Today was no different. While standing up high on a ladder in the back yard, with Wonderpup barking nervously from behind the glass door and limb trimmers held high over my head I thought maybe I should change the title of the blog to "Not becoming a statistic..." I thought about all those silly accidents that land idiots like me in the ER on sunny holiday weekends and it seemed fitting. Then I proceeded to start cutting down a cedar with a bow saw. So when I got the call to head out to the sticks for some drinks, food and pool time, I bolted from my yard duties like a superhero running to the rescue. Seemed the safer thing to do.
Back from the hilltowns, I felt inspired again and, as I was unbearably hot, I endeavored to put in the air conditioner. Of course I grabbed the big one and began the long ascent from the basement to my second floor bedroom. I'll spare you the details, but let it suffice to say I managed to not drop it out the window, but I'm a tad more bloodied and battered than when I started.
But I did it. So there.
To treat myself, I decided to forego the bitters idea (for now) and whip myself up a quick, warm rhubarb compote to dump over ice cream. I didn't care that I'd put a bunch of work in to end up with about two tablespoons worth, I just really wanted this yummy treat.
I started to simmer the rhubarb in water and sugar, with a touch of nutmeg and cinnamon. Then I wandered upstairs to start this post. My bedroom was already getting nice and cool, so I settled in to enjoy the reprise. That is, until I got far enough along in the post to remember where it was going in the first place ... I'll just let a picture speak volumes tonight:
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