Help me to help you

I decided to leave this intro photo up one more day. I like to see it when I sign in because it reminds me that Josh is on his way home after nearly seven months in Bahrain. The longest I was ever gone was just over three weeks and I wanted to go home then with a vengeance. I cannot image what seven months might do to a soul. Weary, it must be weary. But he arrives to a child that can eat (!) actual food (!) and loves to do so. So now, I will have two in my captive audience!

There has been a bit of frustration lately, however. Verbal scuffling. Skirmishes, even. The first has to do with Josh's demand that I send pictures of my daughter in the Red Sox apparel he bought for her, which means I will have to go get it back from the neighbors mini-pig who seems to love wearing it. Second, has to do with packages. What goes where, when, and how, and why, in time for his arrival is more of a filibuster to progress around this house today than any other circumstance I can remember, including the Brisket meltdown or that embarrassing gumbo incident in 2002. Those issues were out of my control. Once you make 8 gallons of gumbo or brine 6 pounds of beef, you are out there in no-man's land and only the fire department can help with anything that might happen in either case. But, this whole send-stuff-here thing and do-this but-don't-do-that sets of instructions are not my strong suit. I didn't get to the top of a mediocre industry by getting bogged down with other people's instructions. I like to think of myself as a trailblazer, blazing trails on this fine day, to the post office and beyond. Not a person who feels bound by the clear tragedy of another's thought process: I moved on as I saw fit. I feel good about my decisions. I feel bad that Brad will have to drive from Corpus Christi to Houston to get that package for Josh but, I feel like he appreciates a free thinker. I am (sort of) kidding.

Anyhow. I have the asparagus. I toted it around in my bag all day and really drilled down on what would be the best end for those first verdant stalks of a cold, aching spring. I contemplated Edna Lewis' and Scott Peacock's Asparagus and Scallion Pie, but it seemed too much like, well, a pie. I am willing to try an alternate but if some kind reader does not email me a suggestion, (which I will follow loosely, per the above) I might just revert to my oldest favorite: Asparagus Casserole with Horseradish. I will wait to get a message from you, or myself...

In the meantime, remember one thing: My daughter is a Yankee fan, she just has not said her first word yet but when she does, this Sox thing is history. While this is a tragic misunderstanding for a father and daughter to overcome, we welcome him nonetheless, fan-related faults and all, home.