12 September Monday

It is a cool, windy, gray, fall day here in San Francisco, a great day to curl up in a sleeping blanket on the floor and write my little thoughts, such as they are, down.

We thoroughly enjoyed the roast pork sandwiches at the opera (fancy) where not only did we hear the classics, a brand-new piece written by a composer friend, Texu Kim was premiered. All around wonderful happy day.

Now, I am home, alone, on day 3 with several servings of roast pork. I could probably enjoy another sandwich with it today, but after that I will need something new. Taco Tuesday this week will be pork enchiladas.

Learning to love in leftover land can be tough. There is only one meal that can ever be served exactly as was in leftover form: The Thanksgiving.2 Turkey, stuffing, you name it, can be plopped right onto the plate, heaved into the microwave, and bob´s your uncle. All other foods need to be sandwichized, saladized, souped, or saucified. I have always thought that leftovers were sad. They look like they´ve been mishandled, or carelessly packed away, semi-stored, with grumpy sharped edge foil, or wilted, demurring Saran wrap. The other thing that is so heartbreaking I could cry is when someone determines that a tablespoon of wild rice pilaf is going to make a gratifying snack later on, and puts it in a little plastic container of solitary confinement where it goes insane, like a leopard pacing in an enclosure yearning for the wild. Why, why, why, do that to the poor little fella? Did no one, not one person, have room in their monstrous bellies for one tablespoon of wild rice pilaf?

Anyway, yeah, leftovers can be tough. You don´t want to waste anything. Enchiladas, yes. A joyful heart maketh a cheerful countenance.

What then, for the rest of the week?