Or, maybe not. It really just smells like an Indian restaurant. Why don't they sell Indian Restaurant incense? Indian Restaurant Glade Plug-In's? Indian Restaurant scented candles?
I'd be more apt to buy those than anything titled "Wind Plums" or "Seven Sea Breezes" or "Rain and Fairy Farts" or whatever the hell they come up with to name those things.
Why don't they sell scented products that smell like babies' heads and good clean sweat and the way Maurice's fur smells when she lets me rub my face up against her? Baby chickens- now there's a damn fine scent. The armpit of someone you've just fallen in love with? The scalp of someone you've loved forever?
Screw "Apple-Pie" scented candle and give me "Scent of Childhood Copy of Little Women." Or anything by Louisa May Alcott. Her books smell like magic. So does The Wind In The Willows.
I'd even go for "Freshly Cleaned Hen House." Call me crazy (go ahead- really- I don't care) but I love that smell. It's the same smell you get when you enter one of the FFA exhibits at the county fair. Hay and warm animal and poop and pee. What about "Good Rich Dirt?"
I could deal with all of those but put me in a room with that fake cinnamon smell and I'll make any excuse I can to get the hell out of there.
Okay. I have no idea how I got started on THAT one.
I'm making a soup. Here's the basic recipe.
It's supposed to look like this.
Of course my soup doesn't have any actual butternut squash in it. Rather it has acorn squash and sweet potato. But beyond that, I've stuck pretty close to the recipe. I'm excited about this. Probably more excited than any soup warrants.
It's been another good day. I drove to town and dropped off library items and went to pick up my bio-identical hormones and got gas (petrol gas, not intestinal gas) and took May some eggs and had lunch at Fanny's. A BLT, thank you very much, and it was amazing. I sat there and read my New Yorker and ate that sandwich and chatted with May when she had the time and it was so cozy in her cafe, the blue skies outside the window, the warmth and old walls within. I ran by Publix, came home, put everything away, took the trash and recycle and picked up the critter-trap from Brian.
I've put the chickens up and got the trap set but I really don't have much faith. I think the kittens are under the house and are staying warm by the heating ducts. Besides that, I'm not sure they're heavy enough to trip the trap. I'll probably find Luna, my outdoor cat of sixteen or seventeen years in it. And boy, will she be pissed. But I am doing my best. I set out more minced chicken for them right where the trap is this morning and they did eat that.
I have to check it regularly because if they DO, by some miracle, get trapped, they'll freeze to death if I don't bring them in.
I've set all the spigots to drip and the garden sprinklers too. I'll turn on the taps before I go to bed. I've brought in one of the chicken waterers and cleaned it so that I can fill it up with water tomorrow because all of their waterers will freeze tonight.
I've done what I can. Maurice is curled up behind me on my chair, my house smells heavenly, it is warm and cozy. I haven't talked to my husband since last night but I am assuming that he is fine.
It's time to go finish up the soup. Cashews and squash and sweet potato and onion and garlic and ginger and turmeric and cumin and, and, and, AND coconut milk?
Let me just say that if I die tonight, I'll have died happy.
I hear one of the baby kitties. Maybe I'll go put a can of tuna in that trap along with the can of cat food. I sure don't want them dying tonight.
See you tomorrow.