yum!

Always on a quest for culinary adventure, last night I ventured into uncharted territory and made...Pineapple-Black Bean Enchiladas. They are absolutely fantastic. And quite healthy, with whole grain tortillas and fiber and whatnot. I think next time I'll add a bit of cooked chicken, but even vegetarian they are wonderful and tasty. Not too spicy, so I may also kick it up with more spices next time.

Here's the link: http://www.recipezaar.com/154388.

Perhaps I should have taken a picture; they even looked quite pretty. Occasionally I make things that taste delicious but don't quite look it.

Speaking of delicious, just wait until I get a post up here with a picture of my new dining room set! I'm almost done painting the last chair. Of course, then there's the small matter of getting the seats reconstructed...but at least I have the fabric already. Of course I do.

snippets

I think it's time to present a fun little snippet of story. At some point there will hopefully be more to this scene, but for now it's still quite short. Regardless, I think it has good potential for mischief. Enjoy!

She looked sideways at him, vastly annoyed. What right did he have to look so broad-chested and magnificent—godlike, even—with the evening sun beaming golden and kind against his face, turning his skin to honey gold, his eyes to deep pools under the strong jet-black brows. Even his beard was handsome, with his decisive cheekbones—and she hated beards. The light evening breezes were stirring, rippling his dark cloak. Nancy tore her eyes away before she could be caught staring, and took a reflective, perspective-restoring inventory of the condition of her fingernails. Such nonsense. Such annoying nonsense.

The wind that cast Ardeth’s clothes dramatically about him only made her hair blow into her eyes and sent a fine wave of grit into her nose and mouth. She rubbed her face with a sleeve, then raked her hair back and held it away by clamping her hand down on the top of her head. She had a moment of self-pity at her own lack of romantic suitability for the scene, then jerked herself loose and focused on the view, which was admittedly very fine whether she fit into it or not.

ramblings

Well, it's beyond time for another post.

Of course, I'm not sure what to post about. Ho hum. I could wax poetical about the fantastically gorgeous weather--again. I could comment on the baby deer--again. I could rejoice in my new washing machine, but that would just be painfully dull. I could reflect on what it means to be a single gal in America, but I'm not much for public, emotional baring-of-souls, and I'm not feeling the rational half of the issue just now.

What I should do is get to work. I think I'll do that--leaving y'all with the comforting (maybe) knowledge that even the Wonderspools is occasionally at a loss for appropriate commentary.

Peace out.

time to mow the lawn again

I’m the furthest thing from sentimental
and yet
and yet
the beauty of the early-morning summer sky
that fresh, brand-new air
the world aglow with new possibility
makes my heart just ache
and ache
and ache

fabric utopia

I sew. I do. Whether or not it's cool, I like it. I also just love fabric in general. Mmm. Lovely, delicious fabric. As I've been living in a house with plenty of space, I've been able to get my fabric out of it's bulging tub and into this nice shelving unit in the second bedroom--aka, the sewing room. Ah. An entire room just for sewing. Marvelous!
So, I had plenty of fabric bits and bobs...and then my parents moved, and my mother (a far better seamstress than I) decided it was time to purge her 30-year fabric collection. And VOILA!

Fabric Utopia! Ugly upholstery fabric! Canvas! Fleece! Salvaged tablecloths and sheets! Cotton remnants! I could sew for months without leaving the house. And if you look closely on the upper right-hand border, you can see there is more stacked in the closet next to the shelves.

Life is good.

oh deer!

The other day I realized that it had been a while since I'd seen my "regulars" in the yard--a doe and her two yearlings. (Ok, so I assume they are both hers--how could I ask her?) When I "met" them last August, they were a momma and two large fawns. Despite the gratuitous quantities of deer that I regularly see, I fancied that I could always pick them out, even when the fawns lost their spots. Not many does travel with two young. So, when I stopped seeing them, I suddenly realized a possible why--and an answer to why I haven't been seeing many deer at all lately.

It's spring! Birthing season. Think Bambi in the thicket. So, had my favorite deer family expanded? How could I know?

I can't know, not for sure. But yesterday evening, as I looked out the living room window in the pre-twilight gray, I saw a doe trot out of the heavy brush that borders the woods just west of my house. She was followed by the smallest fawn I have ever seen.

And I--even I--stopped to saw "aw, how adorable!" I think my cat could beat this little thing up. It was so small and wobbly--and absolutely all legs.

They are definitely nesting? roosting? bedding down? in that patch of thick brush and bramble close to my house. Hopefully, that means I'll see them again, and I'll get to watch that little guy grow.

And maybe I'll get to see his big siblings too. Though they're probably off with families of their own now. The next time I see the herd, I'll ask.

Love: 20¢ the First Quarter Mile

by Kenneth Fearing

All right. I may have lied to you and about you, and made a few
pronouncements a bit too sweeping, perhaps, and possibly forgotten
to tag the bases here or there,
And damned your extravagance, and maligned your tastes, and libeled
your relatives, and slandered a few of your friends,
O.K.,
Nevertheless, come back.

Come home. I will agree to forget the statements that you issued so
copiously to the neighbors and the press,
And you will forget that figment of your imagination, the blonde from Detroit;
I will agree that your lady friend who lives above us is not crazy, bats,
nutty as they come, but on the contrary rather bright,
And you will concede that poor old Steinberg is neither a drunk, nor
a swindler, but simply a guy, on the eccentric side, trying to get along.
(Are you listening, you [w]itch, and have you got this straight?)

Because I forgive you, yes, for everything.
I forgive you for being beautiful and generous and wise,
I forgive you, to put it simply, for being alive, and pardon you, in short, for being you.

Because tonight you are in my hair and eyes,
And every street light that our taxi passes shows me you again, still you,
And because tonight all other nights are black, all other hours are cold
and far away, and now, this minute, the stars are very near and bright.

Come back. We will have a celebration to end all celebrations.
We will invite the undertaker who lives beneath us, and a couple of
boys from the office, and some other friends.
And Steinberg, who is off the wagon, and that insane woman who lives
upstairs, and a few reporters, if anything should break.