Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Buttered Bread Comes Back Toast, Two

Okay, maybe it's buttered bread cast on water comes back toast. All I know is, I read it somewhere long ago, and I lelieved it. It's a quotable quote writ on the page of an old girlhood journal. It's a Bible scripture, too, but I don't . . . Hold on.

Ecclesiastes 11:1 Cast thy bread upon the waters: for thou shalt find ...
Cast your bread on the waters: for you shall find it after many days. ... Cast thy bread upon the running waters: for after a long time thou shalt find it again. ...

There you go. Someone tweaked it a little, and I'll do my thing by adding some jam. Buttered bread cast upon the waters comes back toast with a side of jam.

Now. I have a little thing to tell. No. It's time for Show and Tell. No words required for this bit.

Things are getting clearer, yes?

The rest is yet to come.

The garage door broke this morning. No. One of the coils on the garage door broke this morning. It happened on JC's way out. I didn't hear it, but he said it was as loud as an explosion. I slept through it. See, last night I spiraled. I made spaghetti sauce to cry for. It needed a little something, so I added some delicious leftover wine. Chefs say heat evaporates the alcohol during cooking. Well. they lied. I had some of the sauce. Over spaghetti! Come on now, y'all should know me well enough by now to know I can't drink. So, what's wrong with eating it, huh? 

Like I said, I spiraled. I was so depressed I couldn't stand it. I wanted to cry so bad I could taste it. Couldn't figure out why. Then, before I could figure it out, I almost broke a tooth. Let me tell you. Do not buy the faux Le Creuset cookware from Target. The Dutch oven costs $89 but it's not worth the wool necessary to pull over your eyes. Buy the real deal and save yourself the pain and worry.

A large chunk came loose from the bottom and ended up . . . Sorry. This is meant to be about letter writing. Will I have to start a cooking blog, too? Just be careful. The enamel comes up, hides in your food if you have red sauce with black flakes from roasted red peppers. The enamel can lacerate your gums, chip your teeth, and God only knows what it will do to your stomach and intestines. So, this is worth being off topic. I'm just saying . . .

So. The garage door was broken. I didn't know it until late this morning. JC sent me text messages, and called my 10 times. But, last night I cancelled my appointment with O-Bird. I needed a mental health day. I needed to sit in the sun, take pictures of the golden sunflowers, write a few postcards, sip some tea, and not say a word all day. I even left Simon in his room, 'cause the second I open the door he wants to say "Hey." And he'll keep on saying it until I "hey" back. No, it's not abuse. He needs time away from me as well.

But, I fretted all night, thinking O-Bird hadn't gotten my message. I had a headache that wouldn't quit. I had dry mouth. In short . . . I had a hangover. Yes, a hangover. Seems wine held over from Christmas is not a good thing. Thus sayeth Erin between hoots, and "Ma, didn't you know," and a few other things that made my head worse.

I told her the cork was still in the bottle, so . . . It only made her laugh harder-louder-longer. If you ever want a recipe for drunken spaghetti, it's yours for the asking. It will keep you from writing letters. It will keep you from reading. It will make you buy that Maroon 5 song about Mick Jagger, cause the lead singer is so haot. Tattoos look so good on him.  So. Life has a way of looking out for you ahead of time by breaking the garage door, so you can't drive drunk. 

The down side of drunken spaghetti is not being able to post about something so special it made you cry. Trust me here. There is nothing uglier than a hungover limner, crying over mail. Bear with me one more day. Okay?

I had a peanut bitter sandwich for breakfast-lunch-dinner. I am so hungry now, I know how Mr. Brown felt when he told Cora, "Cora, I'm so hungry my stomach bit my liver!'

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