I made the most amazing buttermilk banana muffins last night.
Yesterday Gary built me a stand, a butcher's block, if you will, exclusively for my KitchenAid mixer. I think he was willing to give up what little empty space we had in our kitchen for such an endeavour because I baked him a pie on Saturday that blew his mind.
Well, I really baked the pie for me, but he doesn't need to know my selfish intentions.
So we cleaned all weekend, and went to ikea, and put the fresh, white sheets on the bed and ate warm stew and biscuits, pie, muffins and waffles and were generally cozy creatures.
I stop myself from wishing that I could be a cozy creature baking muffins all the time, wearing a breezy shirt that reminds me of the bedsheets at my Grandma's, my hair in baby pigtails...because after two periods of unemployment, I know there's no bliss in 'not having to go to work every day' unless you are somehow independently wealthy and can somehow obtain meaning and purpose from muffins.
They were freaking good muffins, but not Life Validating Muffins.
And the line between cozy creature and cabin fever is very, very fine.