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There is much that is wrong and confused and a royal pain in my nether regions lately. My heart is broken over the massacre in Virginia. My brain is tired from trying to make sense of it. Math-Man and I are tangled up in a long-distance argument. Big changes may await me. Or not.

Feh.

Good Southern girl that I am, I channeled Scarlet O'Hara. I'll think about it tomorrow. A braver person would have cleaned closets or scrubbed floors. I started to cook. And cook. And cook some more. Before I knew it, I had a pot of spaghetti, a huge salad, some bread rising, a peach cobbler..... Nothing fancy. And I can't tell you that is was cooked with love and lightness of heart. More like dark glowering angst. But it still tasted good.

Now how in the name of all that is holy is one person going to eat all of that? Never fear. I have a son who can smell a home-cooked meal from across town. I heard his truck -and his buddies- in the driveway, so I put four more plates on the table. A few minutes later, a yoga buddy popped over to see why I hadn't been at class. One more plate on the table. She called her husband (another Math-Man) and told him to come over. Their daughter popped over for a few minutes.

We haven't solved the problems of the world. But we talked about important things -violence, the equality of marital partners, does George bush really have a brain. And some not-so-important ones -seriously, IS there a good domestic beer?

Nothing's changed, except my attitude. Of course it wasn't the food. None of those people knew there was food here when they stopped over. Instead, it was the gathering around the table and the almost lost art of conversation. And the wine didn't hurt ;)

Thank goodness for friends! I was glad to be able to feed the ones gathered around my table.