Breakfast in bed this morning. Denis tea, me coffee. I made us a piece of cinnamon toast and Denis has gone back to sleep, not feeling so well today. The air of quiet on a Saturday morning, having decided to skip Farmer’s Market today as we’ll only be in town through Wednesday…just rent by someone who happens by nearly every morning and stands in our yard below our bedroom window and yells across our fence to Jane, who must be renting a room next door JANE, JANE, JANE, WAKE UP! JANE, I’VE BROUGHT YOU BREAKFAST!
Last night a friend gave me a copy of The Wind in the Willows Country Cookbook and I was reminded of how often Kenneth Grahame refers to the blessing of friendship and the sharing of meals.
It was, indeed, the most beautiful stew in the world, being made of partridges, and pheasants, and chickens, and hares and rabbits, and peahens, and guinea-fowls, and one or two other things. Toad took the plate on his lap, almost crying, and stuffed, and stuffed, and stuffed ... He thougth that he had never eaten so good a breakfast in all his life.