As I sit here sipping this magical brew, I am thinking about my son. He brought me coffee. This one is amazing. We brewed a pot yesterday afternoon and I drank a cup then. I was still able to sleep last night, but it would have been worth the insomnia. Heavenly, it was. The smell, the taste. Sigh. I will guard it and brew only for special occasion. I won't share, so don't ask! He who is addicted to Diet Coke took a sip and proclaimed it to be nasty. What a waste. I drink it black, so I can enjoy the taste of the coffee. Maybe he was expecting something with sugar and cream?
I love this face! My boy, all grown up. He is sweet and sensitive. One year on my birthday he came into my office with a bag in his hand and handed me my most favorite cookies in all the land of store bought cookies. Pepperidge Farm Bordeaux cookies. They are thin and crispy. They taste like the crunchy top of a pound cake (homemade, of course). Just don't look at the nutritional facts on the side of the bag. Just savor the delicate buttery, sugary essence. I let it melt on my tongue, then sip coffee. Oh, I wish I had some!
Zara is four. Mr. Martha, the kitten looks huge in her arms. Martha was pretty well behaved for the most part yesterday. It was a little loud and exciting with three little girls trying to pet him and hold him.
Zara found Gramma's camera. There were many interesting shots on it. This is Zara's legs and feet.
This is Gramma and Papa. There were some other shots of me ........ they have been deleted. Let's just say they were less than flattering. Thank the good Lord for digital cameras. I would have really struggled with paying for developing and then having to destroy the evidence.
We are not sure why Zara was climbing through the stools. Maybe Martha, the kitten extraordinaire, was showing her how.
She didn't get stuck ......
She seems to be intrigued with Papa's ever present cap.
Another face I am smitten with. She walked into the kitchen while I was working on our dinner. "What are you making?" she asked. "I am making dinner, what are you making? I asked her. She looked up at me very seriously and said, "I am not a maker."
Zara, the clown.