Bubbly Grapes

I bought champagne grapes, on a whim. Best idea ever.
Dessert and breakfast.

I'm so close to my deadline being done. The tiny portion of my brain that's still functioning, I have filled entirely with post deadline plans.

1. Go to Bowen and convalesce for a week.

2. Return, at which point Claire will be back from Saturna. Move into the Gibson Family Chateau, and stay there until kicked out, all cuddled up beside Claire's DVD player.

Window Pictures

The view outside my window last night was so thrilling, I kept having to stop my work in order to gape at it.

Crackly summer storm turned the sky increasingly impossible shades of orange.

Then there were fireworks, on top of the sheet lightning and the thunder. It's like they were battling to see who could be loudest and most flashy.

I'd say the lightning won. I wish I'd been at Bowen for it.

A bit too much of a badness for my tastes

I bought a selection of tasty things, for my last, desperate week of lettering and formatting Beast. Also eggs. Eggs are the best thinking food.

Magpie Candy

Jewelled grape bread. Which made me want to examine my hoards of shiny things.



A lot of these are random bits of glittering plastic I've picked up off the street. People are so careless with their shinies, these days.

Does Not Like Yogurt Drops

My attempt to make something elaborately and ceremoniously tasty with things I had on hand ended with yogurt and honey and chopped pistachios. I'm in the middle of a yogurt fixation. But really, what I want to do more than anything is get chauffered to some distant and magical pasty shop, like maybe this one, in North Vancouver, so I can buy some expensive tiny pastry succubus that will bankrupt me entirely, and yet wrap me all up in its sweet-scented buttery thrall.

Also, I had my dog staying with me for a bit. He is a Dutch princess.

Lizard

A mysterious person of ill repute left a lizard on the edge of my easel.

It is unreasonably hot, today. It feels like I'm living inside my dog's steamy dog mouth. It's grinding to a halt all my plans for getting work done, and more importantly, my plans for guiltily shirking work in order to go in search of tasty things to eat, and tasty books to read, along with.

Baked Beans

So Heinz baked beans are perfectly fine, and there's nothing wrong with them, and I eat them all the time. But I when I buy something for myself, be it food, or clothing, or sundry item, I want to imagine that somebody out there put a particular hands-on attention into designing and making it. And maybe even they liked doing it, because that is their favourite thing in life, crafting whatever that object is. This is a crazy fixation of mine, and it means that I sometimes spend a really, seriously stupid amount of money on things. But I'm so into it, see? The crafting of stuff.

And wouldn't it be nice, if there was somebody who was really, really dedicated to making the perfect baked beans? And wouldn't you want to be friends with that person, or at least know where to find that product? They might make unusual flavours. Maple syrup and cranberry, for instance. Molasses and sausage? Yes. Spicy curry. It would be the best thing ever.

Muffin II

I've eaten a muffin from Our Town Cafe almost every day since I've moved here. Really, they have the best muffins ever, wodgy and substantial. But for weeks and weeks, while sampling every kind they carried, I avoided their selection of vegan, and can you even believe it, no-sugar muffins. I've had the odd good vegan muffin in my day, usually thoroughly de-veganed with an unreasonable quantity of butter, but no sugar? Do they come with hair shirts and rods of flagellation?

Of course, one day they were almost sold out of muffins, and I was forced to try one, and hot damn, they were fantastic. If I don't have one every morning for breakfast, now, then I'm a petulant wreck. Go figure.

Deadline Bolstering

My Scary Deadline foods of choice, at present, are meringues and strawberries. Though really they are just a stand-in for rice pudding, which nobody carries in the summer, but I've been yearning for it, and making Brandon walk with me to the grocery store every evening to check if any has been made.



Yesterday Claire and Brandon and I hit up ABC books on Broadway. I bought a nice chewy fantasy novel as deadline comfort reading. It had an odd fuzzy sticker on the inside front, which endeared me to it further.



And as the jewel in the crown of the day, I had a look at the sale at my favourite store, and they had just brought out from their back rooms the shirt I'd been fixated on all last year (and had thought was long sold out), now much reduced in price. Long-scattered stars aligned, and a bolt of light fell from the heavens, and I was proven the true and rightful King of England. Best shirt ever. Plus they gave me another chocolate bar.

Gully

I've bought a fern, for no other reason except that I wanted to call it "Gully". Full title: Fern Gully.

But really, I was wandering through my neighborhood the other day, sniffing around the borders of a community garden, and I suddenly had this totally uncharacteristic notion that I wanted a plot of my own, within it. I know that for a tender infant of 27, I'm more of an old woman than most old women, but still, this was really out of the blue. Anyway, after making myself think rationally about it, I had to admit that I still have no interest in gardening, but I do have a yearning for some kind of unlimited garden access. I often daydream about befriending some nice lady who perhaps, conveniently, runs a tea shop, with scones, and biscuits, and pies, and hearty tea cakes, and whose giant rambling wild garden I have a general invitation to come sit in. And don't get me wrong, this would be a tough old lady. Motorcycles in the garage, and an elapsed pilot's license. Seriously, I devote a ridiculous portion of my daily life to imagining and perfecting this scenario.
Anyway, when I don't have full and free access to Bowen Island, I need some kind of planty interactions. Thus, welcome home Gully.