My ever-observant mathematical genius uber-cuzzint Pooh of Prime Number Sieve fame (and once wearer of two *different* shoes through a whole morning of college classes — maybe you know this kind of person? [wink]) was a little confused about how many lasagne noodles I have in my cupboards. “Youth wants to know!”

No, of course I do not have 32 boxes of lasagne noodles in my house! I have two open and partially full boxes of lasagne noodles. I switched *units* on y’all! Not only that, “32” is an approximate count. I opened the boxes and sorta counted “4, 8, 12…” but clearly there were enough noodles for two lasagnes, so I didn’t get too particular. I keep track of lasagne noodles (more or less) by noodle. One lasagne is 12 noodles, four per layer. If I go by boxes, here’s what happens: 1) I look up in the cupboard and see a box of lasagne noodles. 2) I go to the grokkery store and think, “I don’t need lasagne noodles. I have a whole box.” 3) I do not buy lasagne noodles. 4) I am making lasagne and it turns out that the box has 4 noodles or 6 noodles or 11 noodles. Not enough. 5) I grab my Black Cloud and head BACK to the grokkery store to get lasagne noodles (or send the GG, who’ll probably overdo it and buy like five boxes…(she said *one* box but maybe she needs some extras…)).

Today was our team’s loverly “holiday” luncheon. I am calling it that in deference to our Jewish and Buddhist and Muslim and Jehovah’s Witness team members. In reality, the LSCHP, the uber-boss who arranges these things, breaks out one of his Christmas yarmulkes for this annual occasion and, well, Sandy Claws anyone? This year, we went to the Quarter Bistro, which is right over there in my neck of the woods in what used to be Mountain Jack’s! Wow! Why oh why have I not ever been to the Quarter Bistro? I mean besides the fact that I live under a damn rock. It was soooo good. We’ll have to put the bistro on our beat…

We used to go to Mountain Jack’s a *lot*. It was a steak house with a gun-fighter theme and my old coot loved it. And so did we. Back in those days, Knight’s did not exist and Mountain Jack’s was our go-to place for all kinds of occasions: family in town to visit, power out at The Landfill (rare event, knock on wood), my 31st birthday… Lizard Breath was three months old and it was snowing to beat the band. She fell asleep as soon as we got there and slept through the entire meal, lying next to me in our booth. When we picked her up as we were leaving, a chorus of awwwwws ensued from neighboring patrons. “You have a *baby* there? She was so quiet. She’s so pretty. How old is she?” What a beautiful baby.

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