You can take the boy out of Texas, but you cain’t take the Texas out of the boy!

After two hops by air, one of which, at Denver, seemed like we were going to drive to the northwest, on tarmac, we arrived in Bend, Oregon. Much cooler, and the aroma of pines. So, today we get up at five, or is it seven? I’m starting to think—brakfust!

Staying in a condo with limited resources I begin rummaging around to find stuff to cook with. Got eggs, check! Got bacon, check! Now for the sauce. Er, no flour. Hmm.

Found quinoa in the cabinet. It’s a flour substitute, no? Well, sort of. I boiled up a half cup til it was kinda like rice. Then yours truly added some olive oil and stirred it over low heat ( on an electric stove—ugh!) finally put in salt, cumin, and sto-bought chili powder.

Well, then a little hot water, and stirred and simmered some more while bacon was frying. Finally blindfolded the eggs and put all of it on the plate. Some lettuce and cheese on top, then the quinoa salsa colorada.

We-e-el, it’s interesting!

But, we are shore a long way from the border. And, Carl, ain’t nobody here that makes chili powder like senor Martinez!

Improvise, adapt, overcome! But I’m going to the store today in a garlic hunt!

We’re sitting on our front porch looking out at the fog. It’s cool, or perhaps I should say it’s not hot. Summer has definitely expressed itself with a vengeance these last few days. But it rained yesterday, a rare condition in this part of Texas for July. So this morning we have fog. I’m in a rocking chair, Sallie in the porch swing. We reflect on current events, people in our lives, the movie we watched last night, and we plan our day. It’s a lot like what our grandparents did back in the early part of the previous century. Some evenings the kids come over and we sing folk songs and share stories about what happened this week. These times are when we get our bearings and reunite with each other as a family. There’s no pressure to come to conclusions or to be didactic. It’s all okay, and sharing. It’s a reflective time and a time to be offering ideas, and more importantly to listen to each other. It’s Porch sittin’.