I Am The Winner!

At the Bay Lakes Knitting Guild meeting tonight I won a prize.  Last May, CS passed out card stock BINGO cards with knitting related things in the squares and challenged us to do the things in the boxes.  I kept it folded in my knitting bag and about once a week pulled it out to see if I'd done any of the items.  Turns out I did the most!  So I got a beautiful wooden yarn bowl as a prize.  I'm guessing that next year more people will play along because I got such a cool prize.




Early this morning when I went out for the newspaper I saw the mums and thought, hm, they'd be good to share on the blog tonight, so I went out to snap a couple pix.





And this rosebud was just perfect.







 
I was so thrilled to find that it was after 8:00 when I woke up this morning.  I thought it was a little dark when I got up and soon enough the rains came.  The first drops were big enough that they made bubbles when they hit the birdbath.  It rained most of the day which made the humidity soar.  Yippee.



I knitted a couple more rows on the Fishermen's Cardigan and I'm kind of disenchanted with it.  I suspect because the color change is too subtle and won't be as evident until I change the solid Natures Brown for the lighter color.

19 September--Barbara Malcolm, Horizon. 

            Abel was like a dervish, whirling from refrigerator to stove, stirring pots, turning the chops.  In a very few minutes, he switched everything off, turned to me smiling, and said, “Done.”  He came over, picked up my wineglass, and escorted me into the dining room.

            I stopped in the doorway.  There were candles lit on the table and on every flat surface.  The table settings gleamed in the flickering candlelight and more roses blossomed in vases around the room and in low bowls on the table.  “Abel, it’s beautiful.”

            “All for you,” he said, and helped me into my chair.  “I’ll be right back.”

            I sat, snowy linen napkin in my lap, listening to him moving around in the kitchen.  I heard the oven open and close, heard plates click on the countertop, and spoons scraping on cookware.  In a very few minutes, he came back carrying two plates.  He set mine in front of me and I just gaped at it, it was so incredible.

            The lamb chops glistened on the side of the plate with a few capers sprinkled on top, the asparagus spears were bundled with a thin strip of pimento and a ribbon of hollandaise sauce lay over them, the baked potato was opened, fluffed, buttered, and there were fresh chives on top.

            “Oh my God, Abel,” I said, “this looks like a picture from a magazine.  It seems a shame to eat it.”  My hands reached to pick up my fork and knife.  “But I’ll manage.”

             He picked up his own napkin, laid it across his lap, picked up his utensils, and said, “Enjoy.”

             Conversation while we ate was limited to a few “mmm”s and an “oh” or two.  Abel’s dinner was too delicious and too much of a surprise for words.

             When both our plates were bare of all but a few dabs of hollandaise and a glisten of butter, he said, “I hope you saved room for dessert.”

            “Dessert?  Oh my.  I hope it’s something light,” I said, feeling pretty full but not wanting to miss Abel’s next surprise. 

            “It’s light, I promise,” he said, getting up and removing our plates.  “In fact, we have to share it.  Don’t go away.”  He disappeared into the kitchen.  This time I heard the refrigerator door open and what sounded like a cardboard box lid open.  He stirred another pot and I heard the clink of spoon on plate.  He hummed along with the music from the stereo as he worked.  I could tell he was pleased with the success of his surprises.

            I was looking at the reflection of the candle flames in the mirror over the sideboard when I heard the door open and a soft “ta da!” beside me.  I looked up to see a dessert vision set down in front of me.  “Oh, Abel, it’s beautiful.”  It was a meringue bowl filled with glistening strawberries, topped with real whipped cream, all floating on a lake of hot, dark chocolate sauce.

While I stared at the amazing thing, Abel propped an envelope against my water goblet.

           “What’s this?”

           “It’s your Valentine’s Day gift.”

           “My gift?  I thought this entire day was my gift.”  I opened the flap and pulled out a card telling me I was getting a year’s subscription to Watercolor World, an art magazine I’d been buying by the issue at the bookstore.  “Thanks, Abel, how thoughtful; it’s a wonderful gift.”

           “It was the only thing I could think of to give my prize-winning artist girlfriend.”  He leaned down and kissed me, then reached over, picked up the dessert spoon from his original seat across the table, and pulled out the chair next to mine.  “I hope you don’t mind that we have to share.”

            I shook my head, picked up my spoon, and tried to figure out where and how to get the first bite.  With a twinkle in his eye, he pressed the side of the spoon’s bowl onto the edge of the meringue, cracking it, sending a river of sweet red strawberry juice over the chocolate.  “Ladies’ first,” he said with a flourish.

           I dipped my spoon, managing to get a bit of each ingredient.  “Oh, Abel, this is so delicious.  I can’t believe you made this yourself.”

            Managing to look humble and proud at the same time, he said, “Well, I didn’t make the meringue shell; I bought it at the bakery.  But I whipped the cream, hulled the berries, and made the hot fudge sauce myself.  I’m glad you like it.  I wanted it to be special.”

            I was tempted to ask more questions, keep him talking so I would get more than my share of the ambrosial treat, but he’d worked so hard to make my day special.  Besides I was getting full, real full.

            After we did all but lick the plate, we went into the living room for coffee in front of the fireplace.
            “What a lovely meal, Abel.  You’re quite a cook.”  I slid the magazines and candy dish aside so he could put down the coffee tray.
           “I’m glad you liked it,” he said as he knelt to put another log on the fire
           We sat on the couch talking late into the evening, Abel getting up periodically to poke or replenish the fire, then coming back to snuggle next to me.  I remember hearing his clock strike ten o’clock but nothing after that.

Tomorrow night I get to have supper with my two favorite small people which means I'll be late to Friday Night Knitting but I'm willing to sacrifice knitting time for LC & OJ.
--Barbara