You Must Understand

It's gray and rainy outside,  I'm watching football being played in the snow, I'm cozy on the couch with a cold Dr Pepper and lots of knitting --- and even a little cross-stitch --- to do. This is a perfect day. 


 I realize my Abraham post was a while back, but I found this photo today. Abe looks deceptively imperious.  He didn't have that gear, really.  Hannah was nine months old and still rocking the baby chubby arms.

Letter from Birmingham Jail

"I am coming to feel that the people of ill will have used time much more effectively than the people of good will.  We will have to repent in this generation not merely for the vitriolic words and actions of the bad people, but for the appalling silence of the good people."


 Still churning the car thing.  I'm leaning heavily toward a new one, as --- for a number of personal/relationship reasons --- I'm not particularly attached to my Highlander, and the little knocks and hisses and clicks it's producing are a bit unnerving.  Maybe a birthday present to myself? In other news, I found this little guy while cleaning out a drawer. I had put him back to give to Hannah's cats at Christmas and promptly forgot about him.  I'll add some more catnip and present it to Riley and Madeleine.

Half-empty or Half-full

 So, today I  found out that to get my 20+-year-old car up to snuff would cost close to $1600.  The car itself is now worth, if we're generous, $2000.  So now I have to go grovel before the bank to help me buy a new one. Still, while I waited for the bare minimum service to be done, I got a lot of work done on a 400-stitch scarf.

About Cornbread

Dee  commented in the post before last that she bakes her cornbread into muffins.  Legitimate. And pretty. I do muffins, too, on occasion. My mother, and every other female relative who ever chipped in on a dinner  I was part of, made cornbread in a skillet.   Hence, my long history with the cornbread wedge.   Not to mention my love affair with cast iron skillets.   I never liked cornbread until someone provided me with some that was sweet.  Daddy used to crumble it into a glass of buttermilk.  Despite my disliking both the bread and the buttermilk, I was usually able to eat 1 or 2 spoonfuls of that.  (Which may have been more about sharing moments with him than anything.) However you do bake and eat cornbread, or anything else, share it with people you love.