Nestled under the tree with the second half of the Fizz. Perfect afternoon of shoulder weather. The solo bass lines were quite hypnotic. It had been steadily playing for the last hour which meant the kitchen was closed for the day. Music is welcome in the garden as long as it's the right kind of music. I would throw Bach’s solo cello into the mix. There was a rustle in the shrubbery; I traded one chair for another and charged my glass. We swapped notes on the canoe; in the same spot as before. Some people erect fencing, others merely lean watercraft against a shed.
A chair was no match for my host and he sank down onto a puffy cushioned divan.
Everything looks so well manicured. We've often wondered about that.
I like order with the vegetables and chaos with the flowers. My wife is the opposite but she cannot cook. This is why she is not allowed anywhere near my kitchen. I would never find anything. Don't let her near yours.
And the grass?
Chamomile.
Oh, like the book.
Book?
The Chamomile Lawn.
Never heard of it. My wife tells me you cook. Do you cook or merely think you can cook?
I like a complicated recipe. It doesn't always like me.
Complicated is never worth the stress. Simple is good. People have no appreciation for the amount of work you’ve put into a dish. Remind me to give you some asparagus before you go. If you can handle the asparagus, we’ll see about mushrooms.
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