For the Pie of Shepherd's: I Believe We're Moving Into the Season of Comfort Foods. Warmth. Ease. Flavor. Rest.

Need to thank Mama Sue for reminding me to blog this morning. I'm in grant-land and with that comes limited head space. Yesterday, I worked from home so I could actually get work done. I also worked at Subaru as I needed an oil change, met with another financial advisor, and graded. So when Pam texted she was making Shepherd's pie, Karal and I sprinted to her door. She mastered the ease and breeze of the get-it-done recipe. I've never tried it myself, but now that I watched her do it, I'm like "Dang, Crandall. Innovate. This might be fun."

I actually thought it must take hours and hours to make, so I was surprised when I arrived at 5:45 and it wasn't even begun. We were eating, however, by 7. Just layers, and she's mastered steps to quickly bypass the more laborious parts...like pre-mashed potatoes that just need to be heated in the microwave. I sent her a tater-tot recipe for a Shepherd's pie, but she forgot. I want to try that one, too.

And I was thinking of my parents. Not just because my mom texted, "Where's your blog?" (it's how she keeps tabs on if I'm alive or not), but that it's fast, easy, different, and flavorful. It makes me want to trek to Syracuse simply to meal prep it for them for the week.

Ah, since I'm on food this morning, I'm also super excited to be hosting a research meeting in the Writing Center today with Beth Boquet, as we put forward more work on a year of mentoring undergraduates on pretty spectacular writing projects of their own. They will be presenting numerous times in Boston next month during the National Council of Teachers of English conference. Can't wait. 

As I type this, Karal is draped around my neck like a feather boa ... her morning ritual of starting the day. I type and she lounges like a 55 pound sloth. She watches the kids walking to school, the neighbors taking their newborn for a stroll, the squirrels gathering morning beechnuts, and the traffic driving to work. I am the tree. She is the bird. But as I hit publish on this post and head to the shower, I get to hear her tremendous sigh that my day is beginning and she'll have to lounge elsewhere.

The dog's life. Geesh.