Embracing my inner 50s housewife

Now that the festival is over, I have all this time on my hands. What a novel concept: evenings off, weekends free. Time to relax. Time to make my own food. Go to the beach. Read a book (ahem. books). It’s beautiful.

Yesterday, I went to the grocery store and was analyzing my different options for boxed cereal. Nothing was really appealing. Using my mad powers of deduction and reasoning, I realized that I had all of the ingredients back home to make easy peanut granola.

Sold! Last night, I popped on a record and set to work.

Beethoven 3, anyone?

An hour later, I had a lovely bowl of homemade granola waiting for me. No fake sugars. No HFCS. Happiness.

The big news: this morning, I went blueberry picking! I’ve been wanting to go all summer long, and, due to MWF, I haven’t been able to. One hour of picking later, I had 3 pounds of berries. Yum. I munched on my way home; by the time I finally got back, it was probably more like 2.5 pounds. Thus is the joy of picking your own berries, right?

I was dreaming big last night, and had planned to make them into a pie. But I don’t think I’m going to. There’s just nothing like fresh berries. As such, I’m going to eat them raw. If, for some horrific reason, I can’t finish them by the time I leave for vacation on Friday, I’ll throw them in the freezer and bake something with them this fall. Blueberry cobbler…blueberry pie…blueberry crisp.

Sigh. How do you like your blueberries? 🙂

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