From the inestimable Wendell Berry...

"Whether we and our politicians know it or not,

Nature is party to all our deals and decisions,

and she has more votes, a longer memory, and a sterner sense of justice than we do."

-Wendell Berry

Tired because of this true story, food

Yesterday was a bit rough, culminating with me crying into a pot of beets like an extremely sad young Russian mother. More about that later. Anyway, I had two large'ish glasses of red wine, dished all over Benedict (as you know) and called it a day. At 2:30am, Oliver toddled into our room and affixed himself to my side in my bed. At 3:00am, Percy raced up the stairs like he'd neglected to pee for eight days and had just realized that the time is NOW. I got up to let him out, waited while he took his sweet time in 18° weather, let him back in and ambled back to bed. Once there, it became abundantly clear that only a person already asleep could ignore the sonorous rumble roaring from Tom. As such, I relocated to Oliver's bed. No sooner had my eyes shut than Nutmeg jumped on my stomach followed by Percy ON MY HEAD.

"What the F*(&?" I cried out, scaring the balls off both animals who fled with unusual speed.

This kind of nonsense, including a nightmare, went on and on, and I have felt like twice-flattened roadkill since 6:35am. I can't make coherent sentences for pete's sakes.

Long way of telling you that while I have much more to say, I simply cannot go on. Instead, to bed!

But I'll leave you with two pics:

• what the teary beets turned into (a lovely soup with roasted garlic, crème fraîche and chives;

• and, tonight's meal for myself: pumpkin ravioli with salted browned butter and Parmesan.

Browned butter makes everything better.

Tomorrow we get to dine alongside Gabrielle Hamilton (Prune) and hear about her new cookbook!!!!

Boyfriends past, pitiful pugs

Yesterday's white shroud of a sky opened last night like a sail ripped down the middle, and the deluge of freezing water gushing through hasn't stopped since. It is just a cold, wet mess of a day out there. As such, before Percy and I trundled off for our walk, I bundled us both up as best I could.

Have you ever seen a more pitiful-looking pug? He hates this coat with every fiber of his being and lets me know by gazing mournfully at me and refusing to walk more than a foot or two without sitting dramatically like this.

I have to wonder why the coat also seems to prompt him to drag his butt a few inches after sitting. And yes, all you readers who are like surrogate parents to my pets, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "Em, that dog might have pin worms or some other anal condition."

Let me tell you, he does not. Percy is the picture of health. I swear to you I think this dog will never expire. Ever.

Ultimately he won as I simply could not take the snail-pace of our walk. As soon as I removed his coat, he stopped butt-dragging by the way.

On our way home, a bottle of Drakkar Noir walked past. How one human can wear that much cologne without suffocating is beyond me. The point, however, is that I was whisked back in time to high school and my first serious boyfriend, a wonderful guy who also loved Drakkar Noir.

At that time, Drakkar was the scent. If you were a guy, you needed to be wearing it, and if you were a girl who liked guys, you definitely wanted your man to be clouded in a spritz of the Noir. I know I did.

David was the best first boyfriend any girl could ever want. He was kind and handsome and chivalrous and fun. He wrote me notes and folded them into little triangle-shaped packets that he'd slip into my hand between classes. They made me sizzle with anticipation, and giant shoebox of them is probably still under my bed at my parents' house. He took me to the Olive Garden in Beaumont, TX (a 45-minute drive from our Louisiana hometown) for special occasions. He gave me my first jewelry. He had a great family. He was my first love. And did he love Drakkar Noir. Whoa, Nelly!

I thought of David today as Percy and I exhaled D.Noir and meandered back home. I like memories like these, prompted by something so seemingly inconsequential as a stranger's smell. All those years ago came back to me in a wave, much like the rain as it first rolled in last night.