I've given up calling it anything else. Seven Brides is an obsession, a project that feels like it's taking forever to finish and yet I can't let go of. I don't write that statement out of complaint, but instead mingled fascination, and gratitude. 

Unlike last year, I made my goal explicit: 50 books in 2015. Goodreads posted a lovely Year In Books page, which shows what I did this year, but I tend to capture this sort of thing for my own memory: (raw list here)

I can say, finally, after five years and seven months:

There have been some changes. More on that soon. The current state of the household:

• Kolohe (my 11-year-old tabby): "Eh, whatever. Can has ear rubs, humans?"
• Frank (Noah's 17-year-old tuxie): "New cats? Whatevs. I've done this before. That food looks tasty."
• Toph (Noah's 2-year-old): "NOPE. Not coming out of the sewing room. I'm chickenshit."

and then there's Beryl. Oh, Beryl.

"I WILL CUT ALL OF YOU. DON'T EVEN LOOK AT THE TABBY. MY TABBY. MINE MINE MINE. NOT YOURS, YOU HEATHEN TUXIE BITCH."

Time gets away from you. It's easy to lose track, even if you're not trying, and -- let's be honest -- I was trying. I can't feign shock or surprise that life moved on while I was dealing with other issues; now all I can do is choose how much of it I want to reclaim, and in what fashion.

I've been a bit of an evangelist for tonka beans for some time. I love the scent and the taste, and I don't agree with the FDA's decision to ban them from food. The Atlantic has an excellent article (The Tonka Bean: An Ingredient So Good It Has to Be Illegal) about the allure of tonka beans, and the [asinine] reasons they're banned from food in the US.