head."  Suzanne smacked the book onto her lap.  "I need to turn pages and move my head if you expect me to read."  Bright pink spots glowed on her cheeks.  Blanche glared at her sister.  "I don't expect you to read.  I expect you to pose."  Her full lips thinned to a slit.  "Ladies," came a male voice from across the clearing, "I expect you to be polite and moderately still.  You are both posing for me."  "Oui, Monsieur Monet," they said.  Blanche went back to her canvas, Suzanne to her book.  The sounds of birds and insects filled the woods once more.

I just had a kid selling Kirby vacuum cleaners ring my doorbell.  I didn't think anybody went door-to-door anymore.  Wait, I should have invited him in because I plan to vacuum the living room later.  *head, smack*  I'm an idiot.
--Barbara