I Can’t Twirl Pasta

Whoever coined the ridiculous phrase, You can do whatever you want to do, was dead wrong: I can never be a rocket scientist (not that I wanted to). I do want to twirl pasta skillfully against a spoon and I can’t do that, either. Still makes for pretty pictures and good eatin’ no matter how it hangs from the fork. And were there a soundtrack for this weekend it would include the sizzle of fresh veg hitting a hot sauté pan; wind knocking around the chimes outside the glass doors; occasional canine snorings, and REM tail thumpings; snow and ice rumbling off a steeply pitched roof, crashing to the deck and ground below (goodbye, good riddance); a little bit of West Coast jazz; hearts beating and shoes thumping down a cleared running trail; the muted roiling of the Battenkill River; and the heat cycling on and off, still. Yesterday there came an unpleasant rip in the universe from a thousand miles away, as is wont to happen on occasion. Today is a new day full of promise.

Pasta Twirling Fail

Pasta Mess

Post-Apocalyptic Movies Do Not Help

Going Postal Redefined

Late Day Sun on the Battenkill

Early Morning Sun Globe in the Back Yard

Sun Through Trees Through Icicles Through Window Screen

There’s a Dog in These Woods

Pork Tenderloin Requires No Twirling

Eating Tenderloin Can Be Tiring

Paws to Reflect on Green Checked Chef Pants

Tall Trees Compete for Sun

Play Dog, Play

Sugary Snow

Frozen House in the Wood: Icicle Would Kill You if it Could

Still Life with Snow Shovel

Scout Can Slurp Pasta