Cloudy, cold and blustery day. The flockette was foraging in the backyard around dinnertime again.
Finished up the book on Aldo Leopold and started one on the Cherokee Nation and the Trail of Tears.
Tom made a chicken dish for dinner that smelled a lot like the barbecue weiners that Mama used to make -- and tasted a bit like them, too. The cookbook gave it a fancy-schmancy name like Chicken Piquante, though.
Helen and Buddy the Dog are due to arrive sometime tomorrow. Jay is going to be away for a few days, and they are taking the opportunity to visit. As usual, Tom has meals and activities planned for the whole stay. I think he missed his calling. Instead of a real estate attorney, he should have been a caterer or maybe a cruise director.
Okay, how obvious is it that I have nothing to say today?
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De nada is Spanish for "You're welcome", more or less. A more literal translation would be "of/from nothing" (like, "It's nothing, don't mention it"), so I picked it for the title of this post which is definitely made up of /from nothing.
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