It's cold on the terrace. The water in the
The cat insisted on going to the roof this morning. His fur coat did a good job. After he had left the squirrel came and pawed through the dead leaves of the Alpine strawberry. It found what it was looking for - dried berries - and ate them. This is the animal who will not eat them fresh, in summer. I felt bad and put out some almonds for him, in the snow beneath the fig tree.Vince scolded me.
I see things to do: the dry sticks of calamintha, catnip, strawberries and agastache to cut back, roses, clematis and fig to prune, and a tidying of the half frozen tiarella, heuchera and the sodden but hardy begonia. I shall think about ordering some Formosa lilies. I have missed them. The Silk Road and Dunyzades are frozen and asleep in their large pots.
Soon, I'll go and visit the farmers market and then I must do something terrible: buy fresh apricots at Pacific Gourmet. I know. Northern Hemisphere + Apricots = January. No. Although, ironically, this cake evolved in Cape Town, in January. I'm buying apricots because I panicked when re-reading a recipe in The Book where the editor queried a sugar measurement, and I need to re-test my apricot cake instructions for The Book.
And perhaps I'll buy a bottle of something with bubbles in it...