stuff . . .

I've been a little MIA recently, mostly because Kidlet was home for a few days and this blog is, after all,  the way we connect when she is not around.  But she left late Friday for the northern part of the state and I can now resume my chatter.

When she is home, I try to cook the things she misses which generally consists of steak, chicken-that-smells-good-when-it-is-cooking, crab legs and chicken and gravy over rice.  While we were scarfing down CTSGWISC with roasted taters and onions, she looked up and asked how I was doing with a meal without veggies.  I remarked back that a couple of meals won't kill me since that is all I ever eat, left to my own devices.  As soon as she got back to her apartment, she shot me a text suggesting asparagus wrapped in garlic bread . . . think vegetarian pigs in a blanket.  Gotta love that kid.

But tonight is cored tomatoes stuffed with sauteed mushrooms, zucchini, red pepper, onion, garlic, corn, breadcrumbs, parmesan and mozzarella.  It's one of my old favorites but I always make too much stuffing.  Enter Proud Italian Cook.  She makes a very similar mixture but makes it into patties and bakes them.  I see goodness in the freezer for next week!  Do you think she would mind if I just moved in with her? Slurp!

Kidlet kidnapped acquired my CRV when she left for school so many moons ago.  Thank God it is a Honda and can handle the wear and tear, but after eleven years, it looked rather beat up sitting forlornly in the driveway even for itself.  After years of being parked next to the sprinkler, its poor headlights were so clouded it was a wonder her lights lit up the road two feet in front of the car, the wax job was dubious and a spider had moved in, freaking Kidlet beyond mention.  Friday I made an appointment for it and had it detailed inside and out.  Can you say new car?!?!?  They did a fabulous job.  The headlight covers or whatever they are called look like they just came out of the box.  Color me tickled and Kidlet pleased as punch.  I'm still hoping to get it back one of these years . . .  hint, hint, hint.