Winter is giving us his last attempt today. The weather is raw and unfeeling, allowing an excuse to hide away under a blanket. I feel like I have been given a pink slip for being social. My fresh bag of library books gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling. Now, I can conquer anything, even an eerily empty spring break week looming. This slightly creepy, yet lovely book came home with me today. I feel like I have been let in on a secret.
When you move to a small town, Friday night gourmet takes on a whole new identity. There is no Thai-hut beckoning you to rest your weary culinary skills. So my version of picking myself up by my boot straps is sadly, frozen french fries. In some ways this depresses me. But in the face of nothing else better, I get giddy at the thought of my organic shoe strings. So that's where I will be, heating up my oven to 425. Pouring some bubbly. Actually I am already there. Maybe I will whip up some delicious homemade mayo? Wait, that is an excellent idea! James Joyce, you really had something there with stream of consciousness. At least I think that was you.