On Sunday after a visit to Jill’s so I could peruse her Princess House crystal and order over $100 worth of stuff (what the hell is wrong with me?), we went to Grandma’s. I wanted to go to the cemetery to water the flowerbeds we’d dug, and Grandma said she’d planned to walk there and now we could give her a ride.

We parked outside the gate and I jumped out and grabbed the watering can and headed for Grandma and Grandpa J’s gravestone. I was already finished there and headed for Grandpa B’s before Grandma had gotten very far herself, and she said “Hoo, you walk so fast, I can’t keep up to you!”

There were just she and I and Farmboy. We strolled past every headstone in the graveyard, looking at the names and birth and death dates, asking Grandma which of the people she’d known. There were quite a few. Well, there’d have to be. She’s "86 years old," you know!

I’ve said more than once that I like cemeteries and would like to go have a picnic in them, and people have thought that was a morbid location. But as it turns out, cemeteries were originally planned so that families could go picnic in them. So there!

Seeing my little grandma slowly picking her way among the rows of tombstones reminded me that we’ll be lucky to have her with us for another 10 years, probably.

The photo above was taken yesterday after I'd delivered Barney's forgotten lunch to him at school and bought Farmboy a burger at the local drive-thru. This old gent was walking around the grass outside while his companions were in the building, and it reminded me of Grandma, the way he stepped so carefully. 'Course, he was carrying a white cane, but still.

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Jill has this recipe book of fancy cookies, and Barney borrowed it. I told him to find a recipe he wanted to make, write a list of ingredients, and we’d do it.

It took several weeks to collect everything the recipe called for and then have cool weather for firing up the oven without roasting ourselves out of the house. But last night was windfully rain-expectant, so I agreed to help him make Chocolate Peanut Butter Cup Cookies at about 8 o’clock.

What was I thinking? I was already getting tired and cranky, and to attempt a child-accompanied cookie-bake in that condition was pure carelessness. His bedtime is 9:00. And we had to melt chocolate chips, chop peanuts, roll dough into balls, and melt peanut butter chips as icing drizzle. The stress, the stress I tell you!

Well, we managed. I cursed my folly, but the cookies turned out and Barney was a happy little boy. I've eaten two of the damn things instead of a smart breakfast, but what can you do? The call of the chocolate is powerful.

Here is the cookie carnage facing me this morning. Guess I'd best attempt to make a dint in the explosion we call a kitchen. There is almost always a rack of drying dishes on one side of the sink, and a counter half-full of dirty ones on the other. I hate that. But what are you going to do? There's only so much time in a day, and when those cookies came out of the oven last night, we left everything as it was. The boys went to bed, and I joined Farmboy in the livingroom. Messy dirty kitchens are the lowest priority.

Sigh.

Speaking of resigned sighs, Farmboy tells me that I will be disappointed if I try to paint this kitchen, that the panelling, etc., won't take paint well.

I have to brighten this room up. It is sorely in need of a makeover. It is dark brown panelling on three walls and a lighter-brown brick face on the wall the cupboards are on. The cupboards are old, rickety and brown, and the countertop edges are chipped and broken. It is a small room to start with.

Renovating Kate, soon to incarnate.

xoxo
etc