poem for a sunday morning -- week ten

. . in the door-yard fronting an old farm-house, near the white-wash'd palings,

stands the lilac bush, tall-growing, with heart-shaped leaves of rich green,

with many a pointed blossom, rising, delicate, with the perfume strong i love,

with every leaf a miracle . . . and from this bush in the door-yard,

with delicate-color'd blossoms, and heart-shaped leaves of rich green,

a sprig, with its flower, i break . .

from when lilacs last in the door-yard bloom'd, by walt whitman (1819 - 1892)

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we had another lovely stay at home church service today:

and a yummy breakfast of fried eggs and apple pie from the apple people . . which was very good as it wasn't too sweet and had lots of ciinnamon.

for dinner this evening, chanda sautéed the scallops for us

the last time she cooked them for us, she mixed butter with a little bit of olive oil. this evening she used only the olive oil in a larger amount, which caused it to splatter all over. it hit us several times on our arms and made me think of the small burn marks i would see on korrina's and brian's arms and hands. perhaps this is why they have those little red marks. i know the restaurant kitchens fry at a very high heat. you never think about how that affects the oil and, thus, the chefs.

pluto could smell them and prowled about our feet . . (but he didn't get to have any - he never seems to be able to keep his seafood down!)

scallops are so delicious!