Masks...

I sit here in the kitchen having just made spaghetti sauce and having prepared garlic bread.  The sauce is bubbling, the bread ready to be heated up in the toaster oven.  I have time until the noodles need to go on the boil.  I had poured a glass of Red Velvet... one of my favorites.  The wind is howling outside, although it carries no bite.  And my special person is making cards.

I find the five o'clock hour a bit tough.  Not sad really, perhaps a bit melancholy... usually.  I'm tired, don't feel like reading any more, but needing to do something.  Cooking fills in the time.  My hands... well... create, kind of.  They take stuff, put it together, and it becomes something to be shared for just a little while.

I don't think there's a lot of  "deep" in any of that.  There doesn't always have to be.  Because I think that really all we want is some kind of rhythm to life.  Something that says it's okay just to be.  No apologies.  No undercurrents that says you need to do or be different.

I take a break to adjust the flame.

It's supper soon...