It has finally been a little hot around here.
A couple of blocks from us there is an old hitching ring in the sidewalk; it recently acquired a horse.
Two summers ago it was tennis. Last summer: hack-sack. This summer, Sloan's obsession is tennis. Sometimes she plays with me, even though I am terrible. Last week, we played for a while, then walked over to the Wallingford farmer's market so she could have a snack before going to her next tennis match. She's considering golf for next summer, though I thought sea kayaking was a better choice.
Ross and I had a picnic lunch in the park.
The Volunteer Park ice cream truck is a nifty one. After the vendor finished hocking his treats, the truck wouldn't start for a few tries, but the song never missed a beat.
Long ago, Elizabeth introduced me to the blog
Orangette. Orangette lives in Seattle, and posts yummy, not-too-difficult recipes along with charming little tales from her life. I guess we have been working towards fulfilling her "Picnic Quota," theory, a theory with which I wholeheartedly agree. It goes something like: the number of picnics in a summer is directly proportionate to one's success at making it through the dark, rainy winter.
The origins of the expression "chock-full" are mysterious--cheek-full, maybe, or possibly choke.
We tried this Moonstruck Chile Chocolate bar for the first time, and it is pretty much my perfect chocolate. Mm-mm. It's made in Portland, which I'm beginning to understand is a land of culinary plenty.
It has finally been a little hot around here.
A couple of blocks from us there is an old hitching ring in the sidewalk; it recently acquired a horse.
Two summers ago it was tennis. Last summer: hack-sack. This summer, Sloan's obsession is tennis. Sometimes she plays with me, even though I am terrible. Last week, we played for a while, then walked over to the Wallingford farmer's market so she could have a snack before going to her next tennis match. She's considering golf for next summer, though I thought sea kayaking was a better choice.
Ross and I had a picnic lunch in the park.
The Volunteer Park ice cream truck is a nifty one. After the vendor finished hocking his treats, the truck wouldn't start for a few tries, but the song never missed a beat.
Long ago, Elizabeth introduced me to the blog Orangette. Orangette lives in Seattle, and posts yummy, not-too-difficult recipes along with charming little tales from her life. I guess we have been working towards fulfilling her "Picnic Quota," theory, a theory with which I wholeheartedly agree. It goes something like: the number of picnics in a summer is directly proportionate to one's success at making it through the dark, rainy winter.
The origins of the expression "chock-full" are mysterious--cheek-full, maybe, or possibly choke.
We tried this Moonstruck Chile Chocolate bar for the first time, and it is pretty much my perfect chocolate. Mm-mm. It's made in Portland, which I'm beginning to understand is a land of culinary plenty.
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