a partial list of everything consumed here so far

• cake donuts and Crispin apples
• pork tenderloin times three different ways
• Mighty Taco
• provolone, eaten straight from the bag
• fresh little mozzerella, ditto
• gorgonzola, yup
• turkey gravy made by a former Army cook who apparently gives my mother bottles of gravy
• box of Russell Stover's candies
• approximately two cases Molson Canadian
• approximately three bottles red wine
• Father Sam's pitas
• leftover patty melt turned breakfast sandwich
• gobs of cranberry honey mustard, liberally applied to all of the above, excepting wine and beer

You have to love a vacation in which the closest you've been to your five-a-day is wine and apples. Today I debated making barbeque sauce but am not sure that I can eat any more. I must, after all, save room for the Ohio food fest that is sure to happen over the next couple of days. It's been four years since my last coney, Father. Bring me two. With onions.

I could blog about something other than food. Let's see. It's gray here. People around me have fathers with false-alarm heart attacks. I saw my grandfather for what's probably the last time. But I have sat on the couch with Colleen until 3 am watching "The Family Stone" and slept each night with a dog's snout in my armpit. I drove across the country with a boy whose claim that "pandas are mean, they bite off your arms and then beat you to death with your own feet" made me laugh my way through the multiple Illinois tolls. I have been doing all the reading I wanted to, and my mother and I aren't even fighting. Somebody (not me) stepped on my camera so that the screen is broken. I am having the most fun I have in a long time at home (except for the camera and the other stuff, which is mentally chewy), but I can't wait to get back to the land of flat prairie and the little white house, cook pork tenderloin one of three ways, make barbeque sauce on a winter night, and sleep in the best bed in the world.