Five-minute breakfast: leftover multigrain rice warmed in the microwave with leftover black beans, add a gently poached an egg and a spoonful of salsa. And NPR. And coffee.
A long walk with two happy dogs. Actually, a short walk makes them pretty happy, too. Even a walk to the truck. As long as the word “walk” is involved, they’re right there. But yesterday was a long one at work, and I got home too late to walk them at all. As dogs will – at least mine – they invented their own good day. They dragged the quilt that I use (used to use*) to cover the bunnies’ cage in the garage on cold nights out into the backyard and scattered enough stuffing around that it looks like we had our own private snowstorm. So they needed a long walk today. So did I. From the photo, you wouldn’t know that I was bracing myself into a howling wind which dropped the temperature of the afternoon’s sun exponentially. But a walk was going to be had, damn it.
At one point a great, talkative flock of crows flew right over us. I tried to get a photo of them. You wouldn’t think it would be difficult to get a picture of a whole lot of large black birds against a great big sky, but evidently it is. This is but one of many I took of a sky full of nothing but itself as the flock laughed its way into the distance.
In the course of failing to capture the crows, I tucked our yellow tennis ball under my left arm. After I gave up on the crows and walked on, I suddenly realized I’d dropped the ball. Literally. Poppy could chase a tennis ball – preferably a squeaky one – all the livelong day, so this was a Big Deal. Poppy chases the ball. Esmé chases Poppy chasing the ball. Sort of a canine ballet.
I immediately retraced my steps, making it look as though it were all in the plan, since I hadn’t the nerve to tell Poppy the ball was missing. You’d think a yellow tennis ball against the parking lot we’d traversed would stand out. But this particular ball has been around the block many times and was doing an excellent job of camouflaging itself. But we found it!
Don’t tell Poppy I used this photo. I caught her in between expressions. She’s kind of a clown, though, so it actually captures her sweet, happy spirit quite well. And she was very happy to see her ball. The chase was back on.
On our way back home, we passed beneath a tree still laden with apples. On each trip home, I stuff two or three into my pockets for the bunnies. Whose quilt* has vanished. Just inside the fence over which this tree reaches was hung a long, tall wind chime booming out bass notes to a wind which had mercifully begun to gentle.
*Note to self: do something about it this week.
Once home and the dogs’ water dish refilled, I needed to roast a pumpkin. This week I’ll be writing a post as part of a blog tour for a brand new baking book that I have the privilege and profound pleasure to test. This little beauty is a sugar pie pumpkin, and as we, so to speak, speak, my warmly-scented kitchen is a heavenly place to be after a long walk in a stiff wind with two ecstatic dogs.
What’s for dinner? I have no idea, but if you’re thinking that pumpkin might be involved, we’re thinking down the same path.
Sundays don’t get much better.