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I had to be on campus again today. More interviews for a President. I am feeling a little more energetic than I was on Sunday. Sunday was a nap-fest for me.

Tonight I need to do something. I should probably work on my writing and then read. I got the most recent edition of Poets and Writers magazine. So that could take up a good part of my night. Why do I feel an early bedtime coming on? Wouldn’t it be lovely to cuddle up with the kitty and have it all nice and cool in the room?

I made chicken and dumplings tonight – quick version. It wasn’t bad. Filling. Tomorrow I’m making calzones. My summer of recipes has been kind of disappointing. I haven’t found anything that’s absolutely a keeper. The thing is, during the schoolyear, I do not have time to cook. I need quick meals. The things I’m doing this summer sometimes involve more time than I would have during the school year. Plus, Mark is very picky. I think on a scale of one to ten, with ten being the pickiest – Mark is probably a 7 1/2. I am a zero. I eat anything. I have a theory on that though.

I am the oldest, and growing up my parents let me eat anything for dinner. Say, for example, she would serve liver and onions. The rule was I had to taste it – one bite, then I could have whatever I wanted. But, I had to make it. So, I would usually have PB&J or cereal. But, if I didn’t feel like making anything, I would just eat the food on my plate, even if it was liver and onions. My parents talked to me like an adult and explained where the food came from, what it tasted like, and why. I remember I was afraid of beets, and we spent a good portion of the dinner discussing root vegetables and what they taste like, how they’re grown, how they are prepared. And I ended up tasting them – and I love them. Some of it was they would take a bite, then give their analysis of the taste, and they would then expect me to do the same. So, to feel like a grown-up, I would taste it and then give my analysis too. It worked. I eat everything.

Mark was forced to sit at the table until the plate was clean. Even until the wee hours of the night. Poor guy. Oh well, I still love him even if he is a picky little eater.

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