peacefactory

Along with the official day for waffles came an inevitable epiphany. Me - the next Bruce Lee. As simple as that. Martial arts practicers all over the world, WATCH OUT - you're looking at the next Wing Chun master. Sticky hand you say? I'll take you down without using a single muscle, easypeasy.

Inevitably, spring is (finally) approaching - thank God. Count the pairs of white Chuck's out on the streets and you'll have proof enough. People seem to now awaken from the few months of the national, unperceived darkness-coma and take every second to let the skin soak up some vitamine D.

I never thought. But. Chocolate mud cake. With. Bleu cheese. Amazing.

A regular friday ? Oh no. Sun (snow), quiet breakfast table and holy Chuck Taylor-weather.
And as topping on the chocolate chips on the sprinkles on the whipped cream on the very best B&J - J's in town.

Serendipity.
What is life, if not the newly woken sunrays of early March?

Here I am - a daughter (and now only-child since my second brother escaped the nest a few weeks ago) undescribably proud of having yet another doctor in the family. Who knew the feared D-day would turn out such a great day, from start to finish - with friends and family there to help and support.

Friday was BLACK SWAN. Entering the theatre with high on expectations, two hours sitting as if on newly sharpened nails accidently tipping half of the popcorn over the couple in front of me, exiting with arm hairs still raised hours after the end credits. It should have gotten more Oscar's.