Working for pleasure

I love taking the day off, the men went to work and I stayed in bed listening to Gladys Knight singing 'Rainy night in Georgia' followed by the rest of the women on Lady sings the Blues, CD - a lazy cuppa whilst finishing off a book. Can a Monday morning get any better than that?
Possibly.  But I am not complaining.

I set about cleaning and sorting my stash - finding lost treasures and finding new ones.  I put together another tote.  I think it is time to start selling them as one can only have so many - what I did find was material that I bought in Canada with a good friend and a fat quarter given to me by another good friend, so I put them together and viola!

Living in a home full of men and cats has its moments - let me introduce my pack - the two biggest fellas are off doing man stuff.  The fella with the book is Mooseboy.  The big white cat who looks like he is strangling the small ginger cat is Gryff, the cat being strangled is Miss Darcy and the lovely chocolate colored goddess Circe, likes to sleep close but not too close.  They sit, slumber, read patiently while I sew. 

the weekend bags

I love this bag - I took it apart and relined it with a different stiffening material which has given it a softer and more comfortable feel  when you toss it over your shoulder.  Of course the question has to be asked just what am I going to do with all these bags?

Mooseboy is testing out a cookbook that I have bought him - well I bought it for the males in my household, it is time for them to do some cooking on the weekend as I don't particularly want to cook on the weekend. 

So tonight's gastronomic delight is macaroni cauliflower cheese  - which may not sound particularly slimming BUT as I am not cooking, have a glass of wine in hand,  three finished bags,  patted the cats who are luxuriating in front of the fire I am feeling a little smug - the down side is I  am hearing the sounds of pots crashing and disgruntled mumbling coming from the kitchen...ah the joy of cooking.

Bag Lady

Banging on about Doris

You know, it is one of the mysteries of life, that you get older you sound remarkedly like your mother, you sound like her, your body starts (ugh) resembling hers - I mean of course, you realise your never going to be 5"10 (I have no idea what that is in the new language but I have always wanted to be that tall), that you are impossibly now set in your ways and, AND, you can't let something go, case in point is Doris Grant. 
I am unashamedly a convert to her bread and her thinking.  But before you think "oh god, not one of those" I confess to an addiction to dark chocolate kitkats, maltesers and quiver at the knees when confronted with feta and toasted Pane di Genzano toasted with olive oil and sundried tomatoes and can be prone to fish and chips when after a long day at work don't feel like cooking.  But a 'Dorisism' caught my attention as I continued to peruse her book Dear Housewives:

The late Sir Drummond, who was adviser to the Ministry of Food during the war ( for those who may read this and born after 1960, it means WWII), maintained that if the people in this country[England] could live on fresh home grown foodstuffs, the hospitals, in twenty years, would be nearly empty.  White flour, therefore, to crown its other sins,  is not longer a fresh food - it is merely a 'filler' food, and worthless as a source of health, and of life.

I love Doris more and more - she is a woman of common sense and a wonderful turn of phrase.  I have to confess to buying wholemeal/grain bread bought and wrapped in plastic this week - I simply ran out of time to make more bread.  But I did find that the loaf of bread I made stayed fresher longer (we finished the 2nd loaf on Wednesday), it didn't toast all that well and that she was right about eating food that you know where it comes from, how it was grown and what it contains.  I also learned that I can make my friends son a sandwich (he has loads of allergies) and I know exactly what it contains without studiously reading the label (with my glasses on, 'cause god forbid that writing is small of the ingredients list).

Memo to brain though - I have to remember to grease the bread tin otherwise the bread sticks to it HARD - frustration abounds.  Bon apatito.