My $2 of flower seeds have developed into a seemingly endless lovely supply of cut flowers. Every time I cut the positively last bunch of the season, they're all not so fast, missy, and there's more.
Here's today
One maybe last daisy, zinnias, marigolds, forgetmenots.
Long ago I made a New Year's resolution to have fresh flowers once a month in the house. The pandemic interrupted, then I continued, but with homegrown flowers whenever available. I think improving your life is a good resolution, not just improving yourself. That's a pretty hopeless endeavor at this point with this fallible character.
Since there was a bit of time available, I did an unusual thing. I ironed. These are linen, thrift store buys long ago, altered to suit.
I don't iron much, and then it's more fiberart projects than clothes, but every few launderings, linen really appreciates it.
I've upcycled quite a few linen shirts, cutting off cuffs and making them into pockets, making cuffed sleeves into roll sleeves, cutting shirttails to make straight hems. Simple changes, but they work a treat.
My theory is that almost new linen items end up being donated to the thriftie because someone didn't want the fuss of ironing. I've paid about $5 for name brand clothes going for at least ten times more at retail. Then I wear them for maybe twenty years.
So Misfits arrived, along with my deciding what's for lunch.
Which turned out to be a green salad with dried cranberries, chunks of Cheddar and homemade mayo. Fresh plum for dessert.
And instead of slinging the chicken along with the shrimp into the freezer for future reference, I roasted it right away, why not, for instant use.
Here seen in progress.
The sugar pumpkin is on the step, that and the wooden cat forming the entirety of my Fall decor.
In a few days it will be soup, but right now it's a decorative item.
The mushrooms will do something cooperative with the chicken or maybe the shrimp, we'll see. Or chickpeas.
Happy day everyone, even if your formatting has gone funny as here. Happens to the best of us. Not to Harris and Walz. Wouldn't dare.
