Oh, what a beautiful morning...

No... not that kind of a beautiful morning. I just can't help but say the words "Oh, what a beautiful morning" without bursting into song. ... And when I sing that song, I think of Curly. And when I think of Curly, I think of Hugh. And then I have to share my thought process with you.

But it wasn't that kind of a beautiful morning. No sirree, no corn as high as an elephant's eye here in sunny AZ. I did, however, go to the store this morning and buy some live herbs. So, that's kind of like corn, in that they're actual food with roots in the ground. Except that instead of having a garden, I just have a plate with two little herb plants on it. But that's good enough for me.

Not that the herbs were the only beautiful part of my morning. Oh, no. I woke up this morning and started a batch of Solomon-esque spaghetti sauce. Yes, that's right, I said Solomon-esque. (Chris and I made dinner for Jo's birthday and I watched Christine re-create Ron's fabulous spaghetti sauce. There are no exact measurements, but I watched and I stirred and I tasted... and I'm quite confident that the batch of spaghetti sauce simmering on my stove is a close facsimile to the Ron Solomon original.) I'm giddy about the sauce. It smells so good here in my little house that I can hardly stand myself.

Also, I went to Barnes & Noble to get a copy of Little Women for my little friend Roomie's birthday party - and I found this.

I've been wanting to read this for a while, I just never got around to ordering it online. When I saw it there, nestled next to Little Women and the complete Jane Austen collection in the bargain classic section, I had to snatch it right up. As I was meandering back to the front of the store (I say meandering, because I'd so rather meander than walk a straight line, esp when I'm in a bookstore that smells of paper and coffee beans), there was announcement that Story Time was starting at 10:00 in the children's section. Story Time. .... Oh, how I love Story Time. If I didn't have spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove here at home, I'd have stayed for the story, I really would have. But alas, the sauce.

But as fabulous as finding out about Story Time was, that wasn't even the best part of the bookstore. As I was checking out, the cashier asked if the Oscar Wilde was for me. I, of course, answered that it was. She smiled and said she hoped I enjoyed it, then told me that Oscar Wilde is her favorite author. I told I was excited to read it, that I'd never read him before. She smiled and then said "I know this sounds a little morbid, but whenever I go to France, I take a book to the cemetery and read by his grave". Oh, my goodness. How fabulous is that? To me, that isn't morbid, it's beautiful. I can't think of a better way to pay homage to an author whom you love (and I told her so, because that's the kind of sappy reader/girl that I am).

Also, I'd like to know how Barnes & Noble employees can afford to go to France on a semi-regular basis. I need a new career plan, obviously. I wonder if B&N is hiring. I could totally read Story Time for them.

On my way out of the store, I almost ran smack into a fabulously good looking man. I should have invited him over for spaghetti, but instead, I just thanked him for holding the door open for me. (In retrospect, he most likely held the door because he was afraid I'd walk right into it. What can I say? I was ruminating about France and cemeteries and Story Time. I get a little caught up.) Anyway...

I love this day!

The End.