I’ve been thinking about goat cheese all day. I love goat cheese.
This is the kind of day where one has time and space to actually think about random and inconsequential things. I need this day.
If you haven’t discovered the joys of goat cheese yet, I recommend trying some. I’ve been feasting on goat cheese omelets, goat cheese and red pepper sandwiches (like this one from the Food Network), and goat cheese spread on crackers for after school snacks.
I briefly consider moving to a farm and raising goats. I wonder if Carl Sandburg’s wife made cheese from all of her goats’ milk. The dictionary, by the way, describes goats as hardy, lively, and most of all, frisky.
On this lazy Saturday in which we try to recover from that exhausting first week of school, we find ourselves short on frisky behavior. We lounge about, exhibiting no bounce, no bubble, and no perk.
Some of us are still in our pajamas. And we are eating goat cheese.
We’ll save the lively and the frisky for the goats. I’m off to do nothing at all. Just like Jack.