Sunday dawned early as Mr. Bladder rudely interrupted my peaceful slumber at the break of dawn. The first day of the week, or The Lord’s Day by some traditions. But for me, every morning begins the same with a staggering walk down the corridor to my studio with a coffee cup in my hand if Snookums has made the coffee, or empty handed if she hasn’t. It won’t be long before she delivers a warm cup to me in those circumstances.
It is an odd morning in that the Celtic station I often listen to is playing Christmas carols. I like them though I have a bit of a problem with much of the theology surrounding the season. But some of the most worshipful music ever written was composed around the celebration of Christmas. The morning music is a sop to Kippur da Budgie. I much prefer absolute silence in the mornings, but parakeets need noise or they grow depressed.
Weekends have become my time to be the family chef, apart from dinner on Saturday evening. We try to have a one pot meal on Friday evening that is rewarmed on Saturday to sort of keep with the tradition of resting on that day. So, part of the mornings musings need to focus on brunch. Waffles have become de rigueur, with the type of waffle being the variable. Today I think it will be blueberry Belgian waffles with whipped cream. Perhaps some orange sections if I am up to peeling them, or perhaps not. If not, probably some V8 juice.
I am finally caught up on the mowing, hopefully for the year. But with all the moisture and warmth, that is not a given. I have mowed as late as Thanksgiving in the past in mild years. I am hoping to get some field rye sowed before it gets too cold so that there will be greenery in early spring. Field rye is inexpensive, about $20 a bag from the Co-Op, and one bag covers the field nicely. The rye burns off early enough to let the bermudagrass thrive during the hot summers and provides a nice change from a dark green to a light green as the year unfolds.
So, onward to brunch preps …