Ole!

Mexican food has become an anniversary tradition for me.  It began because Steve had asked me what I'd like, and I said Chinese, but then changed my mind because I knew he liked Mexican better.  I've gone with friends and I've gone alone, but I go out for a Mexican lunch every November.  Cam accepted an impromptu invitation and we met at a restaurant new to me.  My benchmark for that cuisine is chile verde, and that which I enjoyed yesterday was excellent.  The problem with that system is, if the chile is not good, I don't go back, and if it is, that is all I ever order.  I once attended a week-long seminar out of town; on the second day I went to a Mexican restaurant.  Their chile verde was very good and I ended up returning for the same meal four days in a row.  You know you're in a rut when the waiter asks, "The usual?"

Another day of changing from work bibbies to go-to-town clothes and back again was wearing.  Just going to town is wearing, no matter how pleasurable the reason.  I spent what was left of the afternoon just fiddlefarting around.  That's a term my daddy used, and I learned in later years that it had, in fact, originated in east Texas, where he was from.  (I would really like to study lexicology.)

Today I need to knuckle down and start getting the house ready for company.  At last count, there were eight, possibly nine, coming up for Thanksgiving.  I'll leave the dusting for last.