For reasons that have everything to do with this post, I’ve spent the last two days scouring my pictures files, and an array of folders with pictures in them, looking for pictures. Along the way, I wondered, when did Daughter C move in? And out and in again? And out and in again w/ The J-Man? When did Miss M move in? And out and in again? (Kat & Tony have been just visitors, so far.)
Remember Arthur? When did he move in? Tuffer is easier as he arrived recently and is here until two days from now.
Last night– Marica Cooks Monday, which is vastly & alliteratively more pleasing than Marica Cooks Tuesday– I warmed up two cans of Campbell’s Tomato Soup made with milk and a generous portion of fresh cracked pepper & some crushed up dried homegrown oregano added to which was a handful of cooked macaroni. Along with the soup, I offered some homemade apple sauce made in part with some lunchbox applesauces which were the remains of a package we bought for Mr. Big Food’s applesauce cookies, and a bizarre grilled sandwich my mom made when I was Little. Two slices of bread, between which are slices of cheese (gouda) and a slice of bologna. Wash the sandwich in a French toast egg wash. Fry to perfection.
3/5 of the folks who dined on this Country Mouse Feast are leaving The Farm soon. 2/4 of the dogs, too. And we all know it. We’re happy for them. Life goes on. Obladee. Whatevs.
Everyone appreciated the Feast. Most had seconds and then cheerfully loaded the dishwasher and put the leftovers away.
Before that, over soup & applesauce & sandwiches, we spoke of rental rates for The Apartment, of renting houses with yards for dogs and tomatoes, and of travels.
And then something popped up in Mr. Big Food’s inbox that put me in a foul mood that carries over to this frozen foggy morning. Foul, I say.