Still cold, but no rain.

We were up before dawn this morning. My husband got out of bed first, and the cats heard him so they woke me up. Actually, the cats haven't been waking me up at four o'clock in the morning lately, as they usually do when it's cold and they sleep in the house instead of in the screen-porch. I guess, because ShadowBaby and AngelBoy are getting a little older now, that they don't feel the need to be up in the middle of the night to see what's going on in the world. As for Mickey Kitty, he never did develop that habit of getting up in the middle of the night (or morning, as the case may be). He goes to sleep when we do and starts his day when we get up. (The perfect cat.)

Being that we were up so early, I thought I'd go to the yard sales this morning. But I changed my mind when I went out on the screen-porch. It was so cold that I could see my breath, so I got back into bed after a while and literally pulled the blankets over my head and fell asleep again. My rule is that if I can see my breath on a cold morning, then I don't need to be outside till it warms up. As a result, no yard sales today.


I spoke to my dad yesterday. He wished me a belated happy birthday and wondered how I could be "that old" since he's just 49. (An old joke that's he been telling me since my 16th birthday, when he really was 49.) He also told me that I should buy skinless Nathan's hot dogs. He said my husband would enjoy them for lunch, and he insisted that I make sure the hot dogs were skinless. His theory was that you don't know what they make the skins out of, so why eat them. My theory about hot dogs is that you don't know what they make them out of, so I don't eat them. But I didn't tell that to my dad.... he was on a roll (pardon the pun) about the correct way of cooking hot dogs and the right mustard to buy. (The spicy brown mustard, not the one that looks like melted yellow crayons.)

After the hot dog conversation, my father asked a question he asks from time to time: "How's your mother? Is she taking care of herself?" He will ask that same question, in that same way, with very little variation, every couple of months. I thought it was ironic that he should be asking now, of all times. I just answered him the way I always do--- "She's fine, just fine." And my dad said: "Good, good... I'm glad to hear that." Which is what he always says after my reply.

Right after that, my dad asked me if I was sure my husband liked hot dogs. Well, of course he does... he will go to Kroger himself to buy them, and have them in the fridge if he's going to be watching a baseball game or a football game on TV. (How can you watch baseball without a hot dog-- that's my husband's theory.) My father was happy that my husband liked hot dogs. "Your Uncle Mino didn't like hot dogs, you know." (I didn't know that.) "Mino would never eat them... he told me that you couldn't trust what went into them. Imagine that? Who doesn't like hot dogs?"

I reminded my father that I didn't like hot dogs. "You're kidding me, right?" No, dad, I'm serious. "Well, that's not right. You always ate hot dogs when you were little." I told him that maybe I ate too many when I was little, so possibly that's why I don't eat them anymore.

My dad asked me if I still liked ice cream. Yes. Did I still like chocolate? Of course. "Well then, there's no reason for you not to still like hot dogs." I didn't know how to argue with that, so I asked him to tell me again what kind of mustard I should buy (for the hot dogs that I'm not going to eat).