Our phone line has been dead for a week. I have limited computer access. The kids started school this week. And the dog has been skunked (hence, so has the house). In lieu of any deep thoughts this week, I give you a few pictures.
I'll begin with a picture of the sun shining on my ethnic cuisine:
I have complained in the recent past about "sun shining on my food" pictures. But really, when the sun does kiss your colorful and lovingly prepared meal, how can you not capture it for posterity? It might be the only thanks you get from anyone in this house regarding your red tai curry squash, potatoes and chicken.
(FYI Recipe lovers: This is stuff from the garden baked with chicken and slathered with Trader Joe's Red Tai Curry sauce--couldn't be easier.)
Here's a bonus picture of the sun shining on my food, this one to prove you don't have to go to Italy for juicy produce. You have to come to Indiana. You also have to have a neighbor who is a "Do-be" and who covers their berries on the bush with cages to keep the birds away.
Blackberries bigger than my thumbnail (which needs a file).
Projects around the house.
I failed to take a "before" picture of our bedroom, because it was so miserable and depressing, documenting it never would have occurred to me. Picture heavy brown curtains, blue carpet with thirty years worth of doghair, kid vomit and wear patterns. We ripped up the carpet, refinished the floors, got new blinds and curtains and now here it is:
Note: having a husband who makes furniture does not guarantee that you'll have any furniture of your own.
Not much change. The shower is now functional, but the holes in the wall and floor remain, and I fear we may have lost steam. No one has fallen through the hole in the floor on their way out of the shower yet.
On the way to my in-laws, we pass a road called "Opportunity Parkway."
It sounds so promising, doesn't it?
And yet, should you turn down that road, here is what awaits you:
Here's my son's piggy bank:
cracks me up
I like to collect little people. Children, of course, are fine, but what I really like are little statues. Here are a few that live on my desk:
The moody cellist:
He's supposed to be a bookend, but his buddy on the other side got lost, so he just sits there in the corner brooding, which is sort of atypical for cellists. Cellists are known for being sort of good natured, jolly even, mood swings being the territory of violinists and voice majors.
This was my Granny's John Hancock:
Always wanted him, just inherited him.
Here's Mary with the book. See side bar for what she looks like from the front. I caught her looking dreamily out the window this afternoon, though, and it's a side of her I sort of like.
That's all I've got today. Thanks Betty Beguiles for keeping the Quick Takes up for Jen.