I got up late, opened the Easter box Mom sent me and dived directly into the cotton candy.
My mom is the best ever!! Of course, I'll take weeks to get through all this, and now I won't have to buy chocolate, hooray! I did drop all the jellybeans, which is terribly sad, I only got to eat one or two. I guess I save on the calories, but sigh, I do LOVE jellybeans!
I spent the rest of the morning writing - I've done nearly 2,000 words today which is good, but still no reply about the manuscript I sent off a day or two ago. I wish I could rewrite my sci-fi novel and self-publish it to earn a few silver shekels and get my pen name out there , but every time I start reading it I don't know what to do or how to change it - I revert back to the 13 year old I was when I first wrote it!
In the afternoon I had a nice nap, fed the birds, watched them eat their Easter feast, put my own Easter dinner on, and turned on the tv.
My Easter dinner was roast lamb shank with garlic cloves and rosemary, pickled beetroot, olive oil and black pepper asparagus, roast potato, homemade bread, dipping oil, and Mulderbosch chenin blanc. Very yummy, although the Mulderbosch REALLY needed to breathe. I couldn't drink it at all at first, but then after twenty minutes or so it was lovely.
Then the second terribly disappointing thing of the day happened - I wanted some ice cream, so I went to the freezer...and it wasn't there. I checked the reciept, and I'd definitely bought it, so I checked the fridge and the freezer again. Wasn't there. Frustrated I ran to the car, and sure enough, there it was in the trunk. Thank goodness it was still sealed and I don't have to spend a fortune getting rotten dairy product cleaned out of the boot!! I tossed it in the trash and was terribly disappointed, because I'd really had my heart set on chocolate ice cream with the strained strawberry leftovers from making strawberry liqueur yesterday.
Instead, I had a few marshmallow eggs that Mom sent me and watched the Masterpiece Sunday lineup. Call the Midwife had me weeping buckets, Mr. Selfridge actually shocked me for once, and Wolf Hall was horribly meh. Maybe it's because I despise Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn, and haven't the least interest in Cromwell. I'll keep watching, but it's really weird storytelling so far - I ran upstairs to the bathroom for a minute and I come down and the wife and children have died of a disease they didn't have the night before, but the husband didn't?
I was going to be good after Wolf Hall and sat down to write some more, but got frustrated and did the dishes and now I'm watching a Poirot. How I wish I could write for a living! Maybe one day.