After spending six weeks hanging with the kids and grandkids down south, I was happy to come home to Handy for awhile. Long periods of time away from each other has kept our marriage strong. I was pleasantly surprised to find that he had kept the house sort of clean (if you don't count the foot-high pile of junk mail on the kitchen table), but when I took inventory for a grocery list, the thing in this picture is what was in the fridge. There was also the same carton of o.j. that was there when I left (remember, we're talking six weeks here!), a package of green bacon, and a shelf full of N/A beer. This is a guy who not only knows HOW to cook, but is really good at it. In fact, also in the fridge was a tasty looking casserole of chicken and rice, but when I learned he had made it over a week earlier, that, too, went in the trash. In retrospect, I have to give him kudos for making me feel like it was a good thing I came home. How ironic that a dead spud in the fridge can make a wife feel wanted.
