We find ourselves an extra night in Minneapolis than we had planned, thanks to the threat of slippy roads. It's been rather nice staying in during this nasty weather. So, I won't complain.

I am, however, missing the fun that awaits me at home. I am trying to start some sourdough culture on my counter top. And just before we left, it was really active and I can't wait to get home, stir it a few times, and ask it how it's doing. I am intrigued by a bread that does it's rising overnight. You really can't beat a bread that you can eat warm out of the oven with breakfast as opposed to right before bed which is when we usually eat it at our house.

Which brings me to this thought: Since when did I get excited about silly little chores? If you had told me fifteen years ago that I would froth with excitement over making bread, finding organic whole barley for 85 cents a pound, or triumphing over diaper rash I would've laughed and laughed. But that was well before I had met Dan, or knew Ana. I guess that's what love does. Makes a girl all homemake-y.

Well, I'm off to bed. TTFN.