The house is scented with tantalizing whiffs of cinnamon and cooking apples right now. Nine cups of apple pulp, four cups of sugar, 1/4 cup of Ceylon cinnamon, and 1/2 cup of white vinegar are in their third hour in the oven. Apple butter will soon be in jars for the winter months.
This is my last Saturday at home until November, so with apples scarce this year, the apple butter-ing is now or never this year.
I took Samson the Feist to the groomer this morning, and then made my way to Soulard market. The pre-9 a.m. crowd is definitely a mixed one, with few families and gay couples, and more older folks and internationals. Languages were abundant this morning. I picked out French, at least two Middle Eastern languages, Chinese, Japanese, Russian or Ukranian, Spanish, and a couple of other languages that were likely Slavic, based on the appearance of the people. Soulard Market felt very cosmopolitan at this hour!
Samson is now home. Recycling is in the bins in the alley. Silence is pervading the house, save for Sam’s quiet snoring and the rattle of my typing on this computer. My hearing comes and goes in the right ear, but at least I have no pain. I also, thanks to drainage of seasonal allergies, have no voice today. I do hope it’s back in the morning, as we have a big day at church tomorrow.