Thursday, 17 April 2008

Something Lovely.

This week's offering comes from a young artist based in London. I first came across Jessie Chorley at the Knitting and Stitching Show back in November. She was exhibiting in a show called 'Like
Mother, Like Daughter', with her Mother, Primmy Chorley.



I loved everything I saw, but her embroidered story books were definitely my favourite.



Check out her other work here.

Monday, 14 April 2008

Sugar Free Yum.

Yesterday evening we had dinner with Lisa and Bill. That's always a treat. We were smacking our lips in anticipation all day. The texts were flying back and forth during the lead-up, regarding our various awkward and inconvenient foods intolerances, with me becoming increasingly guilty and embarrassed. No sugar. No wheat. I personally find it difficult to be creative and inspired when cooking. Especially the sugar. It does take a lot of the joy out of eating.

But not for our intrepid cook, Lisa. No. She waved aside my suggestion that she leave me out of the dessert. I think she was mildly outraged at that! And I think it made her all the more determined to come up with something. I have never seen anyone rise to a challenge as she did. Then again, I can't think of anyone else who is so devoted to creating a heavenly table as Lisa is.

This is it.



A chocolate cheesecake. It was divine.

Apart from a lapse of five half-day's over Easter when all that chocolate proved too tempting, I haven't had anything that remotely resembles a dessert in...not sure how long. So it was truly indulgent.

And there was even one for me to take home. Bless her...

Check here in the next day or so for the recipe. I most definitely will.

Sunday, 13 April 2008

The Sun!

Today it's warmer out than in!




We Carry On.

Outside the door, the greening has arrived. With a new burst of enthusiasm!



And we carry on as normal.



Waiting for Jay to return. But carrying on.



Amazing! Life goes on!

Because You Are Not Here.



This morning, familiar sounds drift in as I lie in bed. The ticking clock, birdsong, grasses. A babe, no longer sickly, inches from my face, teeth beaming in fat, rosy cheeks. The childish voices in another part of the house,quiet murmurings.

But your voice does not join the weave. No humming in the kitchen, no radio drone, clink of a knife on a plate..

No footstep on the boards outside my door.