Default supper: Sauteed pork chops (the Julia Child method), tater tots, no, they're not called tater tots, they're called something else--the organic version. Tater boats? Tater pops? This is going to bug me until I look. (It's just like going to bed without brushing my teeth; it bugs me until I get up and do it anyway.) Spud puppies. I was way off the mark. And frozen vegetables, an asparagus mix, stir-fried.
Yawn. I know. Not worthy of a repetoire, but I guess everyone needs a few defaults when they are exhausted. I haven't been able to sleep lately, a bit worried about our trip to Spain, mainly about traveling alone with a 3 year old, not so much about hand-held missiles shooting us out of the sky. (I shouldn't read Salon so much.)
And also: my father goes in for prostate cancer surgery tomorrow at the Mayo Clinic. We're optimistic that all will go well, he's got the best surgeon in the dept. and it is the Mayo Clinic, after all. Still, just don't know what they might find when they open him up. My dad. Not a day in my life I haven't loved him.
Our furnace stopped working today, the coldest day in Minnesota thus far, about 12 degrees & windy. My husband came home to try and light the pilot light while I was in the bath trying to get warm.
He poked his head in the bathroom, "I suppose you're going to write about this in your blog."
"About what?" I asked.
"About me coming home to fix the furnace."
Now that's just silly. He's paranoid now, thinking I may blog his every move.
I was hoping we'd have to be the cozy family tonight, all snuggled in bed, struggling to stay warm, the wind howling outside, our little boy between us, our dog at our feet (even though he's not normally allowed on the bed), but alas, no such luck. Our reliable mechanical friend, Bob, came over to fix the furnace right after supper.
Bob and my husband have a mutual dependence society; Dean fixes his computers at work and home, and he fixes anything and everything that can go wrong with an old bungalow. Sometimes I suppose you'd call that the barter system, but in this case it's also friendship.
My husband is kind of famous, in motorcycle racing circles--no he's not a racer anymore, he's not that famous--(and his leather suit no longer fits, thanks, in part, to my cooking.) He's a writer, with his own website, amasuperbike.com, which he runs out of a little office downtown, only 4 blocks from our house. (This is why he's able to come home during the day and check furnances). He has to travel to Italy a lot, always talking to those Ducati people. The next time he goes, I'm going with him and I'm signing up for an Italian cooking school in Bologna. That'll bring some new ideas to my repetoire, I hope.
Buenas Noches. If I don't sleep tonight. I'm screwed.
9:26:39 PM 
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