Sunday, 8 November 2009
Fall As You May
I love the Fall. I love the leaves on the trees, it's like a bowl of American cereal, Fruit Loops, when I look out my windows. And I love it when all the leaves come down and my Rooster rakes them all up. What a good boy really. It is our least favourite job in the garden. The stragglers are hanging on now and the trees just look sad but it is still really pretty out there.
Halloween was a blast. A few trick or treaters but that wasn't the aim of the night. How to feed a group of your best friends who came dressed up to the nines as witches and devils,only orange food through three courses. Pomegranate champagne, salmon starters, orange chicken curry and pumpkin pie. I had to throw in a few extra colours for variety but it all turned out great. The rooster and I have a friend who is a maker of fine chocolate. She produces extraordinary and yummy chocs. She supplied me with oranges dipped in dark chocolate and chili chocolates to die for. What a clever girl.
I also love November. I am one of those people who enjoy the luxury of home internet shopping and am quite happy to sit up at odd hours and Christmas shop on line. I work all of November and December so it is my best option unless I start shopping in August. I have been known to do this. My little chick is like me and she browses sites from her Blackberry then emails me wish lists. She starts her lists in August too, the ones for herself. She doesn't let me have any fun in just finding lovely things to buy her because I want to. This year I have swarn will be different. I am ignoring her requests which could make for a very heated Christmas morning. We'll see. The boys are worse though. There is just nothing clever and fun for a boy. Practical yes but they only need so many nose hair clippers and navy socks. They will get the latest xbox kill and destroy game though. That will keep them quiet at least while the turkey is roasting.
Bloody timer on the washing machine is dinging and won't quit until I go open the door. Time to be the mother hen again. Chickens love rooting around in all the mud in their pen at the moment, filthy eggs though.