surprised by quality

pretty decent cheesecake and almost certainly the best cake i've had this side of the causeway yet. now to see whether the blood sugar shoots up to decide if it is as good as it tastes.

the arthur truluv books - elizabeth berg

of which there are 3: the story of arthur truluv (2017), night of miracles (2018), and the confession club (2019).

arthur truluv catches me and holds me tight in his gentle otherworldly kindly embrace and i enjoy his story and lucille's (and iris's and monica and tiny's). but the magic peters out after one-and-three-quarter books and i find myself reading from the final chapter forwards for the last book.

she writes better than debbie macomber but not as well as maeve binchy or marian keyes.

a walk in the park

we join the older adults' fellowship group for their quarterly walk this morning, HOM and i. the heavens declare the glory of God, someone shares. the skies proclaim the work of his hands. 

and it's true. in a way i mostly hardly notice and certainly do not pay enough attention to, there are lovely things to look at if only i bother to. 

in other news, those gorgeous heavy-laden almost-violet promising-rain clouds in the background never delivered.

big gah

when you remember to tell them to leave out the pickle but you let them put the onion in because you are thinking of the in-n-out grilled onions but then the carl's jr. burger comes with raw onions and now you cannot get the taste out of your mouth even after a rescue ice cream.

tonite's special

last nite's leftovers, is wot it is.

now let's not get all hoity-toity about serving leftovers. when you are tired of thinking and prepping there's an absolute magic to popping the containers into the oven and plating up the stuff when the time is ripe.

viva la food containers and their contents!

the day i ate whatever i wanted - elizabeth berg (2008)

found me a new writer i like, yes siree! chatty streams of consciousness flow mellifluously along home and friendship themes. not quite the incisive sophistication of james thurber whose essay on dogs i read just before i embark on this, but with a woozy floozy cozy cottage charm.

my favorites are the two letters from flo to her ex-neighbor ruthie. here the charm transcends cottage to enter minimalist modern territory.

moving on to her other books next.

sláinte

we have old friends over. HOM is right. when the old goes back to schooldays-old there is a different kind of carefree that hearkens back to more innocent less demanding times.

we chat into the night, us elderly folk, segueing between present day hard-won sharp sophistication and young giddy breezy memories. we talk about work our other schoolmates our children and partners and finally, our parents' dementia, which is when i say we need to say goodnite or the day will become tomorrow.