I didn’t do much yesterday. It was mother’s day here in the states. My family took my mom to a baseball game. The Angels. I live five minutes away from Dodger Stadium, it didn’t make sense to me to drive fifty miles into Orange county to see a ball game. Instead, I watched the Lakers get killed. You have to take the good with the bad, and it was bad.
Later in the day I bought a bunch of groceries and drove over to my mom’s house. I was thinking I’d make her dinner when she got back from the game. I was hoping she’d be hungry. If she wasn’t well, at least she’d have some groceries for later.
She was hungry, and so to was my sister, and brother. I whipped up a chicken dish with basil eggplant and a salad on the side. I like to marinade my chicken overnight, but I had to settle for the ten-minute marinade this time. All things considered, the meal came out all right. I was fretting over it though. I was real concerned. I was a bundle of nerves. To be completely honest, I was an insecure wreck.
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