The sky is white, wide and wild. It seems snow-laden. Snow-burdened. But you never know. It’s been known to disappoint. Snown to disappoint. The wind is shaking the honeysuckle leaves in the trellis, still green from summer. It’s swaying the bird feeder, bereft of birds. There was a small yellow and blue tit hunched there earlier, but he’s nowhere to be seen now.
There is still snow on the ground, a patchy white blanket tufted with the too long grass, also of late summer. There are rose hips scattered on the deck. I am glad to be inside, out of the cold. Anders is on his way to South Africa. He left yesterday but it takes 11 hours to get there from London and he still had to get to London first. It’s cold there, too, he said. It’s no more than 23-25 degrees*. I laughed. Cold for Africa, maybe.
I need to start cooking soon. I am making two potato au gratin dishes for a potluck that I am attending tonight. One will be vegetarian with broccoli and mushrooms and the other will also have broccoli, but sausages. I wish I could find ground sausage here. It’s weird that it doesn’t exist. I don’t think about it except when the urge for a breakfast casserole hits which, granted, isn’t often. There’s no chicken soup here either, neither the broth, noodle, nor the creamy kind. Isn’t that weird? There was, when I first moved here, but over the years it has disappeared from the grocery stores. Now I have to badger my brother to send me some from Germany or pay exorbitant rates to ship it here.
Karin is going to the potluck with me; she’s coming after work and meeting me there. I am glad she will be with me. I’m glad any time she wants to spend time with me these days. She probably doesn’t know how much I am dreading the day she moves away. Since she is coming, I am also bringing two snickerdoodle cookie cakes. They don’t look like much since the red sugar and cinnamon topping is quite dull but I’m sure they will be yummy, regardless.
I am listening to Laurie Anderson’s Strange Angels because the book I am reading mentioned it. It’s so good. Both the book and the album. It’s a book by Pamela Dean. I’ve been re-reading everything she’s written and wishing there was more. She doesn’t seem to have published anything since the early 2000s which is a bummer. Her wikipedia page says nothing by way of explanation and the last entry on her website is dated 2008. She does blog regularly on Livejournal, though.
Technically, I am still sick, but since it’s been 1.5 weeks and it’s all down in my lungs, I am pretty sure I’m not contagious or anything. I need to get out of the house and be around other people (work doesn’t count) for awhile. I need to at least get out of the ‘90s which is where I seem to be mentally, judging by my music and reading choices.
Edited an hour later to add: it worked; it’s snowing.
*Celsius