I had a scare yesterday; a litle old white-haired lady ( "Grammy", as she proudly announced on her license plate) proceeded to blast out of a gas station lot at full speed without even looking to see if anyone was coming up in that lane. Thank God there was no one in the lane to my right, otherwise, I might have been dust in the wind by now, taken out by a Chevy Lumina. (How unremarkable to die by Chevy!)
Today is my son's birthday, and he and his family are coming for dinner. I am cooking all his favorites: Marinated London broil with Darby sauce, mashed potatoes, sauteed mushrooms, green beans with onions and lemon juice, crowder peas, spinach salad with sliced strawberries and home-made poppyseed dressing, and a pineapple upside-down cake. Wouldn't you like to come too? Actually, he has probably never tasted crowder peas. A friend gives them to me; she grows them in her garden, and I love them. There are really only 2 people in the world whom I really love to cook for; one is my son and the other was my father. Either of them would eat anything that was put in front of them, without complaint, and be damn glad to get it! People like that make me want to cook for them - and cook better than usual. Go figure, since they would be happy with ordinary everyday food.