Long week, with a peroration of cookies.

FACT: yesterday, I had to drive across the valley, and back, three times. THREE.

FACT: there is yard work to be done, house work to be done, work work to be done.

FACT: I think I am still tired from spring forward.

FACT: all this whining is making me thirsty!

I came home today after workout two and slid right into my chair to talk to students one two three four five on the internet

[FACT: I talked to students one two three four five today!]

and then I roasted some green beans and steamed some artichokes and cut up some strawberries and we ate a dinner that also included a grilled cheese sandwich and a leftover enchilada. And THEN we watched the Jazz lose to Oklahoma while I also took a short basketball nap.

And THEN I made galettes sablés. (This recipe is fancier than the one I made, from The Joy of Cooking, but it's the same basic idea, although I actually like my recipe better. But that's a post for another boring day.)

America, I submit to you that, while everyone now knows that sugar is literally your mortal enemy (I'm not arguing! I'm just saying it in a snotty tone!), a cookie really can save the day. Not that my day was heinous, but I admit to feeling world weary and un petit peu triste. Frankly, also, those strawberries seemed to cry out for a vanilla cookie. And lo, I did arise from my basketball nap and hearken unto their cry.

Which is to say: I put butter and flour into the bowl of the stand mixer, that absolute champ of a kitchen appliance, and let the whirring turn the butter/flour situation into sand. Then: three egg yolks, some sugar (a judicious amount), vanilla, a tiny bit of almond extract, more whirring, etcetera etcetera and then I rolled the dough into long cylinders to chill. And then bake, cut into slim little round cookies. Comme ça:

que suave.

I believe I baked twenty four of these cookies, and there may be two left. In our defense, you know, basically, they saved us from melancholy and distress, so why wouldn't we keep eating them? 

Also in our defense, they are tiny. And delicious. 

New megastore records set!

. . . in amounts of butter used in a single day!
. . . in number of movies seen in a single weekend!
. . . in number of white shirts purchased at a J.C. Penney by a mother/son buying duo!
. . . in how early I got up to run Christmas errands!
. . . in how hilarious running son, soccer coach son, and college daughter can be in a single sitting!

Actually, I'm pretty sure none of these things were records--they just seemed monumental. Two kinds of shortbread (chocolate, orange-almond) and sugar cookies. Three movies (The Kite Runner, I Am Legend, Atonement). 8 white shirts. Up by 7 a.m., out the door by 8, which made the errand-running actually pleasant, since few people were out shopping, even at the mall, which I hit around 9:45 a.m. (home by 11!). The kids? very hilarious. Super hilarious. Remind me to tell you the next time I see you.

Living the dog life, Part 742: Today, when historian returned from his errands, Bruiser greeted him at the door with slinking and cowering behavior, totally without provocation. Investigation turned up no indoor accidents, chewed up shoes, furniture nibbling, or anything else--until, in the kitchen, a preponderance of evidence showed that someone, some dog, had knocked a tupperware container of cookies to the floor. Betty showed absolutely no shame--indeed, when the historian picked up the remaining three or four cookies, she seemed a little put out. The historian told Bruiser that it was okay, petted him, and so forth, but Bruiser could be consoled only after he left the house to collect his thoughts and compose himself in the backyard.

What is this about? I feel it shows that Bruiser shares our values but has poor impulse control. Anyone have a better explanation?

Excellent day.

The day started with pastry-making. I ate toast and almond butter while college daughter and I made pie dough for a double-crust pie (the apple pie she was taking to her dad's) and a single-crust pie, the pumpkin I was taking. That went swimmingly. We used plugra butter (Fr., "more fat," which term just continues to tickle me--it's "more fat fat," if you see what I'm saying)--perfect, and I mean by that "without flaw," for pie crust.

Her apple pie we seasoned with cinnamon and fresh nutmeg, as well as orange oil, a fancy new thing I like a lot--like orange extract, but better. It was fragrant and juicy as it baked. My pumpkin had the crystallized ginger I thought I had when I made the pumpkin pie for the pie party--so today's pie was even better than last week's.

I also made baked squash with Moroccan butter, roasted carrots for a much larger crowd than was actually there, and a green salad with homemade croutons, shaved parmesan, and a mustardy dressing. All good. Everything else was delicious, too--pies from my sisters, rolls, cranberry sauce, a wonderful dressing with pears in it. We all had a great time, ate too much, talked and laughed.

At the end of the evening, my niece, aunt, and I played the piano in a completely insane six-hands-at-the-piano deal--transcriptions of The Nutcracker and also a version of The Camptown Races that we managed to play faster and faster until we were playing l.s. (lickety split). It was very, very good.

These are family photos of a happy day.