It may be too late. In 2015 I will work on writer and photographer. I can’t become a painter until I meet with George Bush to talk about late artistic bloomers. So next year. Given up on foodery. Makes my stomach hurt.
This morning I took photos of snow and my David Anderson sculpture. At least I think it is. So here are sculpture slices and one snow.
A diary of the first day of 2015 to consider as a guide to the rest of the year. I hope.
7AM. Snowed last night! What a comedown for a Minnesota girl to be out in her pajamas and socks taking pictures of snow. But it looks beautiful. And it’s cloudy besides. Yay for Weather.
9AM. The apartment is scented with spices and ham bone and warmth and a brand-new year. The black-eyed peas soaked overnight and went into the kettle with a lot of ham hocks, a giant onion pierced with cloves, salt, allspice, bay leaf, pepper and lots of water. The recipe was in the NYT yesterday: Black-eyed Peas with Ham Hock and Collards.
NOON. This recipe is Good. Just the right spices; beans and collard greens healthy, hearty, filling; only the ham hocks weren’t right. Flavored the beans and the greens perfectly but the many small chunks of fat and skin weren’t appealing themselves. So next time a ham, hambone or thick-cut bacon. If I make my cooking drink half white wine, half sparkling water I can happily sip all during the food preparation and eating. So far day going just right. 2015 looks promising.
2PM. I made myself spend a couple of hours organizing some Up North writing from my past classes. Then, as a reward, an episode of the British version of Wallander. Little house cleaning, little computer time, few New Year’s Day phone calls.
5PM. Going to work tomorrow after all. Shower, coffeepot ready for morning.
7:30PM. Post this Post. Watch another Wallander. Just to set myself a perfect example for this new year, I’ll re-enter one of those famously long Norwegian novels I’ve been trying to conquer for some time.
Happy New Year to me.