What I’m considering tonight: Roasted cauliflower and Italian sausage spaghetti (whole wheat, of course). The new applewood-smoked sea salt, which I will serve on sauteed asparagus, out of season. Salmon cooked in a skillet, trying to replicate the fine stuff I bought from the Irish fishmonger on the high street in East Finchley in October. The picture I’ve just put in an Italian frame, pistachio green with gold highlights, of John and me ruffled entirely by the Pt. Reyes wind. An old novel by Laurie Colwin which I checked out of the library. Some echinacea tablets (effervescent) from Boots. The giant bandage on my finger from today’s mishap with a box-cutter. How hard it is to type with that. The Christmas present I’ve found for a friend, The Whole Fromage. The little horse fetish which needs dusting. My pile of collage papers. The bag of spices that I must make room for somewhere. Postcards of the Roman theatre in Alcudia to send, long after my return. The need for heaters. The promise of clean sheets. The now organized soaps in the pinewood cabinet. What books I will get rid of. The Vera mystery series from Northumberland. The November dark, the chill when we get home, the nostalgic sweetness of limoncello. Old photos, from here and there.
image: Christie B. Cochrell, St. Francis