I can’t find the second third or fourth. I am/was determined to make February a GOOD MONTH but there are so many parts to a day, it’s like the vicar’s egg.

I haven’t used that expression for 50 years, never heard it till then although it’s old, and English, I suspect.

Irrelevant.

I am, too.

But I’m back at my files, ready to give them away.

Until I began to write blogs, I had different labels for these lists. They are called ideas, cash crops, targets, and even—here’s a nice one:

BOUQUET GARNI of Home Truths:

Happiness is shelling peas.

Happiness is slicing mushrooms.

Happiness is a ripe Camembert.

Happiness is a good dry wine that costs only two dollars a a bottle. (Fantasy!)

Happiness is basting a turkey or, in my advancing years, a capon.

Happiness is peeling tomatoes or peaches without burning your fingers.

Happiness is rare meat.

Happiness is remembering not to put the garbage detritus in the garbage disposal. (I used to own one.)

Happiness is kneading bread.

Happiness is the fragrance of bread baking in your oven.

Happiness is peoples’ faces when they taste your soup.

Happiness is wild strawberries.

Happiness is a soupçon of garlic .

Happiness is a lot of garlic.

Happiness is 45 pounds lighter on the scales without even trying.

Happiness s is cooking up a storm and having someone else clean up. (I wish.)

Insecurity is reading measurements without your glasses.

Insecurity is losing a diamond in the bread dough.

Insecurity is looking for the cake tester while the cake burns.

Insecurity is five unexpected guests for a dinner prepared for six.

Insecurity is remembering the salad as you clear the dessert plates.

Insecurity is an unshakeable aspic.

Insecurity if s a dull knife.

Insecurity is finding a corner off your rubber spatula after sticking it into a blender full of mayonnaise with the motor on.

Insecurity is separating an egg over the bowl full of egg whites, though some people call this arrogance.

Insecurity is curdled Hollandaise.

In security is a green worm in the broccoli. ( I haven’t decided which is worse: cooked or uncooked.)

Insecurity is forgetting to take the meat for tonight’s dinner out of the freezer last night.

Insecurity is no one asking for second helpings.

Well, no excuses, but I was seriously tired after last week’s heavy cooking schedule and I didn’t recover over the weekend.

End of the month. It seemed to go on and on.

End of the day. I had great hopes for it and I am not unhappy but it has gone on and on. I had a haircut this morning, and that was nice. I took cabs and waited too long outside the salon for my ride home. I was very cold. I had a half a mug of hot soup and went to bed for a nap—and slept through the alarm—slept too long, till 4:30. I was having a friend in the building for dinner, at 6:30, and I was planning to roast a chicken with lots of vegetables: sweet potatoes, roasted fingerling potatoes, roasted carrots and sugar snap beans, so I had to get moving.

I did it and we had time to talk (and catch my breath). We were eating dinner when the power went out and the shrieking horn started and went on and on and on. I lit a candle for the table and had a flashlight handy for moving around the room.We finished dinner, including dessert (fresh mangoes and blueberries) and a little more white wine. We sat in the dark in the living room with the horn for company and no explanation though a voice came on at intervals demanding our attention. Who could not fail to listen? But nothing was clear. My friend went home. She is on the same floor, a long walk but the halls were lighted by the generators.

I sat in the dark watching a Netflix story by the light of my laptop. The power came back on at 10:06 and I have reported to you. Now I must clean up the kitchen and go to bed.

Happy February First.