|This is not spaghetti. But that is a crepe.|
|Calla, Zadie and I met some sisters for supper.|
Time after time, we'd examine the menu pictures outside. Kyrgyz food.
Oh, there is a pizza place in the center. The pizza tastes a little...well...Kyrgyz.
|The girls had lagman. Pronounced logmon.|
I had shoslik. Which is like kebab. Which is like bites of meat grilled on a skewer and sporting yummy Kyrgyz spices. It was delish.
Of course we drank tea. Even at the pizza place, you drink tea.
Then today I needed annuals.
As in flowers.
I have to fill-in between Carol Schulte's Tulips.
I dragged Theo to the bazaar. Actually he had a wonderful attitude. He is THE man you want at the bazaar. Except if you need money. He has no money. (Well, not that much.)
I had envisioned buying so many miniature pots of darling, unusual annuals that Theo's biceps would be put to good use.
Instead we found bare-rooted single stems with a few leaves on top. In the commonest of varieties.
I just wanted something a tiny bit exotic, you know? Like a salvia in some other color than the orangey-red my mother planted when I was growing up.
Guess what color the twenty salvia stems I bought will be? Yup.
And marigolds. I bought marigolds. As a child, I vowed never to plant marigolds. It's healthy to break those childhood vows.
Maybe this had something to do with the lack of selection:
The nut pavilion is entirely gone. That sounds humorous, but I'm sure there were thousands of dollars of dried fruits, walnuts, cashews, peanuts and pecans burned up.
Rebuilding has started with extension cords everywhere and OSHA standards being universally followed. Except for hard hats. We didn't notice any hard hats.
At least the candy and cookie section is intact.
And some butchers still have meat.
I've heard marigolds are edible too.