Reality By Noon.

Oh, what a day.  Really now, what a day.  Saturday mornings should be easy, smooth, a little slice of morning heaven, refined and (I'm getting demanding here, but...) perfect.  That's the way I like them.  Even if the soft-focus perfection sharpens into a less than dreamy reality by noon, I'm alright, as long as they start out cheerful and sweetended with a blueberry pancake or two.

This morning was a blurred, barely-have-time-to-pour-coffee, let's-go-to-the-market-and-get-dill-rightaway! kind of morning.  A, "...quick! I need to stop at that gas station and get batteries for my camera!" kind of morning. We were scurrying to the car with our scraggy bedhead and sloshing coffee cups, headed to welcome the return of the Farmers Market, only to realize there were two cars in the park parking lot.  No table stands, no vegetables, no farmers, no market, no dill.  Just John and me, and my camera, bleary eyed and confused.  (It opens next week.)

By the time we got back home, I wanted to start over.  I wanted my sleepy Saturday morning back, but it was so quick and sly about turning into a soggy noon.  We hadn't eaten, either, so I had little choice but to make my Buttermilk Biscuits With Dill without dill and buttermilk. Hmph.  They were sorry looking things: a little burned, a little mealy.  The fig jam and whisked eggs helped but they weren't worthy of you, dear reader.  

Then, most of the afternoon I was confronted with images like this:

and dishes like this:

And now it's almost time for dinner and I'm feeling a little defeated.  I might beg John to take me to a restaurant, simply as a grudge against having no dill and no happy morning Farmer's Market.  But I feel very bad about not having a recipe for you today, not even a little something except some overwhelming chore-pictures, so I think we'll try to stay in tonight and figure out a way to make it up to you.  You're loved.  See you tomorrow.