This 'N That

A month ago, my husband, reminiscing about the wonderful baked goods he'd eaten as a child living in Toronto, suggested why didn't I bake some blueberry buns? I had fresh blueberries, and decided to make the buns. We really liked them, and when visiting with our daughter and granddaughter the day afterward, brought them along in honour of our granddaughter's famous love of pastries. As things turned out, she wasn't, after all, able to eat them. She'd left them on the kitchen island counter, forgetting about their dogs' propensities. The dogs loved them.

I'd bought blueberries again, always have them on hand, and thought I would go ahead and bake the same buns again this morning, for dessert at dinnertime. So while putting breakfast together, I also prepared the bun filling: fresh berries, sugar, cornstarch and cranberry juice. When that had cooked, I set it aside. After breakfast I made the sweet yeast dough, using milk, butter, egg, yeast and flour. Realized, when I was rolling out the buns preparatory to filling them, that I had too much dough.

So I proceeded to also make cheese croissants. Everyone loves cheese croissants in this family. Haven't made them in ages. I also put on a chicken soup to cook away at the back burner, since it's Friday. And while I was at it, thought I'd just go ahead and make another yeast dough, this time for a pizza, for tomorrow evening; another one of our little rituals.

My husband telephoned from WalMart where he'd gone out to get a tube of doggy toothpaste. Did I want a crate of Moroccan tangerines? No. We still have three-quarters of one left. How about bagels, think he should get some? Not likely, we have a tray of croissants baking in the oven. I hate to disappoint him. Melons? Cheese? I reminded him we were going food shopping later that afternoon. I like to see what I'm getting, don't like sending him off on food-shopping errands.

I know the real reason he's gone out there, to see if the gold bangle they'd advertised was decent. My 73rd birthday is coming up and he wants to get a birthday gift for me. I've pre-warned him, I need nothing, want nothing. And if he buys me another watch, I'll hardly know what to do with it. Nor would I like any more rings, thanks a whole bunch. He looks at me with great consternation; he's got to get me something. Doubtless he will. That bracelet, he confided to me later, wasn't very good at all.

He loves shopping, he really does. He bought some exotic, expensive cheese for himself. And a tray of chicken breasts, which I appreciate, since I can use them this evening for dinner. And, look! he said, surprising me, although not really surprising me, since this is the kind of thing he so often does. He succumbs before sales, before bargains, before opportunities to purchase things that are attractive, aesthetically pleasing, and above all, a good price. A comforter set for a Queen-sized bed. Quite lovely it is, too. What can I say? Thanks.

When he did finally arrive home, we thought we'd try for a ravine walk with our little dogs. (This after the surprise comforter presentation, hauled into our upstairs bathroom while I was tidying up.) It was, by then, only drizzling, after all-night rain, and rain well into the morning hours. Off we set, in a light drizzle, congratulating ourselves on our good fortune that the rain had been considerate enough and cordial to our aspirations, to lift, enabling us to jaunt off for a ravine walk.

Squirrels follow us as though we're the Pied Piper. Which, I imagine, we are, in the ravine. Depositing daily caches of peanuts, shelled and unshelled for the little critturs. Their amusing antics entertain and charm us. Not particularly the ones who manage to swing from the seed-and-suet balls we hang from our deck, nor burrow deeply into the suet cakes we hang also from the deck. But then, hairy woodpeckers and chickadees also get to enjoy those treats on occasion, squirrels permitting.

We're halfway through our usual hour ramble, when the gloom seems to lift and it appears lighter. We rejoice, we'll complete the entire circuit, aren't we fortunate? And then, even while the ambiance is lighter, suddenly the clouds appear to have jangled against one another, loosing a torrent of rain. We're fine, in our hooded rain gear, and Button and Riley aren't getting too terribly wet; the outer layered garment they wear is absorbing most of it, even though their topknots and ears have begun to look fairly bedraggled.

Still, it's great to be out there, even slithering along on the trails beyond mere muck. Even without the rain they've been slimy and muddy; it's the freeze-thaw-cycle we're currently locked into, compliments of the season. No complaints, actually.