The wavin' wheat sure smells sweet

If anyone with the patience of Job is still reading, my excuse is an impromptu crisis trip to Oh-klahoma, my home and native land. And for all the internet access I've got here, I might as well be in the middle of nulle-part in southwest France. Except there I'd be eating state fair quality produce purchased for centimes, instead of my grandma's pot roast with Lipton onion soup gravy. And Cedra wouldn't have had a playdate this weekend with a distant 15 month old cousin named "Dub," or be expecting a visit this evening from an invariably-sports-jersey-clad two-year-old family friend known as "Cay-Dog." Which is no worse than the official "Cayden," if you ask me.

I swear I'll spend more time on the clavier after we're back in SF Wednesday.