My weeks have been made of Sundays lately. And it really feels like walking with my eyes closed and crossing my fingers at every step I take.
Not unlike getting lost.
It’s been oh-so-quiet around here lately. Perhaps, that’s what happens when I have too much to say, too much to do, too much to look forward to.
But last night, I saw the dark sky turn into fireworks.
A friend, of the dear-to-my-heart kind, made this cake today. A few thousands of kilometres away. And I did too. In ten minutes, from cupboards to oven*.
It was eaten on the couch.
[Japanese-style milk buns]
It was a night of early winter, I think. It was possibly raining. And dark.
I can’t remember for sure, but it seems right.
I weighed flour and water in a pan.
It seems I’ve been kept busy by the sound of pebbles rolling under the waves. In my records, it’s an all-good kind of thing.
At times – when we’re too tired to eat and too hungry to sleep – only a slice of soggy pizza will do. And the microwave becomes our best friend as we’re heating the fat edge from a store-bought pizza until the mozzarella starts to bubble.