Aug 1st: I am ready for autumn. It has been summer for a long time. I know that summer is not over, but there's a chance it's about halfway over, and the only things I care now about are cinnamon and ghost stories.
All of September: Oh, right. This part is actually summer. I lose my will to keep plants alive. I become skeptical of most of the ghosts stories. The percentage of them that can be explained by sleep paralysis is very high. Still quite bullish on cinnamon. I sometimes let my fingertips wistfully brush against the sleeves of the flannel shirts in my closet.
Every day in October: *checks forecast* not yet *checks forecast* not yet *checks forecast* not yet *checks fore--oh crap, it's October 24th already? *Scowls at forecast* time for pumpkin soup I guess.
And then it's Christmas, somehow.
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| *tears up in frustration at the word "seasonal"* |
Pumpkin soup joins the long list of "sounds good but I'm going to do it the hard way" recipes, although roasting a couple of pumpkins rather than opening a can isn't quite the same jump as making stupidly bread-y donuts -> buying a good donut. Roasting, in and of itself, is not hard at all and in fact I have done it many times without incident. But breaching the unyielding winter squash exoskeleton is, for me, always an unpleasant adventure. Just trust me that the moment below was in fact the middle of a heroic struggle.
Woman did eventually conquer nature. This time.
This was a good and mostly easy (once you're past the death struggle) soup. I am choosing to believe that the less-than-ecstatic expressions below are due to the fact that it is 85 degrees outside, rendering the pumpkin 35% less flavorful and about half as nutritious.
ASSESSMENT: I JUST WANT TO NEED A JACKET FOR MORE THAN TWO DAYS IN A ROW
PROJECT STATUS: The high tomorrow is supposed to be 60 degrees, in which case I will probably just start snorting bumps of cinnamon off the back of my hand and fully believing in ghosts again.
