Chronicling Days Off III

Days off come around every two weeks or so. I am not complaining (a couple work days are only three to five hours, anyway). When I woke up this morning confused briefly as to what day it was, it was delightful to realize my neglected alarm wasn't making me late for work or a running date.

Going into the day, it was a toe-curling pleasure to see sunshine and need car windows rolled down, riding with James Vincent McMorrow and Oh Land in my speakers; to match Pickwick with screen doors and open kitchen windows; to pair Lisa Hannigan with measuring flour under evening light; and to wear whatever colors and uncomfortable shoes I wanted because there was no decor to match or good soles needed for long periods of standing...



[Days off are for] strolling through Fairhaven in good company. Stopping for poppies along the sidewalk; sipping margaritas; acquiring a madeleine pan.



[Days off are for] finding a used copy of a cookbook I've craved for its smooth aesthetic and clean typography, the charming British voice of Nigel Slater, and recipes like pistachio cake.







[Days off are for] taking the time to walk over to the neighbor's fence and see their rose blooms through a viewfinder.



[Days off are for] spontaneously gathering together the ingredients for an old familiar from my mother's kitchen and making it my own: Sally Lunn Bread.