On gloomy days like today, we take it upon ourselves at Owl Chatter to bring sunshine into your lives. Here’s a Tiny Love Story by Christine Chernikoff from today’s NYT:

She twirls the rings on my fingers as we snuggle in bed. Newly 4 and full of questions, my daughter seeks to know the world. “Mommy, why do you wear these rings?” We move effortlessly through her birthstone, my engagement and wedding rings. But how to explain the other three gold bands? Each is a marker of a pregnancy lost, embryos that didn’t grow. These are the siblings I dreamed for you, the babies I longed to hold. Someday we’ll grapple with loss, but today, I share a simple truth: These rings, my darling girl, they are all about love.

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This poem by Barbara Crooker is called “Ordinary Life.” It’s from today’s Writer’s Almanac.

This was a day when nothing happened,
the children went off to school
without a murmur, remembering
their books, lunches, gloves.
All morning, the baby and I built block stacks
in the squares of light on the floor.
And lunch blended into naptime,
I cleaned out kitchen cupboards,
one of those jobs that never gets done,
then sat in a circle of sunlight
and drank ginger tea,
watched the birds at the feeder
jostle over lunch’s little scraps.
A pheasant strutted from the hedgerow,
preened and flashed his jeweled head.
Now a chicken roasts in the pan,
and the children return,
the murmur of their stories dappling the air.
I peel carrots and potatoes without paring my thumb.
We listen together for your wheels on the drive.
Grace before bread.
And at the table, actual conversation,
no bickering or pokes.
And then, the drift into homework.
The baby goes to his cars, drives them
along the sofa’s ridges and hills.
Leaning by the counter, we steal a long slow kiss,
tasting of coffee and cream.
The chicken’s diminished to skin & skeleton,
the moon to a comma, a sliver of white,
but this has been a day of grace
in the dead of winter,
the hard knuckle of the year,
a day that unwrapped itself
like an unexpected gift,
and the stars turn on,
order themselves
into the winter night.

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Have you heard of, or tasted, Marmite? Me neither. It’s British: a sticky, dark brown paste with a distinctive, salty, powerful flavor and heady aroma. The distinctive taste is represented in the marketing slogan: “Love it or hate it.” Such is its prominence in British popular culture that Marmite is often used as a metaphor for something that is an acquired taste or polarizes opinion.

It came up because Steve Craig of the Dull Men’s Club (UK) posted: “Just tried beans on toast but with Marmite instead of butter.” He called it a “game changer.”

Here’s Steve. (Looks a little like Adam Schiff, no?)

Well, you can imagine the commotion Steve’s post caused in the Club. Well over 100 comments. Tim Davis started things off with “I’d still have butter — and grated cheese too,” and Alex Bostock concurred: “Who doesn’t put cheese on beans?”

Vernon Maldoom went off on a bit of a tangent with: “I think we are witnessing the demise of personal pronouns.”

But Gareth Llewellyn Armstrong wrote: “Nonsense. The start of this sentence has been accepted English for decades – especially in informal journal-style sentences. What’s the point of using the pronoun here when it’s obvious who is talking?”

Maldoom was having none of it: “Your proposal is clunky, clumsy and lazy.”

Ouch!

Sunday Simmons agreed with Gareth: “No, this is a completely acceptable sentence when used informally.”

Getting back to the matter at hand, Adrian Scott suggested adding a couple of fried eggs. [OC note: We’ve noticed fried eggs getting added to sandwiches and burgers lately. On a hot dog once, even. We’re in favor of it!]

It brought up a painful memory for Jess CB who posted: “And to think I had my post deleted when I used normal Bisto [gravy] for a chicken-based meal. You’re walking a thin line there Marmite Boy.”

[Marmite Boy!]

Andrew Turner, clearly not a fan, wrote: “It might be game-changing, but it’s changing the game to something terrible like monopoly.”

I’m going to let Carlo DeCianti have the last word: “What kind of lunatic doesn’t put butter on his toast?”

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In the puzzle today, 1A started us off wonderfully. The clue was “Establishment where you might eat a muffin while petting a ragamuffin,” and the answer was CAT CAFE. The Ragamuffin is a breed of cat notable for a friendly personality and thick fur. Ragamuffin kittens are usually born white and develop a color pattern as they mature. Every color and pattern is allowable, with or without white.

SALADS was clued by letting us know McDonalds stopped offering them in 2020. The puzzle was otherwise not very noteworthy, except that our style and culture consultant, Ana, sent this very nice shot in for our Dirty Old Man Dept to address 125A: NYLONS. Thanks, Babe! You’re too much!

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Taylor passed up the Chiefs game this week. At halftime, the Jim-Harbaugh-led Chargers were up 10-7. Travis has been active, catching 5 of 6 passes thrown his way, for 74 yards. The Jets suffered an excruciating last-minute loss. Oy, don’t ask. Too painful.

See you tomorrow, kids.

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