Spidey Sense

Our group went out to dinner tonight. There were six of us, walking the streets of downtown Ashland, Oregon. Me, falling off curbs and bumping into streetlights, gawking and twisting to soak in all the charm and sweetness, afraid I would miss something between the park and the restaurant. I was snapping pictures of everything ~ David's shoe, the hanging planters, the creek and bridge, the silverware at the restaurant...Everybody else? Behaving normally.

Story of my life.

I often whip out a camera to document some insignificant moment, because you just never know what you'll need when you keep a blog. The day I realized, in the produce aisle, that I had worn my slippers to the grocery store? Needs to be documented. The perfect pie crust, as it comes from the oven? Needs to be documented. A bowl of thread? A goofy face? Evidence that I can be a total slob? (All of these, photographed and blogged right here.)

How about a gift you made? If you don't take a picture of it before sending it on to its new home, it's like it never happened. If you're not running around taking pictures of random shit, it's like you don't even have a blog.

On Saturday, before I left for Oregon, I had a craving for a BLT sandwich. I had some bacon, and some lettuce, and I even had some tomatoes. I even thought I had bread, but when I went to toast it for my sammy, I saw that no, that's incorrect. So I made some bread. And Erik was waiting for the bread to rise (twice), cook (once) and cool (completely), before I could make the sandwiches.

That was the best BLT I've ever had. Erik agreed, completely. In fact, he made me take a picture of it before he would eat it. I often make something from scratch, rather than drive to the store to buy it, and I think it's totally normal. If I want a cookie, I bake a cookie. If I want a sandwich, I make bread. If I want cereal I make granola. If I want a quesadilla, I whip up some tortillas. It kind of frosts Erik, in a funny way. His stance is that it's "not fair". That I have so much "power", and when I don't make him cookies, bread, tortillas, granola, well, then, I'm essentially abusing the power. It's pretty subtle, because it really comes down to the fact that it's not fair if he only gets the food when I feel like making or eating it. In a perfect world, I would make the food when he wants to eat it, whether or not I was personally interested in it. He likes to remind me that with great power, comes great responsibility.

I'm such a sucker.