And wine can of their wits the wise beguile

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So, this one time? At band camp? It turned out that there was a 70% chance of my father being alive by the end of the day tomorrow. Had it been up to him, I do not think I would have ever found out. My mom had to sneak away and use the cordless phone to tell me. He gets some pins in his neck tomorrow and another surgery for a disproportionate number of slipped discs two days after. I am not entirely sure about the second surgery, but the first has a 70% survival rate. That’s a C. And he doesn’t even get to pull an all-nighter study cram-session. What am I to do? I really do not know. The whole shock of hearing about the operation less than 12 hours before it actually happens kind of reduces any possible options I may have, for better or for worse. Part of me thinks that maybe he is just trying to protect me from icky old bad memories of hospital-type things, but I really do not know. At this point, I guess I will just hold on, have an extra couple of glasses of wine, and see what happens.

Tonight, I finally got around to making my adjusted Veggie Pot Pie recipe. It was a pretty “by the seat of the pants” recipe. “Sure, that amount of broccoli looks good. Yeah, it calls for 2 cups of veggie broth, but how about if I dump two more seconds of pouring in there? Measuring by cups? How about if I just dump stuff in there until it looks right?” There is no possible way of repeating it, but it worked out pretty well. I managed to severely burn a finger in the process. Ebenezer continues to try to steal veggie leftovers from the garbage bin. Fortunately, there is a flip-top lid.

Posted in: Dear Diary

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