Monday, November 3, 2014

On a growing clan and a hot playdate

The key, Grasshopper, is not overloading the laundry tub. Let the agitator move freely, like the bullrush amongst the dragonflies. – J.K. Edmondson

OMGYOUGUYS. There is a lot of excitement happening in the family right now. In the past four days we have had a retirement (congrats, Ken!), an engagement (congrats, Sara and Connor!), a new bun in the oven (congrats, Lauren and Paul!), and a getting out of bed in the morning and going to work (congrats, Al!) So that is all worthy of note.

And then today, just because one cannot have enough happy in their life, I got to see Anna! And Monty! I KNOW. *heart explosion* Normally I wouldn't be friends with someone who has a better website than I do, but I've made an exception this time because LOOK AT THAT FACE:

Just STOP it, Monty. You already own me.

We met at Brixton Village Market for lunch because Anna lives in South London and I live in North, and I don't know if you know what that means, but basically OUR FRIENDSHIP DEFIES NATURE. South London and North London are basically two different countries - not even cities, countries - and it is nearly impossible to sustain a friendship with someone from The Other Side. Unless you've got a need for speed and faces to lick*. Like Anna and I do. Brixton is a great happy medium of a meeting place - it's pretty equal in terms of commute, and also you can buy anything there: plastic buckets, wholesale fish, cassette tapes, plantains, huge packs of batteries, coconuts - and what more do two girls need on a day out? 

Umbrellas. Apparently umbrellas.

This is the Village itself - it's a sweet little indoor market filled with everything from fruit-and-veg vendors to coffee shops to Moroccan rug vendors to Mexican cantinas. It is heaven. [Insert information here about the ethnical diversity of the area and the history of the market and the gentrification of the village due to the presence of hipsters and the uproar that has caused.]

This is where we ate Brazilian crepes covered in fiery death sauce while Monty shook his maracas to give us street cred.

This kitty was pawing at the door of the butcher, totally not accepting the sign saying he'd Be Back in Five Minutes. Try the MOBILE phone, kitty.

Then the butcher came out and grizzled, 'GINGER! Stop that. I already gave you a snack this morning.' Ginger seductively rubbed the edge of the door jamb before sneaking through his legs. He'll show HIM a break.

Before I go, I wanted to share with you some long overdue pictures from Anna's wedding last spring. Namely, FOOD PICTURES. Namely, BECAUSE SHE COOKED ALL THE FOOD. Anna did. The bride. Cooked all the food. For her own wedding. While eight months pregnant. SHE COOKED ALL THE FOOD. GUYS.


 ALL. THE. FOOD. Can you see those signs?? She made her own pulled pork. Slaw. Salt Beef. Galettes. Falafel. In the pictures above, you can see the dozen different salads, the four hundred different quiches and tarts. And that doesn't even cover all of it. And, on top of that, it was all DELICIOUS. 
 And look how relaxed she was, all 'What? Doesn't everyone cater fresh organic cuisine for their own wedding?'

On that humbling note, back to my manuscript! I've got two whole hours until my book club goes to see Gone Girl and baby, that's got to be owned.

Big hugs and lots of love,

*Don't question me on this sentence like I know what it means.