We're spending today inside, since the Eastern seaboard decided that yes, this whole earthquake-and-hurricane-in-one-week thing sounded pretty good. There are books to catch up on, and tea to drink, and writing to finish, for which I hope I won't have to whip out our trusty flashlight.
There's also a cat to cuddle. Actually, I'm beginning to think that she's actually a dog-in-cat's-clothing, from the way she begs when she sees anything even remotely edible in our hands. That, and she never passes up a good belly rub.
On rainy, windy days like this, I make probably a dozen trips into the kitchen, looking for a mug of something hot or a satisfying snack. These thick slices of heirloom tomato, resting on a baguette slathered with homemade pesto, fell somewhere between third breakfast and first dinner, so I suppose one might call them lunch. Our hurricane lunch. The "just in case" cans of soup that we bought for today are staring mournfully at me from the kitchen table, but hurricane or no, who am I to resist a beautiful heirloom tomato at the end of August?