I was held up on the way home from the grocery store (where I bought some Guacamole, which has yet to prove itself) by something involving police cars and fire engines all over the middle of the road. I came almost right up to the mess, because I couldn't see it with the sun slanting in my eyes the way it always does on Union Street, but I got turned around just fine.

The grocery store had brought up the topic of pasta between Reginald Query and myself, and Reginald, having ridiculously expressed "Noodloos" in description of Penne, I of course demanded to know WHAT ON EARTH he was talking about. And what did he have to say for it? Only this: "There is hardly a word that would not profit from an extra double-o." There's a strange logic in it, if you think about it for too long.

Come Winter

That is roughly the view I'll have from my window when I come back from France next winter. Minus the green, plus some snow, one floor up (this was taken from the porch below, a place of general congregation). And I'm excited about this. It's strange that what I can't stop thinking about right now is getting back from my highly anticipated semester in France, I know. But this is the case for two reasons:

1.
I love snow. Anyone who has ever seen me during a snowfall will tell you that it makes me absolutely batty. Fall is my favorite season, but snow is probably my favorite thing. period.
2.
Winter cooking is the best cooking. And the baking! I think pound cake is a great summer dish, and indeed it is, since it lends itself so well to fresh fruit and ice cream (or custard, if you're in Wisconsin!). But it also lends itself quite well to some good, fortifying, home-made whipped cream. And hot drinks. And there's no baking like baking in Wells House. I just can't wait to squeeze back into our tiny closet of a kitchen/laundry room.

Post Scriptum: In titling this post, I was definitely thinking of the Daphne Loves Derby song, which always makes me think of home.