It’s November — says my calendar and the occasional chill in the air that lets me see my breath (good thing because COVID time means I often don’t know the month). The trees are almost bare. Thanksgiving approaches. I’m reminded of the things for which I’m grateful even during this extremely trying and tiring year.Continue reading “It’s November (I think) and I’m grateful” by Tara Lynn Johnson
The last thing I put in my fridge was homemade chicken tacos. Fried, diced, seasoned, simmered. Just waiting to be added to a soft shell with some cheddar cheese and baby butter lettuce. Cooking at lunch leaving lots of leftovers is the go-to since Muse arrives in the evenings now. I delightfully amuse her since spending time with her is my happy place. Doesn’t even feel like work. She doesn’t like when I stop to cook — and sometimes even to eat. Keeping her happy is job one so lunch is dinner and dinner is leftovers.
My 50-percent southern blood may be taking over the European portion. The fam down south always ate dinner at noon and supper at 5. Dinner was bigger than supper, but let’s face it, all meals were huge. Most included vegetables from my great-grandfather’s farm. All featured something dipped in fat and fried, then dipped and fried again. On that side, our family coat of arms is just a bunch of clogged arteries. And it’s all good.
The taco recipe isn’t from them, though. That came from other southerners, former family members (by law, you know). Left them where they are, but took the taco recipe with me. Cull. Shuck. Separate the wheat from the chaff and all.
It’s not Tuesday, but any day is a good-for-tacos day. Southern fam would never forget to eat, but I have, this week especially because Muse is on a roll. She’s a typical introvert, like me — extremely quiet until she knows she’s connected then she talks so much she could power a small southern town.
But after supper, we just sit on the porch swing and breathe in the night air. Hush, puppies. I’m relaxing after a hard day’s/night’s work.
My breath appears before my eyes when I step outside to view the night sky. (The rhyming was not planned.) The leaves are just about gone. The chill increases on the daily. Autumn begins to give way to winter. My six months of glee is almost half over (big fan of the colder months, you know). My warmest I’m-the-Michelin-Man jacket came out of the closet twice this week. Haven’t found the gloves that match my rainbow scarf yet. They’re around here somewhere…Continue reading Friday Fhoughts: Nov. 20, 2020
A third of a year has gone by since I last typed on these “pages.” Apparently, that was ample time for y’all to bitch to WordPress enough to get the classic editor embedded in a block or some nonsense. I’m typing in a “classic” “block” and it’s like old times.
Since July, I’ve been hibernating, as one does, due to the pandemic and also, hello, natural state of being. Having a potentially fatal illness diagnosed on all humanity has been a swell time for reevaluating (silver lining, you know). Much time has been spent on goals, writing, reclaiming, and chillaxing. This hermit crab spent mucho hours in her shell and it’s been a gift.
Poking my head out again, finally. HI! How are you?Continue reading Friday Fhoughts: Nov. 13, 2020