Strawberry season

The very best strawberries in the world grow in the Willamette valley. the very best strawberries are the Hood variety. They are fragile, impossible to ship, and sweet as young love's first kiss. And they're available now. Oh bites of bliss! Oh mouth and hands stained red! when DH and Miz G woke up, we motated down to the local farmer's market and treated ourselves to fresh baby carrots and half a flat of strawberries and baby bok choy and somehow I just couldn't resist the cookies or the kettle corn.

Miz G looked over the array of cookies and asked, "What's the difference between the cowgirl cookies and the cowboy cookies? Is it the the cowboy cookies have nuts and the cowgirl cookies don't?" The teenaged boy manning the counter never even considered that a mature woman would be pulling such a naughty double entendre on him and patiently explained that the cowgirl cookies were double chocolate with cinnamon, and the cowboy cookies were oatmeal and coconut with walnuts and dried apple. Miz G went for the cowgirl cookie. I succumbed to a giant maccaroon. DH had wandered away to loook at fresh golden beets. He's never tempted by sweets - the lucky guy!

After Miz G went along her merry way, and DH and I had dealt with all the daily duties, he went to slaughter demon cows on the computer, and I settled down with Xena recordings and the spinning wheel. Jack was so stubborn about wanting some lap time that he consented to drape himself across my thighs while I spun, annoyed by the twitch, twitch, twitch of the treadling, and steadfastly ignoring the roving transforming to yarn above his back. Every so often, I would stop spinning for a session of stroking and cooing and baby talk to the poor old dear. I'm a bad slave, but he's fond of me none-the-less.