First my husband baked one of his special breads for me yesterday afternoon, the kind that I have toasted for breakfast, its emphasis on rye flour and heavy with seeds and herbs, my especial favourite. When that one was baked he set about putting together another type of bread altogether. He enjoys looking through bread-baking books and this time he thought he would try a garlic-Parmesan loaf. He added rosemary and did a bit of consulting with me, and then put that bread on, using his bread-making machine.

Perpetual-motion

Just as the machine began its mixing exercise, the power went off. But the kneading presumed to have been done, he left the dough in the machine, waiting for the bread dough to rise. After 45 minutes the power came back on, and I suggested baking the bread in the conventional oven, so he set about to do just that. We were running late because the power went off just at dinner time.

Come on down and play!

He had decided, in any event, to barbecue steaks for something different, since the weather had finally turned cool and he planned to serve the steaks with slices of fresh-baked bread. We had tomatoes off our tomato vines in the backyard, and yellow green beans to accompany the meal, and it was pleasant for a change; not too often we have red meat for dinner.

We spent a lot of time out in the garden with Jack and Jill yesterday and the sky was spectacular; and last evening during one of our forays out there the sky appeared bright rosy pink off in one direction and a fiery orange-gold in the other.

Jack and Jill frisked about madly for most of the day. While it's true they have a daily hour-or-more ravine walk, their movements on the forest trails are somewhat controlled. We keep them on the leash and  out of the underbrush since invariably they pick up countless burrs, and that's a nuisance to them and to us.

I had, earlier in the morning of this day that began hot and humid but became progressively cooler as the wind picked up and brought in a new front, cut their hair. Their hair grows incredibly fast and before we know it, they begin to look kind of shaggy, and their faces and paws need trimming. If I begin trimming I always feel I might as well trim all of them properly. I always feel a mild sense of accomplishment and relief when they've been groomed and look so sweetly tidy.

That doesn't last very long, though, and they soon once again begin to resemble messy little tykes. To my eye, that is, anyone who looks at them thinks they're perfectly well groomed and 'adorable', we're so often told.