My invitation to the Peach People's wedding came in today's mail, addressed in the perfect copper-plate handwriting that I've been making jokes about since we were freshmen in high school. The inside envelope? Addressed to "Spamella," a nickname no one has called me by, fortunately, for years.
It has always impressed me what an easy decision marriage was for these two. It wasn't ever even really a decision, just a logical conclusion--an assumed eventual step, from the day they finally started dating. Any yet I'm still stunned that things have gotten to this point.
I have a loaf of zucchini bread for my office baking right now, and it smells delightful in here. I used to be a baker of birthday cakes, although it's a habit I've fallen out of in recent years. The next time I'm home for an evening I'll make another batch of Bitchin Potato Leek Soup, which also makes my apartment smell just yummy.
You can always tell I really like you if I'm cooking for you.
I walked home in the rain today, which is something that people who live in rainy climates rarely do. But I did not move to Seattle to stay out of the rain and if you drove past me today I probably grinned like a fool at you. My leather jacket gave off a slight animal tang that mixed with the damp grass smells and the Lake Union smells.
I wish they could make the scent of my walk to and from work into a perfume.
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