And oh, that's right. Yesterday was Easter, and I didn't even mention that in my blog. Beekeeping and poetry trumps all, I suppose. But I rose early to take Tango on his walk and be back in time to make a feast and hide candy, although in the end, N. wasn't feeling well and she and A. didn't come over until the afternoon.
So we had all those Welsh cakes (gluten-free and otherwise) and popovers (gluteny) and bacon, and eggs, and cantaloupe and a tiny bowl of hash-browns for just three of us. And Mr. Darcy, overseeing the table. Just in case. The orchid in the photo is on its second round of blooms since I bought it. I'm always so pleased when I manage to get an orchid to re-bloom. But an even more amazing feat is the poinsettia that S. has kept alive and blooming since Christmas. I've often said that poinsettias are an exercise in consumerism, futility and guilt. You buy them, you try to keep them alive, and they die. But she has proven me wrong. Some day when she moves out, she'll take approximately 30 houseplants with her, including blooming venus fly traps and propagating philodendra and spider ferns. I'll keep the orchid.
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