this morning melissa made chamomile scones.  i made whipped cream, and as it whipped i read anne of green gables.  the part where she’s forgetting things as she’s cooking.   and, as fate would have it, i forget my whipped cream.  it whipped far too long and was close to becoming butter.  but it looks rather like clotted cream, which is kind of what we were going for.  irony much?

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