Still In the Grip

Lace curtains don't dance on the breeze as much as they float.  I know I'm a bit "tetched," but I just love to watch laundry on the line.  After hanging this load, it occurred to me that I'd better take advantage of what might be the last day of sunshine for a while (according to the weathermen) and I ended up washing all the curtains in the house.  Order has been restored in the living room, but now I have all those other windows to wash.  House-cleaningitis still has me in its grip.

Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, cream gravy.  Sunday dinner.  Even after all this time, I still find it difficult to cook for one.  It feels like a child playing house to mash just a single potato, but I craved a real Sunday dinner last night and I must say it was darned good.  When all my Kids were home, I never cooked less than fourteen pork chops at a meal.  On taco night, two dozen tacos went on the table for starters and I continued cooking more while they ate those.  A three-pound meatloaf would not be enough for leftovers.  I have stew pots, long unused now, that are big enough for an army.  One piece of chicken?  Child's play!

By sundown, the temperature had dropped and the wind had picked up.  After barn chores, I went through the house closing windows, washed and yet-to-be-washed, and put the comforter back on the bed.  Time to tighten the seat belt for the fall roller coaster.