I'm sitting here listening to the "Retro 80s & 90s" internet radio station. It occurred to me that I always thought of "retro" describing funky silver Christmas trees and swanky lounge music. Crap. In other news, I seemed to have turned into the casserole queen over night. When we lost our cook, I started "cooking." (well, I can see this is going to be a quote-y posty, sorry) Anyhow, I did what any Midwestern girl would do, go to the Campbell's soup website for recipes. So far it's been successful. I was telling some friends about the fabulous enchilada recipe they have. Did you know not everyone in America "cooks" with Campbell's soup. In fact this is the third or fourth time I've met someone who has never heard of this. Gasp! I always respond with "you don't know what you're missing." "Really?" "Yeah." Maybe my pallet is little to be desired, but...I can sure put a meal on the table fast.
Peace of Toast, Candie Cooper 2007
Get it? "Peace" of toast. The piece of felt ended up looking like a piece of bread. I stitched it to some blue felt, added some buttons and a dove. It was a happy accident. Or cheesy? I don't really use chopsticks to eat toast, but they matched the wool and plate. Here's one for you. We own four pairs of chopsticks, one normal spoon, and three forks. Something happens when you move to this culture. I think it's that the "little" things aren't so important anymore. I watched Imagine, the movie about John Lennon, the other day. Interesting and inspiring. Speaking of bread or Peace bread for that matter, I love the part where he talks to the random stranger that had been living in their garden. He asks the man if he's hungry and then invites him in. They all sit around the table and break bread together. Incredible. We need more peace.
I'm working on the next class for Second Saturday, the crafty class for kids. I'm thinking about felted ornaments. This was supposed to be a star or a heart, but once I finished it, I couldn't cut into it. Sometimes you just have to follow the process instead of wrestling it into place.
And with that I shall close to go make a cup of tea. I can't shake this nasty, yucky cough. As it turns out, my friend, knitting teacher, and nurse in her "past" life told me Friday she thinks I had pneumonia. "Huh," I said, "that makes a little more sense now doesn't it." Oh, thank goodness for friends that can help shed some light through all the polluti()n over here.