Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Breakfast sausages and other stories

I spent the early morning at a Timmy Ho's yet again while the ole car got the once over for his safety (he finally passed after some sweet new fuel-miser tires were added). I doodled in my day planner, making lists I likely wouldn't check again and counting down the weeks to several fall half marathons trying to make a decision of which one(s) to do (more on the plural later).

Most Timmy Ho's are staffed by an eclectic mix of young and old, immigrant and not, and having worked at one myself in the past I also watch and listen to the staff, reminiscing. Sort of.

This morning, a particular little Indian woman (as in India) was the hustle and bustle behind the line. She was wee, shorter than me by a lot, quick and nimble. She also had a great accent and a booming voice...which she used to shout "Breakfast Sausage! Breakfast Bacon! Breakfast Sausage!" as each new treat was ready. Was I the only one whose mind went straight for the gutter? Probably.


I don't know what's the sadder thing - that I'm way too over the moon excited to get a sweet deal on a shiny new (but bought as a resale item) Running Room jacket, or that it was actually cool enough today to warrant wearing it. Well, it was cool enough, until five minutes in to the run I was warmed up and the sun decided to make its one and only appearance of the day.

The run itself? I went sans watch and used my song list to guess my time. I was supposed to go easy, but clearly I was pushing it. I ended up with two side stitches (that I shuffled through) and knocking a solid 20 seconds/mile off my previous few run times. Sweet.

Yes, I need to wax my brows - again - but check out the lucky find! In the colour I would have picked had I bought it new, too. P.S. I need a new head band.

My oldest sister, her hubby and two kids are coming to stay with us for a few days. They arrive momentarily and I can't wait to show them around our new place, our new town and to use their free baby sitting services.

I've also discovered, in preparing for their visit, that we are so granola. The sister and I had a quick discussion on groceries the kids like, things to make for dinner, etc. and it dawned on me: we rarely eat meat anymore, few of our dinners have origins anywhere near North America and I like it this way. Except that when company comes over I have to make an entirely new grocery list and have no clue what to make. Burgers? Sure. But we have veggie ones. Right. I'll get on that.

I'm so granola I make my own bread. Too much junk in bought stuff. I bake it in a pot so it comes out round and rustic looking. Am I a loser? Absolutely. Do I love it? Heck yeah. If anyone wants the recipe, just let me know. It's very simple - no kneading required.

Random cute picture of the day, and proof that we are white trash. Because yes, that's a ladder for a baby gate on the deck AND a queen sized box spring on the porch. It's free. Any takers? Also, I have a very pointy chin and nose.


Jennifer P said...

Please make bread for us. Please.

And you'd be granola if your food was grown within 100 miles of your home.

We could bring our boat and leave it on the lawn if you need to secure your white trash status.

Anonymous said...

I would like the bread recipe...