It's nearly three o'clock in the afternoon. Naps have just started. My office curtain is hiding a spectacular sun fighting for one last ray before what looks like rain. Raking the leaves appears to be falling off the roster once again. And I'm pausing between sentences (okay, halfway through sentences) to enjoy yet another bite of Eleazar's latest decadent creation. My baker's wife says he came up with it in his sleep - the man should write a book: "I Dream of Pastries". Mmmmm.
Sorry. My brain just got inundated with blueberry filling. Sooo good. If you live in Edmonton, go to Bliss Baked Goods and ask for a Beehive. Both the blueberry and the peach are to die for. Actually, the cherry probably just as good. I'll let you know once I've tried one ;)
It's been awhile since we've made the trek across the two neighbourhoods to my favourite land of sweets and other yeasty goodness. Actually, I don't think I've managed it since it inspired this blog. I'd blame karma, but I'm pretty sure it was preschool. Squeezing in a forty minute baking adventure between picking up the girly and lunch time has seemed rather daunting. Add appointments booking up our one "free" morning, house guests, Thanksgiving, Halloween, several Jewish holidays (calling for the closure of said kosher bakery), and a mother-in-law who's only too happy to pick something up for us from her favourite baker and you've got a Bliss-less October. Or, at least, the goods without the benefit of the walk.
And I've missed the walk. So, with preschool off for the long weekend, and a forecast claiming unseasonably warm weather, I pegged this morning for a Bliss walk.
It wasn't as easy as I'd hoped. A certain short and snuffly someone decided to practice his chiropractic skills at random intervals from five to eight this morning. In actuality, he was using my ribcage as a pillow, but the results were about the same. At least with the chiropractor theory this sore and grumpy Mommy can dream of being sent to Paris on her professional son's salary to gorge on pastries and get lost in the Louvre. And hopefully his sister's fashion conundrum, which turned the simple act of dressing for this morning's weather into an hour long process, is a sign that a design career awaits her that will fund her father's future Porche (that was one was probably my fault - one has got to be careful about using phrases like "such a warm day" around four-year-olds. She was thinking a sundress and nylons would suffice).
The silver lining in all this sleep-deprived fumbling was that by the time we actually got out the door, the sun had broke through the clouds and the very grey morning had turned to a warm yellow noon. This time, the front gardens we passed by were tucked in for the winter, and, while most of the trees had lost the brilliant leaves that had me longing for a walk all through October, both my daughter and I were enchanted by a lawn covered in silvery-green. It was amusing to see frost-bitten jack-o-lanterns next door to early-bird Christmas decor. And all the curbs were blessedly blockade-free.
I'm still not sure where I'll find the time/energy today to run out for milk, bananas, and other unbaked necessities, but I'm glad I didn't exchange our walk for a drive down to the grocery store. There's something about fresh air and exercise that makes even the simplest food taste fabulous. Like pastrami on fresh-baked marble rye. And the chances of getting to play dessert-guru guinea pig at Safeway is pretty much next to none.
Speaking of which, my pastry's gone. Think my husband will mind if I eat his share?