The soup pot was on last night. And I even thought about making bread.
It seemed only right. The rain was pouring down, the temperatures had fallen, and Fall was in the air. Even though I was supposed to run an errand after work I decided it could wait. I pulled into the garage and hauled myself up the stairs to change clothes, opting for the warm flannel nightgown.
All we lacked was a fire in the fireplace.
It was a mellow evening, just the kind we love.
Is this what it means to be old? Because really, I kind of like it.