Too sick to think...but well enough to create

I hate getting sick. Ever since I can remember when people around me would catch colds, I would end up with bronchitis or pneumonia. I avoid sick people. I stopped teaching elementary ages because I would work one day and be sick for a week. So, when this particular virus attacked, I fought it...and lost. I am finally at the point of recovery that I find the most annoying. As long as I hold still, I feel okay. For a while. I can't focus well enough to think, and moving around makes me breathless, but if I just sit still. I can see that I am improving.

So this afternoon a friend send me to a Pinterest board of jewelry. And I just happened to have everything on hand to make something. So I did. I didn't get any lessons planned (that requires thinking), but I did keep myself occupied for a few hours while I held pretty still.







 So, thanks, Rebecca, for inspiring me to do something entertaining and still. I kinda like the result.

Here is the link to the inspiration board:
YesterYearPrimitives

Autumn

German Chocolate Cake

Brian loves German Chocolate cake. Every year for his birthday, it's the one thing he looks forward to most. This year I made a gluten free version that turned out to be delicious; I started with a mix, but added ricotta cheese, coconut, and cocoa for extra flavor and richness. As usual, everyone started with a slice, but heaven forbid the cake be uneven! Brian is always careful to ensure that whatever cake remains on the pedestal is perfectly even. It is a sacrifice he is willing to make for aesthetics. (Silly boy.)

Portrait of Corinne

Fairy Tale Fun

As Near the Ocean's Edge

The Fisher's Boy
Henry David Thoreau

MY life is like a stroll upon the beach,
As near the ocean’s edge as I can go;
My tardy steps its waves sometimes o’erreach,
Sometimes I stay to let them overflow.
My sole employment is, and scrupulous care,	5
To place my gains beyond the reach of tides,—
Each smoother pebble, and each shell more rare,
Which Ocean kindly to my hand confides.
I have but few companions on the shore:
They scorn the strand who sail upon the sea;	10
Yet oft I think the ocean they’ve sailed o’er
Is deeper known upon the strand to me.
The middle sea contains no crimson dulse,
Its deeper waves cast up no pearls to view;
Along the shore my hand is on its pulse,	15
And I converse with many a shipwrecked crew.

Made for Another World