He Bakes to Cope

The weather has turned cold and wet. Adam is miserable. Nothing gets him down like bad weather. Soggy, bone-chilling weather drives him straight to the kitchen, and he starts to bake. He made lovely sweet-potato rolls.

Then he made a first, and a second, loaf of Challah bread.

He came in the bedroom this morning (where I sat huddled in my chair under many layers) and asked, "Do you want potato soup or French onion soup?" I said potato. I told him, "Now don't make any more bread." I know how he is. But it was too late; he already had a batch of focaccia in the oven.

Add to that the batch of oatmeal/cranberry cookies he baked yesterday --

-- and the tray of cracker cookies I made, and it's ludicrous that we still consider ourselves to be dieting. Those cracker cookies, BTW, did not turn out like the cute facebook video promised. The saltines turned soggy, the chocolate chips refused to smear, and Adam told me to throw them out, which I did not.
In spite of our dead heat pump and temps in the 30's, we are actually warm enough with three of these:

A small house is easier and cheaper to heat and cool, even if its roof somehow mysteriously still leaks :(

The Christmas season is upon us! Last night we went to Pamlico Chorale's Christmas concert at the Methodist church in Oriental. It was lovely! In spite of reduced number and limited male singers, I thought it was a fun, sweet, pretty concert. It's so important, no matter what group you're in (church, choir, family, neighborhood) to remain optimistic and happy when people leave. Be thankful for who's there.
I'm plotting my own Christmas music, setting two songs for autoharp. It's challenging and fun to find the chord structure and make it work on an instrument with only 15 chords.

"O Come, Little Children" is a solo for tomorrow (2nd Sunday in Advent). Rutter's "Nativity Carol" was more challenging. I couldn't find its chords anywhere online, except it was in the key of D major. If I'm brave maybe I'll record myself singing and playing for you. Hmm. I might need more rehearsal.
The house is decorated at last.

 

 

I intend to continue my Jesse Tree and lighted village even without children living at home. My mother-in-law said wisely this morning that as you age you enter into a second childhood of sorts, when you may do as you please as long as you don't go to town in your robe and slippers. Much of my Christmas stuff was for the kids when they were little, but I love it still.

And that made me think that after I finish this story about Punkin and her baby mouse, I should write  a little farm story about Christmas. I understand Beatrix Potter a little; watching the small animals on a farm gives you limitless material for stories. A little sparrow just lit on my window. The chickens are mincing their way through wet leaves. Sometimes I hear a little mouse crunching away on a poison trap in a closet. Ned is afraid of the rain. We saw a small squirrel leap from tree branch to tree branch -- almost -- attempting to escape the dogs and reach the orchard. It fell quite far through the air and landed in a small apple tree, unhurt.

My little oil heater is gurgling as I sit in my studio and watch the mud puddles and the birds, hunting breakfast. I skipped the farmers' market this morning. It's 37 degrees, Adam says. 
Stay warm, folks, wherever you are!