A combo of mittelschmerz, upset stomach, and hot and cold running chills has kept me at home. Curled up on the couch with a stuffed manatee, while my Mister takes phone calls from potential employers.
He also decided to experiment with a bread baking method we hadn't tried yet. The whole house smells like fresh bread. He cooked it in a clay crock, with a lid on, preheated to about 500° F. When he pulled it out of the crock to cool, it started to crackle and snap as the crust contracted in the cooler air. It smells beautiful. It is a lovely crusty brown. It even sounds good. So my Honey's loaf of crackly bread is my beauty observed for today.
Now I'll go back to blearily watching reruns of Tony Bourdain's No Reservations through half closed eyes.