Having trouble sleeping. I'm reading Winter Solstice by Rosamund Pilcher and Plum Pudding Murder by Joanne Fluke. 110 pages into the former and about 4 pages into the latter, at which point I got restless and wandered into the kitchen for grapes.
I'm in the midst of a spell of gift knitting. I'm on my third pair of mittens, and that will be it for a while. One can only make so many mittens.
I had a peak food experience today. I took E to this elevated park. There's a little stand serving apple cider doughnuts and little crackly bags of pumpkin spice doughnut holes with a small container of icing for dipping. I told the girl behind the counter that I usually got the apple cider doughnuts, and asked how the pumpkin spice doughnut holes were. "Those are delicious," she said with conviction, "and they just got out of the oven." So of course I got them.
They were unspeakably fabulous, warm and melty, and the icing was equally delicious. I may have scraped the excess icing out of the container with my finger.