Y’all know the phrase “a Sunday well spent brings a week of content” — right?  I try to live by that and pack my Sundays, or actually my entire weekends, full of goodness to carry me through five long days of work and parenting.  But sometimes I think the phrase should be “a weekend well spent brings a week of wishing it was still the weekend.”  I know I’m going to be wishing for the weekend all week, because it was good (not perfect, but nothing ever is) and I wish it could have gone on forever.  Saturday brought a long-anticipated event – Hamilton at the Kennedy Center!  Steve and I saw the show on Broadway last year, and have been scheming a way to get back in the room where it happens ever since.  We were thrilled when we scored tickets to the touring company’s performance here in D.C. this summer – and while I’d love to make it back to Broadway sooner than later, the quality of the performances was just as good.  We danced in our seats, tried not to sing along (so tempting, though) and I sobbed through the second act.  (Forgiveness – can you imagine? – pass me the tissues.)

Sunday was just a slow, quiet day.  I baked another loaf of sourdough, this time with chopped chives and rosemary from my garden, and got an even better result than last week – wahoo!  I thought about experimenting with a different recipe, but decided there was plenty of time for that once I got the basics down.  But look out, dinner rolls and fougasse – I’m coming for you.  The rest of the day was spent FaceTiming with Grandma in Florida, reading stories on the couch, watching SING, and taking Peanut to the library (the bag of books I returned weighed more than she did – glad those are out of the house).  The only flies in the ointment were that I had to do some work, and that Nugget had a massive tantrum in the morning (and I didn’t handle it well – I haven’t been sleeping very well and I was much too tired to deal with his nonsense).  But all in all, this was a good one, and I wish it didn’t have to end.

Reading.  Busy, but spotty, reading week.  The early part of the week was devoted to Summer, by Edith Wharton, which I loved – of course.  The only way to improve that reading experience would have been to read it in the Berkshires, but one cannot have everything in this life (as Charity Royall learns).  Then I moved on to The Coldest Winter Ever, because I am trying to read more books from the PBS “Great American Read” list.  And, oh my – I can’t recall the last book that I actually finished while hating it so intensely.  I got through the first half trying to convince myself that Winter was a modern, Brooklynite Scarlett O’Hara.  By the time I realized that wasn’t going to work, it was too late to give up on it.  I can’t even tell you how happy I was to finish.  And I had to swing as far in the opposite direction as possible for the next couple of reads, just to shake that one off.  Fortunately, I had a few more delightfully bookish essays to read in the fifth volume of Slightly Foxed, and then, still looking for total comfort, I turned to News from Thrush Green, and sank right back into that lovely, slow-paced world.  Just what the doctor ordered.

Watching.  HAMILTON!  HAMILTON!  HAMILTON!  HAMILTON!  (The code word is Rochambeau, dig me?)  And at home, Steve and I are slowly working our way through the latest season of The Great British Baking Show (or at least, the latest season to drop on us Yanks) and loving every minute.  That is quite possibly the most charming, comforting show ever made.  I’m starting to develop theories for how to succeed in the tent and piling Mary Berry and Paul Hollywood cookbooks into my Amazon wish list.

Listening.  The usual – all the podcasts.  I’m up-to-date on my favorite bookish show, The Book Riot Podcast, and have been dipping into my stash of episodes of Bonnets at Dawn, including listening to a lovely episode about the girls’ week as volunteer docents in Elizabeth Gaskell’s house.  Visitors can TOUCH THE BOOKS and SIT IN THE CHAIRS?  Now I absolutely have to go to Manchester so I can sit at Elizabeth Gaskell’s dining room table in the very spot where she put pen to paper and gave life to the absolutely delightful Margaret Hale and John Thornton.

Making.  Bread, bread, bread!  Not only am I getting over my fear of yeast baking, I am absolutely falling in love with the process.  I am in the phase where I want to learn everything there is to know about bread-baking and I wish I could make a loaf every weekend.  I’m contenting myself with studying the basics and whipping up a loaf of basic sourdough every weekend, but… the artisan bread pot is coming.  It’s only a matter of time.

Blogging.  My top ten favorite books read this year – so far – on Wednesday, and musings about trying to live life at a slower pace on Friday.  Check in with me then!

Loving.  I can’t possibly express how lovely it was to be back in the room where it happens, the room where it happens, the room where it happens – Hamilton is like nothing I’ve ever seen (or listened to, and we listen A LOT) and I’m so glad that Steve is as big of a #hamilfan #theatregeek as I am.  Because it’s so much more fun when you have someone to share it with!  (Angelica, tell this man John Adams spends the summer with his family // Angelica, tell my wife John Adams doesn’t have a real job anyway…)

Asking.  What are you reading this week?