I won't even bother saying that my entries over the next few days will be sporadic ones. In two years of working on this site I've learned one thing: the moment I say that there will be a few days of sporadic entries, I find myself churning out over a thousand words a day, practically in spite of myself.

We've begun the massive computer upgrade. Tonight, the equivalent of an opening round: the new hard drives are being installed in the server. This additional space is intended to provide a central access point for our mp3 files, which currently reside on my d: drive. As soon as the RAID array is functional, I'll move the files off of my computer, which will completely free up d: for phase two of the upgrade.

I'm looking for some confirmation on this, but I suspect that peach cobbler is one of those homespun recipes that your good, standard Southern belles are supposed to carry as part of their genetic code. However, it seems that I inherited some recessive genetic goodness that meant I didn't know the recipe from birth. As a result, I lose this recipe at least once a year and have to go scrabbling on the 'net to find a new version.

When Dad answered the phone, I was surprised.

"I didn't expect to get you. I figured I'd get Mom. So, you been doin' okay?"

"Yeah, mostly. Glad to be—"

"Mrooooooooow?"

"Thank you, Little Bit, I'm just fine." Dad laughed; a dry, raspy chuckle. It told me everything I needed to know—that there were still things worth laughing about, but that even with the constant morphine IV, belly laughs still weren't pain-free.

I just realized something. My statement about cooking disasters in my previous post wasn't the funniest cooking disaster ever.

Date: March 1, 2001. That day's entry was entitled 'All your Pyrex are explode to us.' My favorite line: "I've destroyed a lot of kitchen things over the past two years, but I've never made a pan explode before."

I present four pictures from this horrific event, which quite frankly speak for themselves:

Courtesy of Heather, here's the latest round of the Friday Five.

I have something to confess. I refuse to hate Valentine's Day.