In the past I've probably referenced my fave Gary Larson cartoon, the big old lazy man dog sitting in his armchair, beer in paw, saying to his disapproving dog wife, "You knew when you married me I was a non-working breed!"
The cottage inhabitants are behaving like non-working breeds today. Here's office mate Jewel.
And office mate Ruth.
We had a good long walk this morning but I think they're more lazy than exhausted. All three of us are rather yawny today. There was some after-midnight commotion at the next-door cottage, cars and motorhome bringing houseguests. With Dog.
When my girls aren't napping, they're whining and moaning and growling and barking their dismay that a Dog is in residence next door. Honestly, they believe they own this lakeshore outright, every inch of it, and are ridiculously proprietary.
It's a bit breezy for porch sitting--the wind is blowing down the Bay from the north, no doubt bringing the next batch of rain. So I've set up shop in the dining room, with lake and mountain view.
I was supposed to write part of a chapter set outside Paris in the late 17th century. Instead, I've been following the post-episode chatter about last night's Mad Men. But I'm almost finished.
I brought zero fictional reading material with me--I don't count the shelf of my collected oeuvre and the various musty tomes that reside here.
What I have got is all nonfiction, including a fabulous and fascinating cookery book dated 1685, although that's a later edition and the original was published about 20 years earlier. Reading it sparked the ambition to make some of the dishes.
For supper, I'm having one of the one-and-twenty types of omelets. Later I'll post the recipe and report on the result.
We head back to the Lodge tomorrow morning.
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