Queso Raw (So Raw)

With apologies to Doris Day. The lactose-not-intolerant had queso and chips last Friday as part of our office’s Cinco de Mayo celebration. There are still four bags of chips, untouched, atop one of the counters in the break room, and maybe half a dozen containers of salsa in the fridge. [My co-workers went and had a fiesta. And all I got was this stupid pun.]

I slept all night, last night. I went to bed shortly after prayers. Beloved was already asleep. I don’t think I woke up once during the night. “I slept like a rock,” I told him.

“Yeah, a rock that snores just a little,” he chuckled.

Beloved and his buddy have already taken off with the boat, hoping to bring back another great catch. He is trying to get enough fish for a high priests’ social at church; he says it’s been awhile since those brethren and their wives had a proper fish fry.

I’m certainly not going to object. He is even wearing sunscreen. Until a couple of weeks ago, his philosophy was Shake-N-Bake (SPF 2), as skin cancer was the least of his concerns. With the new chemo drug, he is supposed to stay out of the sun as much as possible. So he’s invested in another lightweight, long-sleeved fishing shirt (ventilated in back) and SPF 85.

The birthday girl and her spouse swung by the house last night. She loved the card, and I think she was not displeased with the gift ~ we gave her a gift certificate to the new LYS (local yarn shop).

Dinner last night ~ before the kids got there, much to their chagrin once they found out what we had eaten ~ was smoked salmon, baked sweet potatoes the size of two fists, garlic bread, and grilled baby-Bello mushrooms. There was just enough fish leftover for me to flake into salad, plus a little of the ricotta salata that Beloved grated for dinner a couple of days ago, some grape tomatoes, and a small handful of sliced almonds. I have grapes in the fridge at work which I will add to the mixture and then spritz it with an Asian-inspired balsamic mix.

Bliss!

I will be sustained for a new calling at church on Sunday. But that’s a story for another day. Yes, I only taught three lessons in Relief Society before the bishopric was inspired to put me somewhere else. The gospel is true. The administration thereof is subject to change without (or with minimal) notice. I just try to hang on and keep moving in the right direction. Because, as Orson Scott Card observed, the metaphorical iron rod we are supposed to be grasping as we hand-over-hand our way back Home, can also take us in the opposite direction if we are bound and determined to have our own way. (That would be the Gospel of St. Orson as interpreted by St. Ravelled.)

Robi, thank you for introducing me to my favorite living non-doctrinal LDS author.