Pot of Soup

GETTING OUT OF BED will be a big part of the challenge of writing every morning in November.
Supposedly people in the northern hemisphere sleep more in October than any other month. That seems right to me... and on into November too... Not that that's a problem, but I write best in the morning, so if I sleep too late, I don't write at all.

I cashier for a couple extra weeks beyond my two-weeks notice because a coworker will be out for medical reasons, they asked me to work longer. I don't mind helping, though it's predictable that the store won't get its act together and hire my replacement.
Oh well. 

Just time for a quick post this morning.
I made white-bean soup in my new Dansk enamel-over-cast-iron casserole I got from the store. Seven dollars. Figured that was underpriced--looked it up when I got home, and yes it was--though it's a modern remake of a classic, not a vintage piece.  (Also learned the lid doubles as a trivet.)

Living in this hippie Saint Francis-y house throws me back to my earthy granola days of cooking out of Moosewood and Laurel's Kitchen. I like that. It reminds me of my childhood in Madison, with neighbors starting the first food co-ops and going on peace marches.
The whole exposed-wood and house plants ethos.
This house makes me want to start inviting people over for homemade soup and bread and to sing folk songs. Which is a good thing!

But do I miss the Urban Sophisticate vibe?
The clean lines of the mid-century? 

Ummmm.... maybe a little bit. 
Maybe that's why I bought this pot. I mean, I love it, but one had come through the store when I was living in my old place and I didn't buy it then.

I hate cozy clichés, like "pot of soup simmering on the stove"––even though mine did––and "curl up with a good book and a steaming mug of tea."
(Who in modern America keeps their house cold enough that their tea steams anyway?)

Must go catch the bus to work now. (It's raining.)
Love ya!
Come over for soup. Bring your spaceship!