THE WREN

I tried to get you guys a photo of our resident (rental) wren but she was singularly unco-operative, even with the zoom lens.

There is nothing happening, at least to us. Or for us. Except of course the skylight in the upstairs bathroom at the real house has begun to leak and the landscapers (rental house) are coming tomorrow morning, read DOGGIE THRILLS and SHRILLS.

I have capitulated and accepted the fact that I can, after all, stand to substitute cauliflower for potatoes. I add onion, celery, green pepper, mayo and hardboiled eggs. I do not add dill, mustard or capers. I hate capers. I mean, I really hate capers. I do not know what capers are.I have had them once.

Years ago I worked at a bookstore called Maeyama's. George was first generation American/Japanese. His parents spent WW2 in a "camp" here in the states, along with (probably not in the same "camp" with my German teacher's parents and grandparents. A shameful thing. Horrible.) Anyway there was a woman who worked there with me who thought of herself as a Southern Belle. The closest she got to living in the south was central Illinois.

I never liked her much. But I loved the other woman I worked with, who has since vanished from the earth or at least is where I cannot find her at all.
Once we agreed to share lunches. One week one of us would make sandwiches and the next another and so on. The first week the Southern Belle made tuna and caper salad sandwiches. OMG. Nasty little dark green buggers they are. I suppose they are truly delicious but I did not like them and begged off the sandwich carousel. My acquaintance with capers. First last and only.

I also have the very last filet mignon from my late brother in law. The Last One. It is defrosted. I thought about keeping it forever in his honour but Hal would have wanted us to eat the damn thing, so I will. It's a tough job but someone has to do it.