There's a saying about happy and unhappy families which follows along the lines of "all happy families are alike, but the unhappy ones are all unique." It applies to more than just families. Major life events are like that, as well. After all, what's the fun in retelling the events of a perfectly normal and happy day?

No, we're much more interesting when events both bizarre and unexpected happen; we're at our most unique in the microseconds when we realize that life has just completely and utterly deviated from whatever predetermined plan we thought we were working under.

Most of my friends know that I have broken my right wrist twice, and most of them know that I broke it the first time while trying to fly a kite on a rainy day. Fewer know the story of the second break, despite the fact that it's a much more interesting and amusing story.

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.