recalibration.

Yesterday I made veggies and poached eggs, inspired by this recipe. I listened to loud music as I chopped veggies, and then sat down with the latest New Yorker on the porch to eat the first half of this. (The second half was dinner.) In between, Boh and I went on an outing, to one of our favorite places to walk. You know, before we had a path in the backyard. He needed an adventure, and I needed some spices from the farm market nearby. So off we went.

I think we both really needed an hour away from everything. We put our paws in the creek, and enjoyed the beginnings of fall colors. And the warmth of the sun. It’s going to turn cold again this week.

One more shot of Boh, ever vigilant at the door. He works so hard. And I’m trying to. I’d really like to send off a draft of my prospectus today. I was aiming for the weekend, but today’s a holiday (for some) right? So today would still count as making my self-imposed deadline…

pie.

Strawberry-rhubarb-basil. It could have used a little bit of sugar, as the rhubarb was very tart, but it was bright and fresh-tasting, and the basil even seemed to sweeten it a little!

Oatmeal-pecan. Pie you can eat for breakfast. You know, because of the oatmeal. (I’m baking pies for a friend’s wedding next month, so I’ve been baking and eating more pie in order to help her make some important decisions about fillings and crusts. Tough life, I know.)

Also, here’s some stuff that isn’t pie:

Dogs and books. And me. All in a big pile.

Tango, in a rare contemplative moment.

Remember what I was saying about kitchen mojo? This has been a go-to for me this summer, in part because mojo is not required. Also, the gratification is immediate. Which I like. I have been eating this on Tuesdays. And other days, too, but especially Tuesdays. I get home from the farm, slice into my weekly bread share loaf, cut up a tomato, a hot pepper, and find some cheese in the fridge. I turn on the broiler. I sliver some basil. I pile all that stuff on the toast (this week it is a rye with caraway seeds encrusted on the outside), slide it under the broiler, and wait less than five minutes, until the toast is dark around the edges and the cheese is bubbling and starting to brown. Then I take it out and make myself go in the other room, or take out the compost, or do something to not eat this right away, because I will burn my mouth. And then I take my broiled tomato toast to the porch to enjoy. Summer food, at its finest.

It is rainy this morning, and I have a hankering for knitting with handspun. Boh and I are headed to a family wedding this weekend, and amidst the packing (so much harder to throw stuff in a bag and go when you have to look pretty where you’re going) I’m hoping to find time to wind up some squishy comfort yarn. The grey, rainy morning might have something to do with that. Happy weekend!