My little swashbuckler.

Finally. After 2 years, 5 months and 3 days, it’s finally over and I can move on with my life. I can *finally* quit cringing when my husband brings up the mail or when the phone rings and its an unfamiliar 919 number. Finally I can stop being reminded that my mother is dead by bureaucratic nonsense. I can move on.

My DH’s first stab at recreating Scarpetta’s signature spaghetti. It was a good first try; flavorful but A tad on the greasy side.

And where is Nembu while I’m running around getting dressed for dinner? Pointedly not looking at me while lying completely in my sleeping space. And breathing loudly (though not quite doing his forceful fake sleeping breathing).

What? You didn’t know he was a people? He begs to differ.

Well, that didn’t work. I think I had the camera app I was using set on double exposure. I must have moved or something, because this looks nothing like a plate with orange orchids. 🙂

Where about a third of my spices live.

And suddenly there are monkeys in vests and fedoras riding around in circles in my head.

This shit doesn’t get any easier when you skip 4 weeks in a row.

Destructive force, meet chewable object.

“Cow” at the Yellow Green Farmer’s Market in Hollywood. They were light on veggie stalls this week, it being the absolute deadest harvest month on the SoFla calendar, but it’s good to see they are still going.