Playing around

But what's the story, Marian?   I don't know.  This just popped up.

Deb was a southern girl and she knew how to store bread.  And yet.  She held the suspect slice between index finger and thumb and looked at it carefully.  The right edge was definitely a bright blue.  And dang it -- bread not being worth a well chosen curse -- she had paid almost three dollars for this loaf.  It had been brought home from Whole Food and shoved into the icebox almost immediately.  The breadbox held potato chips, walnuts, and other produce that did not whisper come hither to Aspergillus  No, the bread went on the bottom shelf of the fridge and you were lucky if you tasted it in its natural wheaty state fresh from the plastic  wrapping.  The kids knew bread as a stiff gritty substance striated with toaster marking.  Plumped with mayonnaise, lettuce, tomato and onions, bread made great piling for the structure of a hot sausage sandwich.  But it was never cornflower blue.

daily life

A certain amount of craziness:

I found a recipe for corn chowder in the weight watchers book and decided to try it. It called for frozen corn, but at the last minute I decided to buy the real thing. That explains the corn silk all over the kitchen counters and the bag of corn hulks on the floor. And three pots of boiling water on the stove. 

Meanwhile, True Blood plays in the background despite the fact it’s a show that I detest more and more.   Why do the non-white characters have so little control over their lives and the white characters have so much? Yet again, Tara is almost killed while Sookie is rutting in the woods.  (Next week, it appears that Tara relents from vengeance—again.)