Be True to Your School
I stopped by Target the other day and came face to face with what is one of my most unpleasant sights: back-to-school supplies. I don’t know why the thought of the kids going back to school is so bothersome to me, but I’ve hated it ever since Court was school-aged. Perhaps it’s just the suggestion that summer is nearing its end. And then I remind myself that the temperatures indicate summer will be here for a while.
Alyx and the three kids and I went out for a sushi lunch the other day. I’ve never seen youngsters so taken with Japanese food. Even Kaiya — who doesn’t like sushi — enjoyed edamame, and likes to sip soy sauce with wasabi. Seriously. No fish. Just the soy sauce with wasabi. Mylee loved her seafood salad, and both she and Cole ate most of my salmon roll and my salmon nigiri…..
No Arm Wresting
The other day I had my annual physical, and got a clean bill of health (though no magical solutions for periodic bowel obstructions — drat). I got a vaccine for pneumonia and thought nothing of it until later that afternoon, when I realized the muscle in my arm was so sore I could barely lift my arm. I’ve never had that happen to me before. I’m happy to say that it was much better the next day and even better the next. And it’s undoubtedly better than getting pneumonia!
Our favorite Denver pizza place has an online site customers are supposed to use to order their food for pickup. I fight with it nearly every time I use it. Sometimes it just tells me no customer orders will be taken until the next day, which I know isn’t true. So the other night I placed an online order. When I went to pick it up, the server at the counter said (in the manner of those radio announcers who talk rapid fire to tell you there product might kill you), “Here’s your medium thin crust with sausage and no cheese.” Say what? Bill likes sausage pizza. But I could come home with pepperoni or ground beef or even ham and he would take it like a man. But no cheese? No go. I told them there was no need to start over. They could simply put cheese over the pizza and put it in the oven for a few minutes. I literally heard the cook and the server fighting when they took it out of the oven. “This will be way over cooked and they won’t like it,” he said in a stage whisper. Try me, I thought. She brought it out and tentatively opened the box. Bingo. Sold. We like our pizzas crisp.