Here's what my friends do on Sunday mornings when they roost at my house.

How I managed to forget to document this recipe last year, I do not know, but I did.

This is the bread dip of great evil I break out only once a year: PHE*.  When you read over the ingredients, you'll understand why; our arteries really can't cope with having this dip with any greater frequency.

I will be glad when this is over.

This has been a two-week span in which it felt like nothing went right, in which events would seem to fall into place only to spin out, away from my hands, out of my control yet again. Repeat ad infinitum, two weeks and counting.

I thought meltdowns were supposed to be teary, sobbing water fountains.  Instead, it was the hollowness of sitting on my spot on the couch on a Sunday morning and realizing I felt out of my depth, overwhelmed, and unable to exert any kind of control over the situation.

If you're attending PHE, please go to http://domesticat.net/phe2009 and give us an idea of your crashspace & meal needs.  Planning has commenced.

For those of you far and near, a hug and a toast. We are in our comfortable clothes, Jeff and I, me tapping out words on a keyboard while he tidies the computer room behind me. We have plans for the evening, quiet plans with a new set of friends; with PHE falling shortly after New Year's, this holiday tends to be a calm weekend of preparation for us.It's found me doing everything from replacing burnt-out bulbs in the foyer to doing initial prep work for the PHE bar. I'm best described as living in a state of constant, low-level nervousness and excitement.

In life, there is a continuum between money and time. Most people, in order to make the amount of money they want to have in their lives, must sacrifice time. Those who want lots of time must give up money.

Money's good.
No time for writing.