There are some mornings where having something made ahead of time, something preferably more portable than a bowl of cereal, is advantageous. Sundays tend to be that way in our house. Often Chris or I need to be early to church, sometimes both of us, and if I don't have something made ahead of time, one or both of us forgets to eat breakfast. We usually remember an hour or so later, just before church is starting, and too late for there to be anything done about it.
I love Mexican food. Really, tex-mex, because I can't imagine what I'm getting, or making, in Nebraska, is terribly authentic. I can eat tacos for days in a row, (and have, for lunch, when we had a taco bar party and I vastly overestimated how much meat we'd need,) and I've found various tex-mex recipes to try out at home when I'm oddly not quite as ready to try them in a restaurant. This particular recipe came about due to my great love of tex-mex, and my need to use up a large pack of chicken thighs I'd found on sale. It might even be a bit more authentic than our usual fare.
In college, when I didn't really have a full kitchen to myself, but I was so very sick of dining hall food, I'd grab a few things I could microwave in my dorm room to change it up. Not so much a favorite, but a standby, I usually had Hot Pockets around. I also enjoyed pop tarts, but rarely let myself buy them. After all, they're "awful for you". (I conveniently ignored this same reasoning with the Hot Pockets.)
Margaret fidgeted in her seat. Her mother had given her a couple crayons and a small pad of paper to keep her occupied, but she'd filled them up, front and back. The ceremony hadn't even started yet, and she was bored. She kicked her feet, which was okay right up until she accidentally kicked the back of the seat in front of her, where her grandmother Marie was sitting. She turned her head and gave Margaret such a look that she sat still for a full minute afterward.
Ashley spread her blanket out on the sand and smoothed out the wrinkles. Then she settled in. People of all ages, sizes, and styles walked by in front of her. She thought about unwrapping her sandwich, but she wasn't ready to fend off the seagulls yet. So she rested back on her elbows and watched. An older gentleman walked by, in a full grey linen suit, with a twisted wooden cane in one hand and his wife holding his other. She had a sundress that brushed her calves, and looked as though she could probably use a cane too, but her husband held her close. A runner came up behind them and called "On your left!" before running past in her neon pink running shorts and lime green tank top. Her ponytail swished back and forth as she ran.
Stasi watched out the window of the SUV as she fingered the lace on her Grandma Ernestine’s dress. She had always loved this dress, the dress Gram had chosen for her wedding in 1946. She loved that it was teal instead of the now traditional white. She’d never seen another dress approach it in pure style. Her mother had agreed to let her wear it for her own wedding, saying “It’s blue enough to count, it’s new to you, it’s borrowed, and it’s definitely old.” And now, here she was, driving around with Pastor Tom, her mother Freya, Martin and his dad Alberto, and Greg and Ruth, hoping to find somewhere perfect for their wedding that night.
Jonathan and I had a great time at the Children's Museum recently. We were both having a rather bad day, but we went anyway to burn off some extra energy, and it turned out to be a great turnaround to the day. I snagged a few pictures while Jonathan briefly stood still, then it was off to the next thing. :)
I'm nearly done harvesting everything from our garden. I need to do final cleanup this week, pulling up dead plants and trimming others, but I'm somewhat dreading it, mainly for the mosquitoes and other bugs that have taken up residence, who like to defend their territory against me. It must be done though, as our last yard waste pick up day is Thursday. It seems earlier this year, even though it's not. Oh well. Harvest has gone well this year, despite my having lost interest in the garden in August, as I always do, only gaining interest again when it was cooler in late September. Everything survives without me at this point, especially since it's started raining again. I can't remember the last time I watered my garden, honestly.
This is currently my favorite flower growing in our yard. It's a lovely rosebush that produces lots of vibrantly hot pink roses. I've already clipped some and brought them in for a small bouquet to enjoy, and there's still half a dozen more. I normally wouldn't have chosen a long stem rosebush, but I really love this one, so much so that I may end up getting another to plant nearby, if I can decide on a color!