Last night I made spaghetti. First, I like Angel Hair pasta, not spaghetti mainly because at this altitude it cooks better, but this was spaghetti. Second, I have had to go “gluten free,” and it was my first attempt with gluten free pasta.
Don’t try it. It’s as flavorful as weak string and about the same texture. Barilla makes a gluten free pasta that I will try when it arrives from Amazon. No such thing in the stores in my big valley. It’s hard because pasta and I are good friends. We go back a long way.
“What’s for dinner?”
“I don’t know.”
“Cook up some pasta.”
“There you go.”
Plus, I grew incredibly flavorful Genovese basil and plum tomatoes this summer, besides the zucchini.
In other news, the weather is such that Dusty, Bear and I have returned to afternoon walks. I’m so glad. It’s really nice to be outside when my biorhythms say, “You want to THINK? Good luck with that sweet cheeks.”
Fall is coming early to the San Luis Valley, too. The aspen on the mountains to the west, anyway (can’t see the mountains to the east that well) are already turning — a week or ten days early. Not for them, of course. They set their own clocks, but for ME. The one remaining task of my summer home repair list is a working thermostat on my furnace.
The chamisa (auto-correct originally corrected that to “chamois” which are nice, too) are already going to seed. When winter comes, they’ll be black bushes and appear dead. But for now there are white and yellow butterflies all over them.
Yesterday, when I took the dogs out to put in the car for a walk at the slough, I took a look at my garage. I felt a surge of pride. There are still things I want to get rid of, but, for the most part, it’s a real garage now. There’s still a leak on the base of the north wall and I’ll deal with that next summer.