We lit the candle for my grandfather's yahrzeit: it is ten years now. I have still not seen Richard Barthelmess in The Patent Leather Kid (1927).
Making the third batch of fudge tonight, we had so many egg yolks left over that we made a combination—based on the citrus fruits in the house—lemon, navel orange, and blood orange curd. It's still thinking over whether it's going to set or not, but it tasted fantastic off the spoon.
While looking for some lyrics by Gordon Bok, I found this poem instead: John Straley, "Soul's Crossing." I envy it for The Deadlands.
I meant to post this poem weeks ago, too. I got it from![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
phi: Samantha Pious, "Sappho Is Dead."
It's supposed to snow tonight. I hope so. At least the air smells like it.
Making the third batch of fudge tonight, we had so many egg yolks left over that we made a combination—based on the citrus fruits in the house—lemon, navel orange, and blood orange curd. It's still thinking over whether it's going to set or not, but it tasted fantastic off the spoon.
While looking for some lyrics by Gordon Bok, I found this poem instead: John Straley, "Soul's Crossing." I envy it for The Deadlands.
I meant to post this poem weeks ago, too. I got it from
phi: Samantha Pious, "Sappho Is Dead."It's supposed to snow tonight. I hope so. At least the air smells like it.
