Never will I own a Rolls Royce. Never have I particularly wanted one. And yet, I've always known it would have to be dark (preferably midnight) blue. This morning at my psychiatrist's office, look what I parked next to:
An SUV, not a Rolls, but that deep blue is so pretty, don't you think?
Another color-specific "dream": a 1972 Cougar,
in chocolate brown. As long as I've liked this car, the shade of brown I have in mind has never been a stock color. Now, though, there is a pick-up truck in the back of the neighborhood that is exactly what I've always wanted.
Also, either a white or a black MGB GT:
1969? '70, '71? Anyway, this would have been a poor investment. I can't drive a stick.
Kind of a meh day. I cleaned the glass doors on the front porch and the back. I made and frosted a vanilla cake. It's a disaster in every way but taste.
Yesterday, I made Potato and Chives bread. The taste is good, but the texture is divine. I'm guessing adding some cheese and/or bacon would take it up several notches. I would like to know the amount of potato flakes that could be added to other recipes, if that texture is due to them.
My suspicion is that I say this each September 1st, but again
Happy Birthday Sir Barry. 80.
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