I woke early this morning to music. Both dogs were still asleep. I thought I imagined the music and it took me a minute to orient myself until I heard Tammy Wynette's twangy refrain, stand by your man, and knew my husband was out in the hot tub listening to his oldies. I swear the man was born in the wrong century.
I joined my husband for an early morning soak. The air was very cold, so the contrast of the hot water was invigorating.
Afterwards, I headed to the local coffee shop for breakfast with my father and uncle. I suppose I could label these Sunday breakfast meetings as coffee therapy and story, but to be truthful, blood pressure watch or drama du jour are better descriptions. The topic of the day was a local murder from the 1950's, about a neighbor who shot his wife in cold blood and got away with it with the old "crime of passion" defense. What's amazing is that this man married three more times. What were those women thinking?
The story: the neighbor's wife was in her early twenties, they had two daughters, she had enough of him so she asked for a divorce. It's unclear whether they were divorced or separated, but they were no longer cohabitating. Well, this neighbor "happened" to drive by, and "happened" to see his ex or soon-to-be ex sitting at the kitchen table with another man, so he went back to his place, got his gun, headed back to her place, kicked the door down, and while the male visitor was exiting out the kitchen window, the neighbor guy shot and killed her. Hardly a crime of passion, and even if it were, the ass hat is allowed to walk without any consequences? Infuriating. It helps to understand that the culture and time period were on his side, that he was well-connected. If he committed his crime today, he or a part of his natty anatomy would be a little forlorn pile of grass!
My father said he took the man's mother to the jail to visit him, and he remembers that he was sitting under a tree reading the Book of Mormon. I suppose in this case Hamlet was correct when he said, Nothing is good or bad, but thinking makes it so. The guy is still alive, one wife divorced him, at least one other wife is dead, (supposedly from natural causes), and he lives in a city called Eden. Can you believe it? If I ever have the opportunity to meet this man, I'll ask a couple questions I bet he's never been asked. And I'll get answers.
Okay, now coffee therapy is accounted for, back to cooking therapy. Our daughter (technically, my stepdaughter), her husband and his brother, and most important of all, the two-year-old grandbaby, came for a visit today. He can say his entire name: first name, two middle names, and surname, and he on occasion, also speaks in full sentences. We played Tyrannosaurus Rex, Legos, and Slinky.
My husband was in charge of cooking today, not only because it's Sunday, my day off, but mainly because I'm interested in cooking healthy, and he is deeply committed to cooking dangerously. He's a red meat, mashed potatoes with gravy and overcooked vegetables kind of cook and eater, and that's exactly what he cooked today: beef roast with garlic and loads of salt slowcooked in the crockpot, mashed potatoes with loads of butter, brown gravy, baby carrots, and white flour rolls, with you guessed it, loads of butter.
My cooking therapy today consisted of making one cup of hot chocolate. I asked the grandbaby if he wanted hot chocolate, he replied, want one. Of the two days of cooking therapy so far, today wins the prize.
22 November 2009 Lazy Sunday Hot Chocolate
Ingredients:
1 sippy cup milk
2 Tbls Stephen's Gourmet Hot Chocolate Chocolate Rasberry
Directions:
Microwave milk for 45 seconds.
Stir in chocolate mix.
Check temperature.
Serve.
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