Yada-Yada-Yada

It has been a wet, gloomy, chilly, drizzly day in Lloyd. I rose to the occasion by doing nothing. I fell into the jigsaw puzzle time suck which only quantum physics can explain, and sat there listening to Barbra for at least three hours. I've now listened to seven hours of this book which means I've heard 15% of it. So far I'm still enjoying it. It's interesting enough. It's no Keith Richards autobiography, I'll tell you that. Hell, Babs doesn't even drink and I doubt she's ever slept with Ronnie Spector, or partied with Howlin' Wolf either. If I discover she has, I'll be sure to tell you. 

I ordered a different ironing board cover. I went for a pretty one this time. It also has all the bells and whistles, though. 

Roses! And I did measure the ironing board and this one should fit. 

I also ordered another pair of Gap overalls. I'm living large right now, obviously. 

I read Rebecca's latest post which is a step-by-step recipe with time instructions for making a loaf of sharp cheddar and dill sourdough bread. This inspired me enough to at least feed my starter which has been in the refrigerator without intervention for probably weeks now. I could practically hear its little voice, growing fainter and fainter pleading, "Help me." 
Now. Let me tell you something. The reason Rebecca's sourdough bread comes out looking like something you'd buy in an extremely high-end artisan bakery shop, is because she does all the things she describes in her post when she makes her bread. 
Y'all- I can't. 
This is why Rebecca is a true bread artist and I am a...dilettante. If I can even be called that. I bake sourdough like Gus would have in Lonesome Dove using his cast iron dutch oven over coals on the trail while herding cattle. 
Well, if Gus had had a Kitchen Aid with a dough hook. 
But please go visit Rebecca and see how she does it. 
When I was in the fancy cookware shop yesterday, the lady next to me in line was buying sourdough-making supplies and we got to chatting. I told her about how beautiful the bread is that my friend out in Washington makes. The lady behind the counter got interested and next thing I knew, I was showing them pictures from my phone. There were oohs and aahs of genuine appreciation. 
I am such a fangirl. 

So our Gibson is coming to spend the night tomorrow! Hurray! Our sweet, sweet boy. His meal of choice is spaghetti. I asked him if he wanted meat sauce or sauce with meatballs. He said, "Meatballs, preferably." Which I loved. Of course I will make meatballs! 
I was reading some old posts of mine when I was searching for pictures of our visits to Weeki Wachee and I was reminded of the sweetness and joy that Gibson spread wherever he went when he was a little guy. I mean, he still does, but he was so darling, just saying, "Hi!" to everyone, giving them smiles that stole their hearts and making them smile right back. So tomorrow I'll wash the sheets on the guest room bed because every grandchild deserves fresh, clean sheets at Mer's house. I will be so glad he's here. 

I truly enjoyed cooking in my new pot last night. Mr. Moon did finally get the dishwasher back in working order and I was able to take my kitchen back. I believe I picked the perfect thing to cook in that pristine white pot.

It's a little unsettling how much pleasure I got out of seeing those beautifully colored ingredients simmering in that saucepan. 

Sigh.

And that was one delicious dish. I used some apple cider vinegar, some balsamic vinegar, a little water, a little Turbinado sugar, salt, and caraway seeds in it too. 

I think my Pennsylvania grandfather was being channeled through me and Le Creuset. 

Mr. Moon's at a basketball game with Tom tonight. They had to leave here at 5:45 in order to be in their seats at 7:00 for the tip-off. Tom refuses to use a wheelchair which would make everything so much easier but Glen respects his right to preserve his dignity however he can at this point. This is the first game of the season they've attended. Not only because of Tom's troubles with mobility but also (and probably more importantly), FSU's basketball team sucks this year. Or so I'm told. 

Love...Ms. Moon