The bad news is: I think I missed strawberry season. And by missed, what I really mean is What? Gone already? Because we've been picking up pints of local berries every couple of days and we picked all those buckets full a few weeks ago to stock our freezer, so it isn't like we missed them at all. But it wasn't enough. We aren't ready to wait a Whole! Year! for more. They taste better, after all that waiting, but my! They sure were so sweet right now. My favorite summer treat, which tastes so fresh and perfect: red, ripe strawberries cut into halves or quarters, a generous dollop of plain yogurt, and then a whole lot of ground almonds on top. I regret not eating that more often. It should be an every single night indulgence, while it lasts.
The good news is: blueberries are here! and I have a new (secondhand) sink to wash them in.
So even though the kitchen sink was low on our list of potential home improvement projects, we couldn't help snagging a replacement recently at a nearby church rummage sale for a whopping five bucks. The faucet came from the secondhand building materials store in town (proceeds benefit Habitat for Humanity) and the fittings and pipes and such came because sometimes fifty plus year old pipes are so corroded and rusty they just can't be salvaged and, thankfully, my not-a-plumber but earnest-and-capable-handyman husband was patient enough to make a lot of trips back and forth today to Lowe's.
Having the right tool for the job makes all the difference. I have wasted a lot of time in the last nine months hand washing dishes all the wrong way. The chore went so much more quickly tonight. And it feels so much better in there now.
But I don't want you to think all I do is moon over enamel (not cast iron enamel, like the old one, no, but apparently enamel over some kind of composite, which hopefully means fewer chipped dishes in my future) and moan about what little project might next revolutionize my life.
While the porridge cooked on the stove this morning, and the berries drained in the colander, I took pictures of the children.
The boy, who did not want to wait for breakfast but did want to wait to have his diaper changed, and he wallowed around on the chair, on both counts:
. . .and cats on her lap (okay, just one cat, but she is a cat charmer, believe it, and it is a wonder that our sour old puss is tolerating the spry kitten now enough to be this close):
I punched down the dough and assembled the pizza as soon as we returned home. It was already closing in on eight, but it's so hard to adhere to dinner-time dinners in the summer in Oregon when it stays bright until past nine o'clock.
And then we ate, sunday night pizza, I've perfected the pizza sauce, after all these years of pizza making, and maybe getting a little bored with the weekly gig, changing up the sauce (of all things, the sauce!) is making such a difference. I get compliments now and they gobble it up and want more and there's not enough left for lunch tomorrow.