Rainy days are the best...

  Hello there. I've been missing in action the past couple of months, I know.  I'm starting to feel like the boy who cried wolf, so I won't even say that I'm going to do better, or get motivated or any of that. lol   It just is what it is. And today it's rainy -- a soft rain, thankfully --  and I have a touch of a cold,. so I am more than happy to stay indoors and putter.  I'll probably be lying around a bit and maybe even sleeping some.  I'm not real sick, and I'd just as soon not get that way. I started drinking Golden Milk when the first sore throat symptoms appeared 3 days ago.  It's a mixture of almond or coconut milk with turmeric, ginger, black pepper and honey. A great immune booster. An anti-inflammatory. Anti-oxidant.  So not only are the cold symptoms relieved, but my joints aren't hurting either.  The osteoarthritis has been one giant flare this summer and fall.  It's been a strange year...

  The garden wasn't much to speak of this year. Very little canning have I done, except for a few green beans and lots of pickled beets.  I have plans to can pinto and Great Northern beans in the near future. I have canned chicken breast too, about 10- 1.5 pint jars. Somebody has some beef roast on sale this week and I might buy some of that and can it too.  I have been dehydrating and freezing some mushrooms. In fact the dehydrator is full of the first of the years chicken of the woods right now and I need to jar that up. The dryer is stopped so there are clothes to fold. Something about today reminds me of that wonderful song by Carrie Newcomer, Holy As A Day Is Spent:


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Holy is the dish and drain
The soap and sink, and the cup and plate
And the warm wool socks, and the cold white tile

Shower heads and good dry towels
And frying eggs sound like psalms
With bits of salt measured in my palm
It's all a part of a sacrament
As holy as a day is spent

Holy is the busy street
And cars that boom with passion's beat
And the check out girl, counting change
And the hands that shook my hands today

And hymns of geese fly overhead
And spread their wings like their parents did
Blessed be the dog that runs in her sleep
To chase some wild and elusive thing

Holy is the familiar room
And quiet moments in the afternoon

And folding sheets like folding hands
To pray as only laundry can

I'm letting go of all my fear
Like autumn leaves made of earth and air
For the summer came and the summer went
As holy as a day is spent

Holy is the place I stand
To give whatever small good I can
And the empty page, and the open book
Redemption everywhere I look

Unknowingly we slow our pace
In the shade of unexpected grace
And with grateful smiles and sad lament
As holy as a day is spent

And morning light sings 'providence'
As holy as a day is spent

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   And so it goes...this life on Honeysuckle Hill. The laundry room ceiling collapsed a couple of months ago and yesterday was the final day of getting the roof replaced.  It has been a mess (still is out there, although I spent a part of the morning  picking up shingles and boards and plastic  from all over the yard) but now it won't leak (I pray) and the hammering and sawing has stopped. I didn't realize just how much I value the peace and quiet of my life. It has been stressful and expensive and daunting.   And now it is finished. The gutters still have to go back up, but the rest of it is done.


  So, feels like a soup day, with temp highs in the 60's.  Not sure what kind, but something. I made a Tuscan Tortellini soup last week and it was excellent. One of the many reasons I love this time of year.   Soup.   Yum.  


...Good to be back.  



Namaste
.