When I woke up yesterday morning, I saw rain pelting down, hard. It looked cold and raw outside.
Inside Ma Maisonette, all was blissfully clean. I took my last vacation day on Friday to fling myself headlong into the cleaning process, which Ma Maisonette desperately needed.
And on Sunday, she shone, warm with yellow lamplight against the grey.
I had no where I had to go. I had nothing I needed to do.
I made a splendid little breakfast, then settled down on the couch to read. For lunch, I made a snacky of nachos. I realize Edith Wharton and nachos doesn't sound right, but it hit the spot.
I put my feet up and looked out at the rain and felt very, very glad for the safety and sanctuary that is Ma Maisonette.
Just as it was getting dark, I put a pork roast in the oven, made homemade applesauce and nuked a baked potato. It seemed like the pork roast wasn't getting done, so I put a meat thermometer in it and twenty minutes later, reached in with my bare hand to take it out. Comic relief for the day - no blisters, just me doing a hoppy war dance in the kitchen.
The roast was delicious. Dinner was fabulous.
And when I settled into a snug bed on a cold night, knew I couldn't have done any better if I'd tried.
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