pot pies before pot heads

My beloved coffee maker and I are friends again. Turns out she just needed some loving care by way of a really dedicated and intense cleaning. My nerves were humming during the grind cycle but all went very, very well. No explosive coffee-grounds-everywhere moment, no tedious time spent removing renegade grounds from the final product. Just one exceptionally good cup of coffee.

Don't you just love the simple things in life that give you a moment of happiness that comes without a price? Actually, sometimes there is a price or consequence. But it's not always something you're necessarily obligated to pay. Know what I mean? For example, I slept in ridiculously late this morning because every time I woke I was then lulled back to sleep by the sound of rain falling outside my bedroom window. Do you know how many mornings during my life that I've had to kick myself out of bed in the morning to that same sound? When all I wanted to do was snuggle deep into my bed and enjoy the moment. Today I snuggled back in. No place I had to be. It was a gift I gave myself. You could argue that half my day is wasted and that I could have come up with a better use of my time. You could argue that I payed a price for that moment of happiness. Argue away. Because I'm not paying up. I don't have to. I've decided this morning was a freebie.

Why don't people throw dinner parties anymore? Maybe they do and I'm just not invited? Invite me! I love a good dinner party. ( Julie, I'm completely serious about co-hosting the ultimate dinner party with you soon!) Or a really fun cocktail party. Ok, maybe just parties in general? My favorite kind of party is definitely one where I am the hostess-with-the-mostess. I love entertaining people in my home. If I lived in a place bigger than a postage stamp I would throw parties every other week! Some would be super casual - chili and my mom's beer bread on a cold winter night. Some could be themed. In med school I invited all my friends over for Chicago deep dish pizza and then we walked down the street to the movie theater and watched the musical "Chicago." I know y'all wish you had been invited:) And some could be very swank and grown up - I do, after all, have my very own signature cocktail. I think this compulsion to entertain stems from throwing the best sleepovers in Warrensburg as a kid. Nat, you know it's true. Firetruck, firetruck, firetruck . . . :)

A year ago last September I went to Ville Platte,LA with Ian for the first time. The trip was memorable for many reasons but the thing that will still stick out when I'm 82 and reminiscing on my life is Miss Liz's chicken pot pie. I dream about that pot pie. Seriously. Since then I'd been able to experience it's joy many other times. After my initial introduction, Ian was then obligated to share anytime his mom sent him home with a couple of pies. But when Ian moved to Atlanta I thought my supply was cut off. You may be thinking that I'm sounding very much like an addict right now. Fine, judge me. But you've never had Miss Liz's chicken pot pie. You just don't know. Sometime during the past year Ian and I shared the pot pie experience with Gigi and she became similarly entranced. However, instead of mourning the loss of our supply line she decided to try to recreate the pie's wonder. Miss Liz was kind enough to offer her instruction and she got to work. She made two and the first was enjoyed right away. Not exactly the same (Miss Liz, you're irreplaceable!) but actually really,really good. The second we've been saving in the back of Geege's freezer. Earlier this week we decided that it was time to bring it back to life. We'd planned on consuming it last evening, necessitating freezer removal on Wednesday evening. I did not eat chicken pot pie last night. Because someone thought that a date with a boy trumped dinner preparation. Obviously, she was wrong.

There is something seriously wrong with my left upper eyelid. It has been feeling, I don't know, sort of off for the last few days. I had spent a crazy amount of time examining it in the mirror for any abnormality. I saw nothing. Was beginning to suspect that I was either 1) crazy or 2) finally succumbing to a severe case of hypochondria. But this morning I was vindicated. When I finally dragged myself out of bed I noticed that my left eye was incredibly painful and nearly swollen shut. And you know what? I was actually happy. Because, despite a previous lack of evidence, I was right. There was something wrong with my (psychic?) eyelid. Unfortunately this short lived moment of happiness came with a price that even I can't avoid: I look like I came out on the losing end of a fight. Seriously. In fact, you all should be terribly impressed with me right now. I typed this entire blog with the use of only my right eye. Wow. Maybe I am crazy after all.