A Slave to my Blog, not to FB - Poem: Breakfast

Boot off so left foot can feel free. Washed it with warm washcloth and then rebooted by Scott.

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On YouTube watched the 1971 film The Duel, that launched the career of Steven Spielberg.

Very suspenseful.

 Dennis Weaver is behind the red Plymouth Valiant being chased by this mysterious truck.

Lemme show you what I'm eating right now. It will not appear on FB. You read about it first here.

 Sarah left a half gallon of Buttermilk here that she used for her shortcakes. On the Internet I found a recipe for a salad dressing. It's delicious!

Dunno if you can see the birds. They crowd into the hot tub and make quite a splash.

Today it's sposed to go up to 96. I had to run after the mailman cuz I slept late.... 9:45. Was up writing and submitting.

I donated $25 cash to WHYY-TV. I don't want them sending me mail so there's no identification on my letter. The green strips are from my sister Donna, who got them from Starbux.

I have a lifetime supply. Better than using Scotch tape.

What if WHYY wanted to hunt me down. Could they do it? I used a Tom Murt notepad to wrap the money in and signed it "Ruth."

So they could find me.  Hmmm, the making of a short story? Doubtful.

Here's my late breakfast and the poem I wrote about it.

BREAKFAST

Every summer we'd pile into the
Country Squire station wagon and
drive to a marvelous place. Dad
would get Lois, his secretary to
type up the Itinerary.

Never were breakfasts better than
when we were on the road. We'd slide
into the cold slippery seats of the
booth and order.

Dad would always get the name of the
waitress, something I do myself, right
Jenn of the Hatboro Dish?

Though Jewish, we ordered crunchy bacon
with our French Toast with plenty of
butter swimming on top, over which we
poured Log Cabin maple syrup.

I'd always read in the car, wearing my
hideous cats-eye glasses until I was old
enough to get the miracle of contact lenses.

Now I am sipping pumpkin spice decaf, a
gift from Iris, and holding a fork aloft,
cutting a huge piece of French Toast that
like the rest of this story, doesn't
exist anymore.

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I took liberties - Northern Liberties - on the recipe.

    2 scallions, white and green parts minced.
    2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice.
    2 tablespoons Dijon mustard.
    3 tablespoons mayonnaise.
    1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil.
    1 garlic clove, grated.
    1 cup buttermilk.
    Kosher salt and black pepper to taste.


And now, w/o further ado, I'm gonna procrastinate before doing some important writing.

Should I watch new episodes from The Blacklist OR anudder episode of Hetty
Wainthropp, Private Investigator?

Your responses are being tallied up now.