I listened to the radio today.

I made blueberry jelly and emptied a jar of raspberries because the berries got all mushy.

I made lasagna the hard way. Making the noodles first so they can dry, then the sauce, then the meat, then mixing the cheeses and then layering, then bake. I almost made the cheese too, but I have to put a line somewhere. Frank doesn't like it when I leave hard cheeses ripening around the house, and good parmesan takes *years*. Ricotta of course is a simpler thing that can be done in half an hour, but I am never sure if I have cheesecloth or enough milk, and the varieties of vinegar change the favor, and I didn't want to ruin the lasagna. Never ever make ricotta with chocolate milk. Your lasagna will be positively awful, I assure you. Nor should you use mint vinegar. And other flavors can mess with the sauces spices. You *can* have too much basil.

I made blueberry jam cookies, like tiny little pies, after Frank came home. He loves coming home to a kitchen smelling of cooking. He says it feels more like home.

I found time to make a small batch of fudge for Frank to take to work tomorrow before we went to bed.

But that little pile of ingredients on the counter stayed put. Frank asked about it. I told him it was a project I just didn't get to do today. He smiled and kissed me, and promised I'd have time tomorrow. I did not explain.

Nor did I react at all when Tony's songs came on the radio often, and I heard him whisper my name.

I cannot make lasagna again tomorrow. Perhaps I will sort the linen closet instead. Maybe I should do it alphabetically this time. I will think about it.
  ¶ 9:15 AM