First I invited people over for dinner when I totally have a WWM Board Meeting tonight.

Dang.  The menu was pretty good, too:

Pomegranite-Basil Pork Loin, a gluten-free Rice Penne (only because some one bought it and it was in the pantry, I love gluten myself) tossed in a garlic, extra-virgin-olive-oil with my very own garlic and basil roasted tomatoes – all carmelized and sweet, but tangy, too.  Mmmmmmm!  Corn in garlic sauce, of course, and a beautiful Insalata Caprese – with fresh tomatoes from my garden, naturally, and maybe some of the sweetest balsamic ever.

However, though my guests and Dave still get to eat it, I must go to my important meeting.

I shower.

I prepare dinner (I hardly ever cook, btw – let’s just keep honest here!),  I reach into the fridge and kaboom!  I dropped this like a bomb.

WHO PUT THAT THERE??? {me}

And even though it was only about a quarter-full, that darn Lousiana Hot Sauce went as far as 18 feet into my carpeted family room, hit every cabinet and counter, totally splayed on the white appliances – all of them!  It somehow went around the corner into the laundry  6 feet.  It is high and low and everywhere!  Plus it machine-gunned my ankle and cut my hand and may I just say – hot sauce in a cut is no buneno!!???!

I fear for everyone’s safety tonight as I cannot seem to get all the glass.   More just keeps showing up????  Vacuum, sweep, mop, scrub, vacuum, mop, sweep, scrub, dry the floor, more scrubbing, a light mop another vacuum and still with the clanking glass on my shoes and in the vacuum.

I also discovered in my 2nd shower that hot sauce stains your skin.  Uh-huh.

If anyone at the board meeting says they are craving buffalo wings for some unknown reason, I am coming home.

{this is going to seriously impact my crime-show watching…now when a defense attorney says there just isn’t enough blood evidence to convict, I may have to side with them – and that is just not me :: I’m a prosecutor by nature}

‘Tis Autumn, and the morning sun knew, on this particular dawn, not to actually “break.”  It would have been too much.

The light is more reserved and golden now.  Not as spritely-bright as a few weeks back.  Sort of low and leaning.

This morning, it entered quietly, very quietly.  Just sort of eased its way into the room.

Hush, a gentle hand on the forehead.

The bird chatter, even, the few in the offing who dare to breach the quietness of the morning whisper, is reverent and careful this morning.  The air is still and the leaves that do move flutter in total silence.

Since I don’t plant them anymore and they just show up unannounced throughout the garden, the faithful marigold rarely gets mentioned, but are glorious nonetheless, brughtly greeting me, quite self-sufficient where others need so much attention.

In a hospital, just after a violent attack against a person’s body has produced a flurry of loud surgical intervention by medicine’s best,  the wounded one is wheeled to a safe inner sanctum and loved ones, clutching prayer beads and folded over, rock back and forth to the rhythm of the faintest clock ticking.  The waiting begins and supercedes all else.  The waiting is the thing.

That is how this morning has arrived.  Quietly.  Reverently.  Carefully.

Spaghetti Squash.  It’s what’s for dinner.