Today's subject line comes from the BYM and HK, who sniffed appreciatively as they moved a sofa through the kitchen. (A bit of rearranging going on here.) The scent in question was apples stewed with cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg, with an underlay of tar (didn't quite mind the pot closely enough, which meant I didn't turn off the heat early enough. No damage to the apples, but the pot's going to be a pain to clean).

So I now have applesauce in the fridge, along with a batch of bourbon balls coated in chocolate. After I write and wrangle papers for a bit, and retrieve the latest load of laundry, it's back to the kitchen to coat the other plateful of candy, chop the bagful of peppers I picked up at K&S two days ago, and pull together the jarful of pickled garlic I've promised to the church for this year's auction.

It's a gorgeous fall day. I woke up with a new take on a project I've been stuck on, so that had me in a good mood as I headed to church. At church, the pleasures included making the final deposit for the t-shirt project I've been coordinating (and selling the last unclaimed shirt, too!), hearing the pianist play one of my favorite hymns as a prelude ("A Promise Through the Ages Rings" [*]), and hugging/admiring/waving at/touching base with various folks (one friend had a copy of Ballistics with her, so we talked about Billy Collins's poems for a bit, and other conversations ranged from birthday parties to brain tumors to Rotary clubs).

At home, the pleasures have included a big bowl of homemade tomato-beef soup and melted Gruyere on country white bread; listening to my sweetie sing along with the Cub album he just received; tossing apple peels and walnuts at the goat doggie; and reading Mem Fox's The Goblin and the Empty Chair, a marvelous picture book I picked up from a Davis-Kidd remainder shelf a couple days ago. (When I mentioned the book in this week's check-in, Jennifer replied with a link to a video of the author reading the book aloud. *delighted*)

[* It's a favorite in spite of myself -- the lyrics do little for me on their own, and Easter is not my holiday, etc., etc., etc., and yet, set to Was Gott Thut, the last verse just gets me. Along with "Abide with Me" and "Calm Soul of All Things," it's a hymn I play and sing to myself for comfort when I'm at once feeling too raw for the company of others but also drenched in present sorrow and dread of losses to come:

For something, something always sings.
This is the message Easter brings:
from deep despair and perished things
a green shoot always, always springs,
and something always, always sings.]