Sure, I, like the Farmhouse at Fontanel and Star Cafe, cannot compete with Southern Bred, but Southern Bred did not leave a small mashed potato patty in my fridge for me to eat just now.
Yum.
The secret? A shit-ton of real butter. It’s okay. It’s just once a year (unless I do it again at Christmas and I just might!).
Anyway, we all went over to the Farmhouse for breakfast and the Butcher and I are on the same page about it, I think, which is “Thank god we can do this instead of Waffle House.” We had been looking for a reliable breakfast spot to hit on the day our out-of-town guests leave town and I think we’ve found it.
I know the Governor thinks we could all be better Democrats by going to Waffle House. I say only a person who doesn’t regularly try to cram four or five fat people in a booth at Waffle House thinks going there is good for anything.
I finally finished Taves’ Fits, Trances, & Visions. It was a good way to spend a still-sickly Sunday afternoon. But I’ll admit, once William James got involved, I kind of lost interest. I felt okay about it, though, because I think Taves did, too. Ha. Seriously, though, I am of the opinion everything from James to the end is probably perfectly fine. It’s just that the rest of the book blew my mind, repeatedly, so the more contemporary stuff was a bit of a let-down.
But even still, she talks for a few pages about Frederic Myers’ theory of personality and about how he thought that much of our personality, our sense of self, was based on chains of memories that we consider important and that it’s entirely possible to develop other personalities about other chains of memories. I’m kind of enjoying rolling that around in my mind some.
I’m tired of being sick, but being sick does not care!
Tiny Cat Pants 