I'm finally better.
Actually, I have a cold. But compared to last week, I feel like running a marathon.
This weekend I made some apple sauce, which in my case is actually just apple mush. I leave the peeling on and there are lots of apple chunks in it. I add a little vanilla, a little cinnamon, butter, lemon zest, sugar... I love it so.
Cooking in our new kitchen is so different than the old one. I feel a little disloyal saying that, but the old kitchen was so dark. It was in the interior of the house, with only one window far away from the counters. This kitchen is so bright. Windows, windows, everywhere.
I can see over the backyard where hundreds of daffodils are confused and already trying to bloom. I can hear the birds. Winter isn't so bad in this house.
I forced some azalea and forsythia branches on the windowsill above the sink. We took stock of the yard for the first time this weekend. Three Althea (or Rose of Sharon) bushes, a giant gardenia bush, 8 hydrangea bushes... I've died and gone to heaven. Have I mentioned the climbing hydrangea on a giant oak tree? The rose bushes?
Lord have mercy. I hope I don't kill them all.
And nope, I didn't watch the Superbowl. I've reached the stage of life where I don't feel the need to say, "Oh, yes. I watch sports," pretending like I'm one of those cool wives. I'm not a cool wife. I've stopped the charade. I don't watch sports. I don't wear jerseys. I don't have a favorite team. I don't mind if Matt watches them. I'll even sit through a game with my magazines. But no. I don't care about them, with the exception of baseball. I love going to a good game, eating a hot dog, and letting Matt explain it all to me.
Luckily, Matt doesn't expect me to care about sports.
Just like I don't expect him to read Pride and Prejudice.
See, it all works out.