Wife, writer, tinkerer, grower of food. I'm happiest outside our rambling farmhouse with a basket looped on my arm, picking dinner from the garden. That's joy right there. Please follow along; I'm so glad you're here!
Friday evening, pre-treaters. Our Halloween is low-key on the decor end, high on the candy end.
Later on Saturday afternoon, right before we quit with the crown molding three-quarters done and went out to dinner.
It was a good, balanced weekend. Our Saturday of self-inflicted crown molding hell was nicely bookended by two fabulous evenings: Friday, of handing out candy and drinking beers and dancing and attending a very chill neighborhood party, and Saturday, of unplugging the nail gun in disgust (pa-SHSHSHT!) and going to Oneonta to find our favorite lovely hangout place half-empty and playing gentle old-time blues through the speakers. Old-time blues and bourbon and fresh tagliatelle with clams will cure most anything, I've decided.
Sunday, Patrick had rehearsal. Sunday, I got my beet-down on. Two ten-gallon buckets were picked in the on-again-off-again snow, and shuttled into the house, and beheaded. The little ones got boiled and skinned and made into horseradish beet relish. The big ones mostly got packed into moist sand in the basement-- that's how they last the winter. I did save out a couple to devote to a ginormous pot of borscht, which I kept on the stove the rest of the day. I like it best when everything is practically cooked into oblivion. Later in the day the sun came out, and Del and I did the big loop around the village together. He was good. Except for the one squirrel he saw, he was good.
Then Patrick came home with cheese and crackers and we had borscht. And then we got into bed at 7:30 and watched a documentary about Butch Cassidy & the Sundance Kid. Perfect day.