3-1-5

Before I left the house Allie read the numbers off a thermometer to her mother. "3-1-5," was what she reported. I assumed that meant it was 31.5 degrees. We wanted to know the temp because I was going out on the motorcycle.

It's not a big deal. After all in this part of the country people tear across cornfields on snowmobiles when it's much colder than 3-1-5. But I still feel like kind of an idiot. I think it's the way that Deb looks at me when I talk about riding in this weather. Confusion + pity + disbelief with a sprinkle of ". . . I wonder what I'll do with the insurance money."

The jacket Deb got me for Christmas is wonderful. Not only do I look good, but I'm warm and I'm sure the padding will save my ass when I dump the bike. Everyone who rides has told me that I'll eventually end up on the pavement so the right gear is essential. I know they're telling the truth because of the number of times I fell off my motorcycle when I was younger. Of course I was falling into dirt or mud back then. Now it's going to be either concrete or asphalt and my bones are considerably more brittle than back in the day. I'll keep you posted.

This morning the four of us went out for breakfast. Sausage gravy and hash browns. I took a look back into the kitchen of the little restaurant we were at (a place we usually hit for dinner every now and again). Two cooks and one griddle about the size of a standard household stove top. It was a busy morning so there was an amazing amount of food crammed onto the cooking surface. That's the thing I most admire about people who cook for a living. Not the fact that the food is good; everyone gets lucky now and again. But when food is cooked in mass quantities and served hot and made to order the juggling act is truly a marvel.

So this morning it was sausage gravy and hash browns. Lunch was greasy, leftover tacos from last night. Later, Deb made fantastic chocolate/caramel chip cookies (I had four). Now, here I sit, typing feeling just a little nauseous at the prospect of cooking dinner for my family. I don't think Deb's hungry. We'll probably just throw a pizza into the oven for the girls. Julia won't mind. She never says no to peah dah! 85% of Julia's cellular make up is comprised of components derived from digested bits of pizza so why the hell would she ever say no.

Me? I'm 85% nervous. I've swallowed a lot of anxiety over the years.

And yes, I'm still nauseous.