Sweet-Talked out of the Gray

industrial view from our kitchen window

Third-world, Soviet Union-like grayness for the start of a week is a lot like...like a wearing wet wool sweater, with a blindfold, and maybe tight socks that keep falling down.  and a wedgie.

And it's not even that cold out but the color of the sky has been a constant gunmetal from 7am until the sun supposedly goes down, around 1pm   4:30.  The word 'day' has a whole new meaning in New England, this time of year.  It's really in theory only.

One magical remedy - to this swath of tedious, insignificant weather, and short daylight - that found it's way to me from a sweet, generous friend, came directly from New Orleans. From


s u c r e'  to be exact.

 

The box of macaroons was enjoyed, savored really, except for this glittery, little pink number.  We're trying to save her for tomorrow - which will be another version of a gray day, I'm sure.  And we're hoping she might multiply.