This morning I rode my bicycle to the market and came back with a very full basket of ingredients for stew, wine made from Alberta Saskatoon berries, a tall and leafy sage plant, and a bag of the smallest, most beautiful pears I've ever seen.
And now I'll do a few good hours of real work. I've got video contests to administer and an e-newsletter to write and a host of social media (not mine personally, a client's) to update with clever and upbeat remarks about autumn and registration deadlines.
I am resisting the urge to curl under blankets with ginger tea and All Creatures Great and Small (a charming and silly diversion).
I will resist the urge to get bogged down by all of these feelings of heaviness I've been having.
And I've got cubed pork thawing on my counter to be made into my first stew (and I feel brave for making a stew my mother doesn't usually make). Hers was a staple of my childhood, something warm and thick and hearty to be eaten at Sunday night family dinners. My granddad would warm his slice of bread on the side of the stew pot, and I've copied him all these years. But this stew is just for my tiny, two-person family, and I feel like a change.