The past few days have been really gorgeous here in New England – the kind that you see pictures of in brochures, with cerulean skies, green grass, budding trees, golden-ringlet-curly-haired toddlers uttering cries of delight at dandelions, casual strollers, tens of thousands of people running 26.2 miles all at once, daybreak Revolutionary War reenactments (these are SO cool), and heavens dotted with brightly colored kites. And for me, sunshine on the roof deck. (Where better to read one’s scriptures?)

And Swedish meatballs*. My second-ever batch is baking now. I’m very proud of myself for not spilling the allspice into the bowl this time, but I still have no idea how they’ll turn out, as, unlike with cookies or cakes or other sugary delectables, it’s not advised to taste the mixture before it has spent considerable time in the oven.

*As far as I know, Swedish meatballs are wholly unconnected with New England, spring, and spring in New England. I’m exercising the right to be random.

Update 4/22: Mmmm. Them are some GOOD Swedish meatballs. Deee-licious.

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