A Southern Breakfast For A Southern Supper...

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"I am going to go get the fixin's to make breakfast for supper," I told my father a few hours ago. "You're welcome to come. I promise I won't go wild with the shopping -- just some eggs, bacon, cheese, and toast. I already have enough grits and some butter."

My father was very fine with it -- almost enthusiastic. So I headed out and did some shopping. He said he was already fixing himself some supper as well and was going to bring me a plate much later during the medication ritual. .

Eating supper an hour ago made me ask perplexed with myself, "Why did you stop buying breakfast foods?"

Supper was delicious and really hit the spot on this cool evening. Hot grits just have a way of warming your belly and sticking to your bones.

It's Mrs. Pamela to You...

Mom's sister stopped by much earlier today to see how I fared and if I was holding up. We've always been really close and she must have hugged me five times calling me her buddy. They were on their way back to Tupelo, Mississippi after staying in the Valley for a few days after the funeral. Her new husband was very nice, but didn't say much while they were over here. I am just everlastingly glad my house was reasonably clean. I wan''t expecting visitors at all.

"Why don't you get on Facebook anymore?" Aunt Pam asked me.

"I talked about my mental illness in a public forum and it embarrassed me," I told her which was the truth,