Refrigerator, August 2013
I’ve thought about this Hemingway sentence for years: “On the smoking skillet he poured smoothly the buckwheat batter.”
The goal was visual, I think. All the more reason to like “Big Two-Hearted River.” Canned spaghetti and beans soon to celebrate. (I think well-read brother Pat tried it before I did).
“He opened and emptied a can of pork and beans and a can of spaghetti into the frying pan.”
“I’ve got a right to eat this kind of stuff, if I’m willing to carry it,” Nick said.
It’s a beautiful day and we’re feelin’ good and goofin’ off. For-the-record photos above and below. Lori and Sara threw us a party this morning and gave us a ride home in the Subaru. (Cooper prefers being driven about to hoofing it these days. I’m not prepared to admit the same holds for me). Got a birthday serenade over the phone from Santa Fe and promise of dinner at the Range on Sunday. Sister Jane called and I think there might be notes and jam in the mail from Hope and Winifred. Judy and Bob gave me space and taped a birthday note to my garbage can out on the road. Colleen sent me an e-card. Now lunch and reading and naps. Maybe a walk in the hills this afternoon if it clouds up; evening otherwise. Gotta go find some earrings for a certain, soon-to-be 7-year-old niece. It was seven years ago today that I brought Cooper here from the Eastside Animal Shelter, estimated age 3. He was still covered in stitches and ticks. I let him out of the car and into the house. He trotted down the hallway, took a quick right turn into the office, relieved himself by my desk and has lived here happily ever since. I can’t believe Lori wrapped presents for these guys. I suspect Dianne had something to do with it. Thanks, all.