Black and White

Over the past few days the differences between my husband and I have come to the surface. Nothing bad; just different. Based upon yesterday's entry, he's scrambled with a dab of the good mustard added to the mix, and dark chocolate any way he can get it.

When I'm home alone the house is dead quiet: no radio, no tv, no nothing, except banjo. When he is home there is always background sound: The radio chattering at breakfast. Movies carry on throughout the day and night. Even when we are playing games there is an assortment of tunes lined up on the playlist. And I ponder, you know, you could turn the tunes on during the day. But I never do.

When he is sick, it is off to bed. Twenty four, forty-eight, seventy-two hours later he emerges, showers and starts a new day. And when I'm sick it's move all that much faster. Last night -- as I felt the pestilence coming on I made a double batch of granola. But instead of maple syrup (we are running woefully low) I used molasses, and for dried fruit, dates and raisins. If you make granola try this. It is fantastic.

Then this morning, I'm up making soup for dinner. I have a busy day counting Girl Scout cookies for the town distribution, and then an evening of sorting out my own troops -- so I knew I would have to make dinner during breakfast anyway. Soup is the winter fast meal of choice. But why aren't I in bed?

First of all it was this sore throat and headache that woke me up in the first place. So perhaps I associate the pillow with pain. "I'm not going back there. It hurts." But then again, maybe it was the soup. I cook soup with a chicken stock base whenever family falls ill.

This morning's concoction started with onion, celery, carrot, and red pepper. Tossed on top was a huge can of whole tomatoes, some chicken stock, and kidney beans. Followed by some meatballs, broccoli and Italian blend seasoning. Personally I can't wait for dinner. I hope I feel better by then. But there are a lot of cookies to be counted in between.