which of these things is not like the other?

Yes, you are in luck again--I have more than one image popping around in my brain, so I will attempt to keep the post short--oh jeez, who am I kidding. Get a drink and a snack and relax as you read.

1. Just now, Jr was trimming the collie, and for some reason I thought it funny when he asked me if he should keep the tufts. On the end of her tail. Like a sissy poodle. Please.

2. For dinner one night this week, I decided to serve Sugar's family's favorite meal that she cooks: fried chicken, mashed potatoes (she doesn't make gravy, but I did), and corn on the cob. Please note that I have never fried chicken for fear that it won't cook thoroughly, and I've never used shortening for anything other than baked goods although I did notice that my year's supply sized can of Crisco from Costco did have a picture of what appeared to be fried chicken. Anyway, I thought that if Sugar's family liked it and it was as easy as she said, then my family might love it and it might be as easy for me as it is for her. Result: the chicken did not cook all the way through and was slightly unseasoned, the mashed potatoes and gravy were fabulous, and the corn on the cob was crispy and sweet. The drummer is not a fan of corn, so when I asked him if he would like some corn on the cob, he replied, "Corn on the cob is the best kind of corn," and something about the way he said it and his facial expression and tone of voice reminded me, for just a moment, of his grandfather-- the man he was named after. Very cool and kinda mystical. ps Later, I told Jack I thought it would have gone better if I'd used boneless chicken, or if I'd used boneless, skinless chicken, but then I realized that if I'd cooked boneless, skinless chicken in canola or olive oil and seasoned it more, we could have had chicken parm. And we all know how I feel about that. It brings out the bad poetry in me.

3. Finally, have I ever mentioned political discussions between Jack and me? I think that for the first decade together we both leaned towards the left. Then something happened and knocked Jack towards the right. Apparently we were not in the same tornado or perhaps it was something exactly like a tornado where one house is dropped in Oz and the next door house is untouched, including even the flowers. Whatever it was, for the past few years, we have been unable to agree on much of anything about politics. I think that is because Jack insists that right is right, whereas I think right is wrong. er. Well anyway. Tonight we went out to eat and I told him I didn't think we could watch any tv this weekend because I wasn't going to spend a three-day weekend bickering (or rather, him discussing and me refusing to participate) about the wise move of John McCain to choose that woman to be his running mate. (Sorry, I tried to resist the urge to say that the use of 'running mate' in the same sentence as McCain is, if nothing else, seriously icky, but well, there you go, I couldn't do it.) Of course, politics was the topic we fell onto. As Jack started to get into the right, and it became obvious that it was my turn to comment, I looked at him, paused, and said, "In France." He gave me his usual, Woman- what - are- you- talking- about? look, and grinned (yes, kids, daddy grinned!) when he realized I was willing to talk as long as we kept it light. So talk we did, with an occasional "In France"--through the bread (honey wheat) and the salad (crispy and lots of stuff in it), and throughout the main course, (man do I love a good steak) and into the dessert, during which, he looked across the table at me and said, "Thank you for talking about this with me tonight. It means a lot to me." I had to admit it felt good and seriously, how could I have not done that for him and for me since earlier tonight, when we stopped to see my mom and dad (June and Mr. Cleaver), and my mom said, with a glimmer in her eye, "So, what do you think about the events?" And I said, "What events?" And she said, "The Vice President Woman." And I said, "What do you think about it?" And she said, "I think it's great" and before she could say anything more, Jack said, "Let's not get into that" to which June said, "What?" and he said, "Politics--Gilian seriously doesn't like to talk about it." How could I not love a man who has figured out when I need some help finding a way to gracefully leave the party?