What a week it’s been! We started last Sunday with a 10 course Feast of the Seven Fishes traditional Southern Italian meal at the home of our friend Ric Scalzo (owner and founder of Gaia Herbs). The food and company and overall environs were wonderful and truly appreciated. Then, there was the roof situation, which I’m happy to report has resulted in a grand new roof that imparts to our humble abode a bit of a thatched English cottage look, appropriately enough!
Then, on Christmas Eve, we headed to the home of our friends Nick and Meredith and their 3 1/2 year old son, Miles. They actually live in a home that I used to live in, which was beautifully constructed from a number of different types of wood over the course of 10 years from timber on the 185 acres where the house is situated. It’s truly a magnificent space.
A scene from the feasting. We were probably around course 6 at this point. It was delicious, and ridiculously filling. And lots of fun!
Miles decided to leave Santa ham rolls instead of cookies. What can I say? He’s an iconoclastic kid with artists for parents!
We’re getting a new roof today. There are 3 men presently ripping off old shingles with glee and abandon, like roofers do. We’ve needed a new roof for a long, long time, but kept putting it off. Two weeks ago, during a long, hard rain, when we had buckets and towels set out to collect drips that were occurring all over the house, it seemed that we couldn’t wait any longer. You try sleeping through a constant drip 12 inches from your bed, when pillows over the head, ambient music, and even ear plugs all fail to quiet the incessant noise.
This is an old Christmas card written by my youngest sister, Theo (the little blond in the picture). Devan is the one with the weird grimace and I’m the 18-year old with too much eye makeup on. I love this card. It resurfaced recently after years of living in my “letters” box. I keep it on my desk for a quick smile. Never underestimate the power of hand-written cards and letters. I’ve tucked away many for posterity. For me, they have the transcendent power of scents, instantly transporting me back to people and places long ago. They help me see things with fresh eyes, where I was, where I’ve gone, who I am becoming, how malleable reality is.
No one ever said keeping chickens was going to be a cakewalk. I’d noticed Uno’s backside looking a little less than pleasant on Friday. Yesterday, I could tell something was up and this morning, upon closer inspection, well, suffice to say, things aren’t looking too altogether bootylicious for Uno right now. For those who know chickens, her cloaca is prolapsed. She’s the shrimpiest gal in my flock, so passing eggs must have caused things to move a bit too much, if you see where I’m going without my having to get technical (I know some of you have weak stomachs).