Having lost my appetite for the past month I am delighted to report that it has returned with gusto and so with dinner holding prominence in my mind I set about to make Boeuf Bourguignonne, with a twist. I diverged a little on the traditional recipe and opted for the addition of celery and carrots, a doubling of garlic and an entire bottle of wine and not a half bottle as the recipe suggests. The smell is divine. It will be served with mashed potato and green salad. It speaks of Sunday afternoons, after yet another day of gardening, giving attention to the lost garden that we forgot about during the long winter days. I love being outdoors in my scrubs, uncovering the new green shoots as my hands pull away at the rotting grass and black leaves that dislodge without resistance. I love the sense of something hidden. Waiting to be discovered. Nestling quietly in the undergrowth.
As those of you, my loyal readers, must know, that several months ago, I applied to have our adopted dog, Missy, become a Therapy Dog. That means she will visit nursing homes and people who live alone and spread her love and in turn give back to the world in her own small way, what she has received. Well, I am happy to announce that after a full police vetting policy, Missy has her interview tomorrow morning at noon. She seems a little apprehensive especially as she just had a full bath and blow dry and an intense coat brushing and does, I have to say, look quite adorable. I worry about her breath though. Unfortunately, it is her downfall as it resembles a mix of ancient sardines and dirty socks. I told her that perhaps she should just act mute and not go panting on about and all over the place about how marvellous she is and how she wants to give of herself. I said that I would do the talking. She wagged her tail.
My son goes to a Super Bowl party today in California. For years he had to stay up until the wee hours of the morning to watch it. Another coup for him. I think he is cheering for the Saints. If that means anything?
Spring is here. I wipe away the cobwebs in my mind and think about cleaning the glass and opening up myself again. The dark hibernation is coming to an end and the evenings have a stretch to them that they lacked a month ago. I count all that is good. The dinner in the oven, my son as he whistles a tune, the hubby with a fresh scar on his neck, the friends down the road, dirty rugby gear, warm socks, green shoots, garlic, promise, hope and most of all definition of something that fails to come to me now but I know it is there like something lost underneath, waiting to come up and surface and surprise, delight me.