Roses and guns

I found a "Brother Cadfael" rose in the garden yesterday, and took this picture. It's small, but the colors so intense. "Brother Cadfael" is a David Austin rose, named after the worldly monk in the Ellis Peters historical murder mystery novels. The Cadfael character lives in a monastery in 1100, where life is not quiet or peaceful. The story is also a fine PBS series staring Derek Jacobi.

I don't ever remember finding a rose at Thanksgiving; we haven't had a frost yet. That may change next week when we go into a clear, dry weather pattern, which usually means colder temperatures. And always the threat of SNOW if the Pineapple Express comes in and shakes hands with a cold front.

On a different note, it's a sad Monday morning in the Northwest as we try to come to terms with the violent crime yesterday in Lakewood. You begin to hope you've seen and heard it all, and then something happens so depraved it's impossible to comprehend. And after such a wonderful weekend with our family and little Nova, it's hard not to think about this world of contradictions our babies will inherit.

A wonderful quilt

I have to show off for my talented friends sometimes, who tend to be too modest. This charming quilt was created by Julie, inspired by an applique design called "Welcome to the North Pole."

She made it for her annual quilt exchange, and the lucky lady who got it lives in Canada on a farm where she cares for (formerly abused) donkeys and goats. She describes the winters there as "goat-clump cold." I like that expression!

If you're a quilter, you know applique this detailed is tons of work and challenging even for an expert. Julie said, "I used six different presser feet for the sewing machine, three kinds of machine needles (and broke two of them while sewing on the red chain ball trim), and oodles of different colored regular and metallic threads."

What a masterpiece! And thanks for sending me the picture and story!

Thank you friends and family

Last night I took a look in the rear view mirror of life, and I was surprised to see 191 postings since I started writing Feathers and Flowers. I remember that day in June when I opened "Blogging for Dummies" on my lap, and set about opening an account on Blogger. I wasn't sure exactly what I was doing, but thanks Blogger for making it free and (fairly) easy, and thanks John for the book. So I grabbed a template, and wrote a posting about moving Sizzle to her new barn. And I still remember the scary thrill of clicking that "Publish Post" button for the first time. Whoa! My life was suddenly on the Internet.

http://sue-feathersandflowers.blogspot.com/2009/06/country-horse-city-horse.html.

"Blogging for Dummies" said I needed a plan, and so I decided my goal would be sharing stories and photographs, and to write about ordinary life in a short and interesting way. In other words, not be a bore. Unfortunately, when we ARE boring we don't know it, and must rely on others to tell us outright (unlikely) or ignore us (more likely.) But if you have Statcounter installed on your blog, you will always know when you are being ignored. :-)

What I am trying to say in a round-about and possibly boring way, is thank you dear friends and family who take a minute out of your day to drop by Feathers and Flowers. In particular, those of you who have given me kind words of encouragement, and shown your support by joining my little group of followers. On this weekend of thankfulness for so many blessings, I just wanted to say a special thanks to all of you out there!

The sun

At 7:30 "sunrise" yesterday I opened the blinds, and let a little grey gloom in. The Northwest is buried under miles of rain clouds right now. One of the joys of flying out of Seattle this time of year (alas, I am not) is climbing out of Seatac for 15 minutes through impenetrable grey, then bursting out into blue sky and golden sun and pointing that plane south. Ahhh...

Old Johann Wofgang Von Goethe can be pretty heavy going, but here's a beautiful, simple poem he wrote about the sun:

Something Like the Sun

The eye must be something like the sun,
Otherwise no sunlight could be seen;
God's own power must be inside us,
How else could Godly things delight us?

Johann Von Goethe, 1749-1832

It looks like a much nicer day ahead today. And here's a sunny little face that can brighten even the darkest November morning:

Amanda, Tom and Nova are here for the weekend, and we had a delicious and lively dinner at Grandma Irene and Grandpa Dave's house yesterday. Here's Nova with her cousins:

Another family turkey dinner planned for Saturday at Grandma Sue and Grandpa John's house. Get out the wash tub, more potato dressing. Hope you're having a nice sleep in this morning, and not in line in front of the Best Buy!

Happy Thanksgiving

And I hope you have a better day than this guy!

Grammy's potato dressing

This picture is of my Dad's parents, taken in the 1940's. My! They both look stern! But they were so sweet. Although my Grandfather died when I was young, I remember both of them well, and you can't imagine kinder, gentler, or more loving people. They were Pennsylvania Dutch, and lived on the same farm in Bucks County their entire lives. Grammy had five children and assorted live-in relatives to feed, and she was a wonderful cook in that wholesome and abundant farm way. We had Sunday dinner at her home almost every week, and I remember a table covered with Pennsylvania Dutch dishes: potatoes, pickles, vegetables, pies, cakes, cold cuts, roast pork or beef, and of course bread at every meal.

Pennsylvania Dutch food has a reputation for being heavy, and potato dressing sounds like a real carb overload. But it is surprisingly light and delicious, and I've never met anyone who didn't like it. Most of my life I thought it was Grammy's own invention, but now the Internet tells me there are recipes out there, although none of them sound like anything she made. I know she certainly didn't use sourdough bread, bacon or strange herbs. She seasoned mostly with salt and pepper, and perhaps some sage, but I don't know for sure. I'd have to ask my Aunt Doris sometime. I don't know if this is family legend or true, but my Dad says she used her wash tub to mix up the dressing, they ate so much of it.

Anyway, Grammy didn't often use recipes, and like her I wing it every year when I make potato dressing for Thanksgiving. So if you're interested, I can give you my method but not exact instructions. Add it to the list of things I can't make the same way twice!

I just bought a Kroger turkey for $5, but poultry was once an expensive treat, and a turkey dinner a once a year occasion. And Thanksgiving dinner at Grammy's farm was very special indeed.

Beef goulash

Our symphony tickets are for Sunday afternoons, and it usually ends around 4. Too early to go to a restaurant, but too late to come home and cook anything time consuming. And believe me, you can really work up an appetite thinking about food during a Mahler Symphony! So on Sunday morning I'll usually make a simple meal in advance, and we can look forward to having it with our wine as soon as we get home.

I see there are many recipes for goulash on the Internet, also a big entry on Wiki. My method is not authentic, but it's a good way to stew up an inexpensive piece of meat, like chuck steak. Amanda is into cooking comfort food right now, and I tell her if you put the right things together in a pot and cook it long enough, the man will adore you.

I start by slicing the beef into strips, then browning it well in olive oil in a heavy pot. While that is happening, chop sweet peppers (red or yellow) an onion, and several cloves of garlic. Add this to the browned meat and cook for a few minutes more. Then dump in a small can of stewed tomatoes, and some seasonings. I use smoked paprika (a great product if you aren't heavy-handed) cayenne pepper, black pepper and a touch of salt. This mixture (below) does not look promising, but put a tight lid on it, and simmer as slowly as possible for at least two hours. Eventually even the toughest meat will fall apart, and the delicious rich sauce basically makes itself.

At dinner time, cook up a pot of noodles.

I bought these fine egg noodles at Big Lots, where I grub around sometimes for bargains. Their food section is pretty scary, but occasionally there's a find. The package says these were made by Amish ladies in Fredericksburg, Ohio.

And here's the Sunday Blue Plate Special:

John often complains that I have a hard time making exactly the same thing twice. He's right. Hey, I'm just a home cook, not a chef. And the lesson is: When you get it, enjoy it!

Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed

Someone looks (almost) ready for a turkey dinner!

Improvising Mozart

Elvira Madigan

This afternoon at the symphony we heard pianist Gabriela Montero play the Mozart Piano Concerto No. 21. It is also known as the Elvira Madigan, named for an obscure film that featured the andante from this beautiful work. Elvira Madigan was a real person who lived from 1867-1889. She was a Danish tightrope walker and trick rider, whose illicit affair and death at the hands of her lover were the subject of the 1967 Swedish film. From her photograph above, she looks like a real handful.

I love classical music, but I have a lot of insecurity because I never learned to play an instrument (I know... it's never too late, but the clock is ticking.) So the technicalities of scores and composing will aways be like another language.

"Improvising" on Mozart sounds like a sacrilege, but Mozart himself never performed a piece the same way twice. He wrote the basic framework in a hurry, then added the flourishes on top of his compositions when he performed them. Many, like the concerto we heard today, were scratched out the night before. So I've been thinking about improvisation all week and boring John with my questions, because Gabriela Montero is apparently famous for it. There was a gushy review in the local paper about her, including comments about her unconventional dress in the concert hall. Think tights, lace, and short black baby doll dress.

Needless to say, Seattle loved her! She did an encore improvisation on the opening of Beethoven's Fifth (da da da DUM) that brought the house down for a second time. We also had a Norwegian guest conductor, Arild Remmereit, an energetic young man who accidentally flung his baton into the front row during the Tchaikovsky 6th Symphony. Never mind that, we think he has his sights on Gerard Schwartz's Seattle conducting job, when he retires next year.

So we'll go no more a roving...

Detail from "Love Among the Ruins" by Burne-Jones

So We'll Go No More a Roving
by Lord Byron (George Gordon)

So, we'll go no more a roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
And the moon be still as bright.
For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul wears out the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
And love itself have rest.
Though the night was made for loving,
And the day returns too soon,
Yet we'll go no more a roving
By the light of the moon.

Lord Byron never knew that one day his sad and beautiful little poem would become a sad and beautiful little song recorded by Joan Baez. You can listen to it here:

http://new.music.yahoo.com/joan-baez/tracks/so-well-go-no-more-a-roving--1598378

Flickers on Flickr

This flashy bird is the northern flicker, a large and fairly common woodpecker. They're almost as noisy as the stellar jays (which is saying something) so we hear their calls a block off when they're in the neighborhood. They are big, beautiful, and entertaining birds. But you need time and patience and lenses to take bird pictures like this one. The little digital I carry around for blog snaps just isn't going to cut it.

Now...a confession. Every blogger knows how easy it is to find and download images off the web, especially at the photo sharing sites. Flickr has beautiful and temping pictures of anything and everything you can imagine, anywhere in the world. But even though people (like me) upload their personal photos to this enormous open site, most bloggers know it is bad etiquette to snatch and use other people's images without permission. But what a digital candy store of temptation! And in the wild west of the Internet, ownership and enforcement is still being hashed out.

But with a little effort, even a lazy blogger can find sites for copyright free images. I just ran across Birdfreak.com where I found the above flicker, and many other copyright free bird photos. Not bad. While it always feels good to take the high moral road, check out Flickr to browse page after page of beautiful bird photos. And look, but don't touch. (ha ha)

Wind storms and leaves

Nothing Gold Can Stay

Robert Frost

"Nature's first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold,

Her early leaf's a flower;

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay."

Robert Frost didn't mince his words. And when winter hits in the Northwest, I always think about how puny humans are, and that Nature will have the last word. If you watch the Weather Channel, you'll see us hit by one storm after the other as they race in from the Pacific. Just a reminder we're perched on the edge of a cold ocean, in a place that was a wilderness only 100 years ago. So trees fall across roads and come down in housing developments causing all sorts of expensive havoc. I remember when one wind "event" a year was more typical, but this November we've had several already.

If you live in a place long enough, you'll notice changes in weather patterns. This makes you feel old as a glacier.

But on the bright side, the temperatures have been relatively mild so far and the beautiful gold leaves have lasted a long time. Between storms yesterday, I got out to plant a big hydrangea in one of the flower beds I'm re-working. I took this picture of our neighbors' birch trees, which are nice to look at year round.

A dog's life

Roger is a sweet, good-natured dog. Although he's probably wondering why he has to be playing horsey already.

Here's some dog Haiku poetry to make you laugh:

http://dan.drydog.com/patsyann/doghaiku.html

The Battle of the Fig Tree

What a glorious mass of vegetation. But you may remember John went off a ladder pruning this tree with bad consequences to his knee, so there is that element of revenge. I've also been on a clean-up rampage in the garden, so I decided to bring in the heavy hitters. By November the ground was covered with rotting figs, and the naked tree was showing just how overgrown it was:
At least 25 feet tall! So Carlos and his helpers went to war with a chainsaw and did a top amputation. The chainsaw won:

His hard working guys made quick work of this job! I know, this is ugly too-- but at least a cleaner kind of ugliness:

30 years of pruning has shown the fig tree is impossible to kill. When it takes off in the spring, it will sprout vigorously again from the ground and these stumpy branches. I'll take pictures.

But if a fig could make phone calls, it would probably be on the line to Plant Amnesty.

Their mission is "to end the senseless torture and mutilation of trees and shrubs." (boo hoo)

Dark-eyed Juncos

This week our yard has been full of juncos. They're one of my favorite birds-- busy little ground feeders with pretty white tails that flash when they fly. The finches sit at the feeder eating like piggies at a trough, while the juncos cover the ground underneath, happy with the scraps of seed they throw down.

Sometimes I see Vino lurking out there by the feeder, hoping a bird will jump into his mouth. Fortunately he's a poor hunter, so maybe he's decided to just watch now. Anyway, I'm glad for it because you can't do anything about a cat's natural behavior, and he has the run of the neighborhood. We often talk about the irony of a clueless cat living so long and successfully in the city. It isn't unusual for me to spot him from the car within a several block radius of our house. Who knows how many people give the poor "stray" tabby a handout? So he must have some street smarts...

But back to the dark-eyed juncos. Someone on Flickr posted this very nice picture. My Seattle bird guide says they are year round residents here, but more abundant in the winter because they nest outside the city during the summer. A sweet and pretty little bird to have around in the dreary months.

Piano practice

I hope everyone had a good weekend. Nova spent her Sunday practicing to become a concert pianist. See you soon darling at Benaroya Hall. Grandpa John and Grandma will be in the front row.

Thanks, Amanda for sending the lovely pictures!

Chrysanthemums

"Every year, in November, at the season that follows the hour of the dead, the crowning and majestic hours of autumn, I go to visit the chrysanthemums ... They are indeed, the most universal, the most diverse of flowers."
Maurice Maeterlinck

I think chrysanthemums are evocative flowers, and these pink ones are in the kitchen window box. Their distinctive scent is not pleasant (or unpleasant) but the colors are vibrant, and they bloom so late in the year.

I remember reading a beautiful short story by D.H. Lawrence called "The Odour of Chrysanthemums." The story is simple and sad, but dense with symbolism. Like most of Lawrence's best fiction, it is based on his own life. The imagery is so powerful, to this day the story comes to mind whenever I see fall chrysanthemums.

The University of Nottingham has posted four working drafts of the story in their Special Collections for researchers. I'm a jaded librarian, but I still find this sort of thing amazing and wonderful. Lawrence came from a working class, coal mining village in this part of northern England, and I'd expect the university library has a rich collection of Lawrence manuscripts and memorabilia.

The image below is not of Lawrence, but gives an idea of the wretched life of miners at this time. It is from the National Coal Mining Museum for England.

The difference a day makes

We had beautiful weather the last two days, a real gift here in November. I had time to get a few last pictures of the fall leaves, which are mostly history by now. A cold, wet and windy storm came down from the north last night. And I heard on the news that Crystal Mountain ski area had the earliest opening in 20 years. Who knows what this says about the winter ahead?

So a very different cold view this morning, with messy rain and snow possible above 500 feet.

A new Nova picture

Here's a cute one Grandpa Jerry took last week when he drove over with the new washer and dryer for Amanda and Tom. No more going to the laundromat!

Arts and Crafts wallpaper

I've been thinking about wallpaper lately, looking at beautiful William Morris designs on the Internet. If you mention wallpaper, people think of the cool designs you can download for computer screens. But old-fashioned wallpaper used to be in almost every house when I was growing up. A clean look is in for home decorating, and most would find wallpaper much too fussy and busy. Not to mention expensive! On top of the cost of the rolls, a paper hanger will charge several dollars a square foot, and that mounts up fast.

I remember my parents re-papering rooms in our old farmhouse every few years. Stores like Sears and Montgomery Wards had big wallpaper departments, where your Mom would page through books of samples while you hung out and got very bored. Patterns like ivy and flowers were popular, also geometric designs which were easier to "match." Paper wasn't pre-pasted then, so you had to mix up a big batch of wallpaper paste. Sounds like messy, hard work.

Not long ago, I found the journal I kept in England when we lived there 30 years ago. The decor in our old "flat" in Felixstowe was so awful I wrote about it: "Gold-patterned wallpaper with big plates, clashing drapes, blue furniture and a red rug. It's a terrible jumble of patterns and colors."

Definitely not William Morris! :-)

Here's a beautiful online store if you like to play around with decorating:

http://www.charlesrupertdesigns.com/index.php/collections/show/bird_vine

And just how exquisite traditional wallpaper can be!

The Washington coast

The Great Sea

The great sea has set me in motion,

set me adrift,

moving me like a weed in a river.

The sky and the strong wind

have moved the spirit inside

me till I am carried away

trembling with joy.

Uvavnuk Eskimo, 19th century

I was sorting through old photo files, and ran across these from a past trip to the ocean. I remember peaceful walks down to Ruby Beach, and another near Kalaoch Lodge where we stayed. We also took a dirt road detour through a clear cut, blasted landscape to see a single magnificent tree named "The Dunbar Cedar." At 178 feet, the world's largest living Thaja Plicata (coastal red cedar.) It looks dead, but no it is not. By some miracle (I don't remember the story) it was spared by the loggers who went through this whole area like the Huns on a lumber rampage.

It was a different weather scene on the coast last week, when a storm combined with high tides brought 30 foot waves to this same area, and flooded downtown Westport under a few feet of water.

Seeing these pictures make me want to go to out there again, although it's awfully dark, wet and cold this time of year. A better time to sit in a longhouse all winter eating seafood, like the smart First People did:

Well, this was a splurge crab and curried mussel dinner I made here in Seattle last Friday. And the ocean will still be there in the spring...

Vino is back (again)

Or I should say, Vino/Tigger/Tabby. One of the strangest (or smartest!) cats to walk the face of the earth. He shows up most mornings, and who knows why? Maybe just out visiting his old homes. He has a nice layer of winter fat, so after he says hello I send him on his merry way.

Chocolate and Russian music

It was the perfect kind of chilly afternoon to go to the symphony at Benaroya Hall. After we parked the car, we stopped at Fran's Chocolates and had two bowls of the best cocoa in the world, with a complimentary dark truffle and a side of whipped cream. Yikes! Chocolate overload-- check out Fran's website for some real eye candy. The Obamas' are partial to the smoked salt caramels. Sweet John bought me a box of caramels and nuts. OK, I'll share.

Later, there was another kind of eye candy on the stage, when the handsome young Greek Leonidas Kavakos played the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto at Benaroya Hall.

Here's a quote from the Seattle Times review:
"Kavakos ranks among the greatest instrumentalists of our time. Equipped with a formidable technique, the charismatic Greek drew from his 1782 Guadagnini violin a tone at once pure, warm and voluminous, seeming to sail effortlessly through the richest orchestral textures. Within the past three years, he has given us superlative performances of Bartók's Second Violin Concerto and Shostakovich's late, great sonata for the instrument. Now it is heartening to find him equally at home in a standard romantic concerto that is too often treated as a mere vehicle for technical display. While throwing off the virtuoso passage work with thrilling brilliance, he yet fully realized all the elegance and nobility he has said he finds in the piece."

Dante and Beatrice

Dante and Beatrice

Henry Holiday

Dante is best known for his epic poem The Divine Comedy, one of the greatest works of Italian literature. The work is composed of over 14,000 lines, and even most English majors haven't read all of it. But some of us remember a semester laboring through Dante's Inferno, the famous first section of The Divine Comedy. And if we were lucky, the edition we read kept our young interest with lurid illustrations of the sins and graphic punishments in the 9 circles of hell. For example, the creepy drawings of Gustave Dore.

The pretty painting above shows Dante smitten by Beatrice as she trips down the street in Florence with her ladies. Beatrice died at the sad age of 24, but Dante stayed madly in love with her his entire life in that medieval "courtly" way: secret, unrequited, respectful, spiritual. Both were married to others anyway, and only saw each other from a distance a handful of times. After her death, Beatrice was immortalized in Dante's poetry, and much, much later by the Pre-Raphaelite painters, who were ALL OVER this kind of romantic legend.

Here's a beautiful short poem:

The love of God, unutterable and perfect,

flows into a pure soul the way that light

rushes into a transparent object.

The more love that it finds, the more it gives

itself; so that, as we grow clear and open,

the more complete the joy of loving is.

And the more souls who resonate together,

the greater the intensity of their love,

for mirror like, each soul reflects the others.

Dante Alighieri, Italian, 1265-1321

A good day for mulching

It was so beautiful here Wednesday, and warm for November-- almost 60. I spent the afternoon working hard, cleaning up and mulching beds. Good thing, because we had a wild storm last night-- wind, hail, thunder and lightening. Enough to even wake John up for a few minutes! And now it's going to rain for the foreseeable future.

I had the idea I'd splurge and mulch this year with a load of fresh, nice compost. Then I did some rough math, and realized I'd need about 4 cubic yards to cover all the beds 2 inches deep. I'm not good at geometry, but I remember a cubic yard of anything is a big pile o' stuff, and a friend told me 4 yards might be about 1/2 of a dump truck. The thought of waiting by the sidewalk with my little wheelbarrow while that much compost is dumped on the sidewalk was just too much. Maybe next year.

So... I went back to the cheap leaf mulch method. It isn't fun either, because I have to cross the street with my garden cart many times to help to myself to the maple leaves over there. People probably think I'm a neighborhood saint, keeping the storm drains and gutters clear. But I'm just grabbing some free mulch (not that there's any competition for it!)

It isn't very pretty, but without a mulch, the weeds grow almost all winter here. A mulch also protects the dahlias, lilies, cannas and other borderline Zone 7 plants that I keep in the ground all winter. If the wind hasn't blown it away, by spring the rains have matted down the fluffy layer to a nice thin leaf mold. It's one of the joys of my gardening year to pull the rotted leaves off in April, and see all those happy worms living under there.

The "Slow Garden"

Really, what is more precious than the last rose of the season? Here's a little article about fall gardens (and gardeners) from the Seattle Times:

http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/pacificnw/2010112419_pacificplife01.html?cmpid=2628

Thanks, Marji

I was stomping around my backyard this afternoon raking up all the green, rotting figs. A package came in the mail. Beautiful pomegranates! So, there really are parts of our country where one steps outside and plucks a huge tropical fruit off their "bush." Thanks, Marji-- I believe you now. And I'm about ready to pack up for a warmer clime :-)

November

"Yea, I have looked, and seen November there;

The changeless seal of change it seemed to be,

Fair death of things that, living once, were fair;

Bright sign of loneliness too great for me,

Strange image of the dread eternity,

In whose void patience how can these have part,

These outstretched feverish hands, this restless heart?"

by William Morris

Queen Guinevere Tapestry (Morris)

Well, November isn't all THAT depressing, although pulling down tangled vines and raking wet leaves put me in a dark mood yesterday morning. Still-- the sun was out, Nova was babbling over the phone, there were sweet friends to see and a nice pork chop for dinner. Life is good.

As I was poking around the Internet looking for William Morris, I ran across some exquisite blogs-- what an inspiration. If you're interested in beautiful Pre-Raphaelite art, here's some eye candy:

http://www.theearthlyparadise.com/

http://thebeautifulnecessity.blogspot.com/

http://preraphaelitepaintings.blogspot.com/

Eggplant Parmesan

Warning! This post might be boring if you aren't into cooking. :-)

I've had eggplant Parmesan in restaurants a few times, and it really wasn't very good-- more like a cheesy casserole with a piece of soggy eggplant on the bottom. But if you have time to make it at home, it's so good and not too heavy. We had it last night, so I took a few pictures of the easy method.

Step one: Slice the eggplant and salt it heavily on both sides. Let it "drain" in the colander for about 20 minutes, then rinse all the salt off. This helps remove any bitterness.

Step two: Prepare three dishes of plain flour, egg mixed with milk, and seasoned breadcrumbs (like Progresso Italian.) Coat the slices FIRST with flour, then egg/milk, last the breadcrumbs.


Step three: Heat about 1/2 inch of oil (preferably olive) in a heavy skillet. Fry the eggplant slowly on both sides until it is brown and the inside is tender. This takes a bit of patience, because it is very easy to scorch it.

Just right!

Step four: Put the cooked slices on a baking sheet, and top with grated mozzarella cheese and grated Parmesan.

Step five: At this point, you can "finish" it immediately under the broiler, or bake in the oven long enough to melt and brown the cheese. This is a handy method while you're getting the pasta cooked, etc.

Step six: Serve with your favorite tomato sauce and pasta. Yummy! I think I'll go have the left-over for breakfast now!