I’m grateful to have this recipe, still in my mother’s neat handwriting. They make me feel good, a bit of happy in a lightly spiced, lightly sweet cookie.
No book, no beer, nobody around. Just me with sun on my face, revelling in the heat of the hot tub. A life is good moment.
I laid in bed at night thinking how there really wasn’t a delight today. It was a satisfying day; work went well, I fixed a problem in the bottling line, we finished early, I went home, Keith cooked dinner, we watched tv, the end.
And then I remembered this photo, takes while sitting in a different spot, soaking up the little bit of sun and seeing all the smudges in a line across the window where the cats have pressed their noses as they watch the birds at the bird feeder. Delingt.
Never underestimate the delight in clean glasses.
A benefit to getting to work too early.
Where women of a certain age smile at you and call you hun, and ask if you want the stamps the queen or scenes, and how has your day been anyway?
In a large-ish number of days, this collar will become a Humulus sweater in grey and a red so bright that my phone will never photograph it well.
I am grateful for this skill that enables me to learn something new while still performing motions perfected over thousands of hours of practice.
For a day of sunshine, for a walk, for making a snow angel, for a soak in Peter’s hot tub, for the grin on Keith’s face as he operates the snow blower, for the taste of Baldr a peach saison from Little Beasts.
I cant bring myself to resent the circumstances that got me into, and then out of, brewing. I’ve met some truly kick-ass people, like Mary Beth from Granite. This is delicious.