Pesto making time

Well....as pesto would have it, it seems my basil plants are ready for an early harvest and a round of pesto making, which suits me just fine.  I long since used up my last container from the freezer so it's time.  It's just so easy and yummy, and tastes good on anything from garden fresh sliced tomatoes to grilled chicken breasts.  Pasta isn't on my list these days so I don't even want to think how great that would taste.  I'm not sure what's up with my plants, but they are leaning over, so it's "hair cuttin'" time.  I can't wait to get my garlic cloves gently roasting in my skillet, and my washed basil leaves in the food processor.  Pour in your toasted pine nuts, almonds, or even pecans, garlic, and EVOO and some salt and pepper, and prepare for lift off.  Makes me salivate just thinking about it.  The house always smells like heaven after making a batch of pesto.

Today was a non-stop scour the city for something to wear for Benji's wedding in September in Capri, and I think I may have scored something, though the jury is still out until The Mole approves it.  (The Mole is my sister).  Sometimes I really need someone else's perspective before I definitely commit to something really important in the clothing world--especially something that will be forever captured in pictures and howled over, if it's atrocious.  If she gives me that look, I'll know I'm screwed.  You know the one I'm talking about.... when you can just tell someone's trying not to say "that looks like a bedspread on you" or " that would look really nice on  a sofa", and they're about to blow a lung trying not to laugh..  Which is exactly why I'm asking her.  She'll tell me the truth and she has no dog in the fight.

  I have no confidence shopping anymore.  I can tell you what looks awwwwful on me, but, hell, anybody can do that.  I'm just not always sure if something looks OK.  If you aren't rail thin and all shot up with Botox and facial fillers, I'm not really sure what a 57 year old woman is supposed to look like these days.  So, given that, I'm just going to be me and wear something I like, and most of all, feel good in, that Shamu could never squeeze into.  Unless Mole gives it the hook.