Friday Dispatch: Short & Sweet 11s
Exclamation points included!
Friday greetings,
I just put a chicken and potatoes in the oven. It’s a little before 8:00am on Thursday. Tomorrow around this time – when these short & sweet 11s land in your inbox – I’ll be hitting the road with Aviva to spend the weekend in NYC to celebrate her college graduation. I can’t wait!
We went down to the new house yesterday to meet up with a guy who assembled the island we got for some extra cupboard and counter space in our tiny kitchen. We are also having some work done before we move in based on the inspection report; a couple of big things (oil tank, asbestos abatement) and a punch list of smaller items like putting in missing railings and fixing old window sashes. It was wild to walk in and see sawhorses and sawdust and sanders. We move in a month!
Standing outside with Chalupa early this morning – the sun sparkled through the newly full leaves. White blossoms billowed in the wind. A cardinal landed on a branch in full sight, singing his heart out. I blinked at the beauty, amazed!
Details. So many details!
Feelings. So many feelings!
I hear bubbling from inside the oven and hope the chicken will come out well. It’s funny, I never really learned basic things like how to bake a chicken. I feel a little like I’m a little kid playing “house.” (“I’ll be the mom!”)
Yesterday, a massive thunderstorm tore through the region while we happened to be driving. When we left the house, I felt a sprinkle of rain, and not 10 minutes later, we had near-zero visibility. Lightning, thunder, hail. Yikes, wow!
Just got a whiff of rosemary. Yum!
P-words to watch for in your writing: Punctuation, pacing, precision, platitudes, and perfectionism!
Speaking of which, come join me for a special SOLSTICE EDITION of The Sound of Real Life Happening. What does that mean? We will write 11 things each day for 11 consecutive days, culminating on June 21!
That’s all for this week, friends! Remember: You are loved, loved, loved.
Shabbat Shalom and love,
Jena
Have fun in New York!
(I never learned how to bake chicken either, or anything else for that matter. I’ve been winging it my whole life — well, using cookbooks and such. Why is that, I wonder? Did my mother not think I would need to learn to cook? Did I never consider watching her do so in order to be able to feed myself in the future? I do wonder about this sometimes, usually when I’m winging it at dinner. Ha!)