Monday, September 08, 2008


It's been cold and rainy here all day, so of course when I got home from work, I felt the urge to cook. Does anyone else have that?

Anyway, have a pork roast (locally raised) going in the el Crocko Potto with fresh garlic, onions, carrots and potatoes. Coated the bottom of the pot with extra virgin olive oil, and seasoned with lemon pepper and parsley flakes. Added a thing of chicken stock as well.

Smells delish already.


It's amusing, coming back as an adult to live in the place where you grew up. We were talking at work today about the parties put on by our local fire department. (My dad was the assistant fire chief for years, and my beloved co-worker Patti's husband was on the department as well).

Color me oblivious, but when Mom and Patti were talking about the wild times at the fire department Christmas parties, I was like, "What's all this now? There was booze? HARUMPH! HARUMPH! HARUMPH!"

And then it slowly came back to me-

-the firefighter's children were never allowed to get our own cans of pop from the (free) machine at the station. Why? One of the selections contained CANS OF BEER.

-We were never allowed to drink from the glasses of "orange juice" that nearly every adult carried at these functions. Why? EVERCLEAR.

Irritated that I never caught on to the secret drunkfest, I called my girl, Traci, (whose father was the long-time fire chief) to ask if I was just dense, or did she know this as well...

Well, I'm glad I brightened her day.


Sometimes, I'm dumber than a sack of hammers.

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