Sunday at Home

Ahhh, finally at quiet weekend at home where I can chill. No running after farmboys with cornsilk hair or lusting after a Palm Springs caddie. I'm not even fighting with Rianne. I sincerely hope he lands that gig in the touring company of 'Cats' that is going to be playing Tajikistan'

I�ve been as domesticated as a fat, neutered tomcat all weekend.

There has been golf. I broke '100' (98) There has been Sunday Brunch and the obligatory Sunday trip to Lowe�s (which is like the Homo Depot, except closer�and why doesn�t the Homo Depot just add a lavish Sunday Brunch. I promise it would be a success.)

Seed and Garden catalogs have been gathering in the kitchen for several months and lists, as loving made as any wish to Santa, have been magneted to the front of the fridge. Tiny little green things are emerging from the peat pots. The cats like to chomp them before they can even get their secondary leaves.

The mild sunny weather has Michael and Hawk�s green thumbs itching to rent the rototiller and move some earth around. I thought the ($$$$$$) lawn tractor they bought last year had terra-forming abilities, but apparently I was wrong.

We�ve had this conversation before about how they are field hands and I am more of an upstairs maid. While, I enjoy the smell of a sweaty man, wet dirt and fertilizer, I would rather sit on the deck, read and think about what sort of dishes and linens I am going to use for outdoor entertaining this year. If Martha is going to prison, someone has to carry the torch and it might as well be me

So, I am cooking some chicken out on the grill latter and making a mushroom risotto with a spinach salad. I�m thinking of the Bella Sera Pinot Grigio. Dinner will be a 6. Bring dessert.

Gay families, we�re real scary

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