Not last night, though. Last night everything -okay, everything that mattered- tasted great. I let the steamed broccoli sit too long, so sue me. I just threw a fontina of cheddar on it and it was fine. The fish, just a generic baked whitefish, was superb.

But the potatoes… and the good Lord knows I love me some potatoes… were excellent. I followed a recipe for roasted sweet potatoes, but used big baking taters. I’m sure it’s a very simple thing that everyone knows about already except us bad cooks… but this is what I did:

Two potatoes, peeled or scrubbed well and sliced into fat potato chip size. Mine were varying thicknesses. Put them in bowl with olive oil, salt and pepper, turn until coated well.

Line a rimmed heavy duty cookie sheet with foil and spray with Pam. Lay potatoes out in a single layer on the cookie sheet. Cover tightly with another sheet of foil and put in a cold oven. Turn oven to 425 and cook for 30 minutes.

Remove the top layer of foil after the 30 minutes and return the potatoes to the oven for another 25 minutes.

Turn the potatoes after 25 minutes and bake for another 20 to 25 minutes; until bottoms are golden brown and your mouth is watering.

Truthfully, I wanted to make eggs and bacon with them but it didn’t seem appropriate.

I have to go ship a box of books and cat supplies to YsD. Hope she’s still at the halfway house.

Just a picture of Bree lounging while -once again- I tried to make the bed. Sorry about the toilet in the background… but at least there are no shampoo bottles, tubes of acne cream or worse showing. I know you’re thinking about the worse now; it’s only human nature. But would I do that to you?

See that slight roll of flesh on the side she’s laying on? I love that little roll.

It’s a darkish, rainy day. Arthur is at a weather seminar for pilots, and Bree and I are taking it easy. I’m not turning on the tv at all. Might even play the Sims; it’s been about a month since I visited with them. Later on I’ll take out the mess I made with chicken in the crock pot and see if it can be saved. If not, there’s a Chinese place around the corner that delivers.

Peace. I want peace today. Hope you grab some of that for yourself, as well. Someone I once knew ended every conversation with ‘peace’. I think the older you get and the more you experience, the more you need some inner peace. I may understand a little better where she was coming from now…

Call me paranoid, but my primal nature is obviously geared for survival. My dog would alert to a problem, if she’s with me… and also defend me should it come to that. But I don’t depend on her and would rather not put her in harm’s way at all. When I think of self defense products, one thing in particular comes to mind: my personal weapon, a Sig Sauer P230.

We have other firearms, but this is mine. Hubby has one that matches it, we just fell in love with it that much. It’s never misfired, never let me down. And I hope that should it ever need to be used anywhere but the range… it never will.

It’s not my first line of defense, but it’s my last, best line of defense.

Dang. Anyway, yesterday about 1:00p I put five cups of water, onions, carrots, celery, spices and a cut up chicken in the crock pot and set it for 4 hour on ‘high’. When checked it seemed hot, but nothing had really happened, so Arthur told me that it needed to cook over night. I put it on 8 hours at low and went to bed.

Don’t ask what I thought I was going to get… I’d no idea. But that crock pot’s been sitting there unused for a year, taunting me… Something was going to happen, and soon, or I’d give it away. The verdict may head in that direction tomorrow, anyway.

I needed those lethal instruments when an idiot tried to sell me cheap auto insurance over the phone yesterday. I try to be nice, but…

Considering I shot these babies from a dog slobber covered front window all the way out onto the street… not bad.

Yes, I know I’ve already done one avocado, I’m hopeless when it comes to the green crack. I blame it on my California birth.

As you can see, it’s just beautiful and very well made.

Sometimes the gallery function aggravates the hell out of me… like right now. If you click on a thumbnail you’ll have to click again for the original size! Sorry…!

As a food lover, I miss her cooking intensely; fried chicken, mashed potatoes, meat loaf, pork chops, pot roast… Mac and cheese. She made macaroni and cheese from scratch, with cheddar cheese and milk and butter and pepper. I want that today, so bad. Can’t find a comparable recipe, tho.

Not surprising that I was a chunky monkey until high school when I decided to stop eating more from revolt and inward demons than any peer pressure. Nobody cooks like my Momma, which is what I called her. Even now the word scores a direct hit on my heart.

Like other stupid children I almost blamed her for cooking those delicious meals that made me fat. As if I were the only person she cooked for. As if I couldn’t stop eating.

I told you I never wanted to grow up. And unfortunately I don’t think I ever really did. I wish I had it to do over again.

Not blood of my blood, but heart of my heart. Momma.

I’m glad for the opportunity, as it tickled her no end that Bree was walking with her… and I got a little bit of her story. Not enough to really know who she is but so much that I now admire and respect her.
Seems at one point the doctors told her that she’d never get out of a wheelchair. Never walk, talk normally, never cook again, never do anything. And she said to them: ‘bet me’.

I think this is what happens when you trust in yourself and God? Doctors only know so much; we have to do the rest. This woman is a walking, talking testament to her will to live, really live. Alright, so she yells Collie, talks about squirrels, tire chains and Dr. Pepper a lot, but hey… we all have our issues.

Ice swimming in Diet Root Beer. I just thought the piece of ice beautiful. Because I’m sick that way, I guess.