my mother scanned her recipe, i made the pie.
her notes in there, i know that handwritting, i remember it.
gypsophilia bouquet, paid in flowers again. i'm not complaining.
okay so it's fall now, pretty much. or should i say autumn, the brits think 'fall' is quaint. either way, been ill for a week, and chai tea and pumpkins have made their way into my kitchen. soup and soda bread, early to bed and all that. and lovely medicines which make me all dopey before we sleep.
he cut his hand, deep, today. he's tougher than me though, at the sight of blood. we're both ill now, and it just won't go away.