Tag Archives: lemon

As Sleep Creeps In

Sometimes Christmas feels a bit melancholy, and I once despised David Benoit’s tunes for The Peanuts that reminded me so. Now I love them, thankfully. Here’s another somewhat melancholy tune because melancholia sounds better when sung in French, from retro times past.

It was just Christmas a blink of an eye ago, and I was smiling internally all the morning through as I caught glimpses of the accumulated snow out my windows. Standing in the kitchen, I pressed down on a lemon, beginning to roll it along the cutting board to release all its juice before cutting into it for the sweet ginger syrup I was making for the blackberries. I’d just finished preparing an incredibly decadent Butterfinger pie the likes of which Bart would be proud. As I pressed, I looked down to find my hand wet and stinging, juice having found an invisible cut along my index. A first time for everything, there is, juice shot outta the skin of a lemon not yet cut- strength on my part or a lethargic lemon throwing in the towel early- you choose.

Squirrels are just daytime rats with a penchant for nuts. I gathered this while attempting to walk past the recycling bins this morning on the way to the car. I say attempt, because were YOU to be wearing my shoes on the (sneakily) icy pavement, you too may’ve spun ‘round twice, stumbled, and recovered just as I did. A solid 8.5!

I’m reluctant to stop watching holiday movies, as I started late this year. There’s one on in the background, even now. Someone’s late night/early morning shower has started in the building somewhere, which I find soothing to hear- the white noise of it, maybe. Trying not to be afraid of the new year ahead because there’s no use in that, but nevertheless. Hope brought me snow on Christmas, it can bring a heckuva a lot more. I want new and good things for my loved ones to start. ♦

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Anybody Got a Match?

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I looove birthday cake. Bakery birthday cake. Those I’ve known with their “homemade” cakes are most often such a disappointment that I pass on a piece all-together. To them, “homemade” means from a box. And it has definitely tasted like it. Some of that cardboard must’ve made its way into the mix somehow, because all boxed cakes seem to have that unpleasant telltale flavor.

Enter Bean. I told her I wanted to forego cake this year for a number of reasons, but she wasn’t havin’ it. Nestled amongst the gifts was this little gem of a cake made entirely from scratch. Frosting, scratch. Cake, scratch. Lemon filling, ssscratch. She was so excited to have me taste it- though without digging into her creation- that she quickly produced a fork laden with a scoop of each component housed separately in the fridge. The best cake I’ve ever eaten. Tasted just like those lovely bakery confections of times past. Only better.

Had it for breakfast the next morning as per tradition. When all cake should happen, of course. ♦

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