Spirit

The secret of genius is to carry the spirit of the child into old age, which means never losing your enthusiasm.

Aldous Huxley

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Sunday afternoon, the Denver Botanic Gardens, every living thing humming along happily at its peak. We breakfasted at my Grandpa’s (Hello!). I made smoked salmon (from Alaska!) benedict on super soft challah, roasted asparagus, and a fruit cup of last hurrah strawberries, plums, and Palisade peaches. I was smart enough to think ahead, concocting the richer than rich hollandaise (the hubster’s FAVORITE breakfast topping) the evening before, no stir, stir, stirring while mad with hunger after our hour-long drive north. To use Grandpa’s word, it was “delish.” He liked my apple jelly, too.

We met our friend Rob (fun shot!!) at the Gardens, our first meeting since arriving back, ambling and snapping photo after photo, falling into our usual and quite wonderful routine. Mostly of details, nature front and center, some man made delights, too, we hold no prejudices.

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Far

Believe in a love that is being stored up for you like an inheritance, and have faith that in this love there is a strength and a blessing so large that you can travel as far as you wish without having to step outside it.

Rainer Maria Rilke

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Made

I don’t know that I’ve ever told you that I am a gleaner. A spotter and collector of edibles, mostly fruits. Yesterday, while out with the hubster at the hardware store to buy a post hole digger (Oh, yeah! We dig.), I spied a passel of trees heavy with tiny apples. I’d seen them other places, but this was somewhat less conspicuous than collecting them at the library. So, while the hubster shopped, I picked. They were mostly overripe, so I didn’t get as many as I would have liked, but enough to try a batch of jelly. I hadn’t made jelly before, generally preferring jams and other whole fruit preserves. It’s a bit more labor intensive, as I forgot to document the step where I strain what is essentially apple sauce in a drawstring bag dangling (by tying it to a broom handle balanced on dining chairs – fancy!) over a glass bowl. In this case, it was WELL worth the effort. It is as delicious as it is beautiful, slightly tart and fragrant, the skins of the apple turning it that marvelous color! I’m calling it, with a serious nod to my 80s roots, Pretty in Pink.

Grandpa, are you ready for a jar?

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