XC Run Day 20

Today is about gravy. 

Yesterday was an easy day. Up by 0630, off to Starbucks and the Wi-Fi connection and the blog -- as has become my habit since I've been here. Struggled through that puppy till after noon. Just sitting and writing and watching the people come and go, the occasional face stirring some recognition, only to see it evaporate as quickly as those little storms from the ocean.

Another day of riding about and finding myself totally lost until I stumble, with great surprise, upon a familiar place that just appears, out of context it seems, all points of reference gone.

But I have remembered how to ride the back edge of the storm.

When one learns to ride down here, one learns that the rain is most often tense, tight little showers that come from ocean squalls. If you can read the sky and know the roads, most often you can get around and never feel a drop. Ridin' cool in the gust fronts that surround the cells. So while I may be lost most of the time, I've been mobile and dry all week.

Last night was dinner with my other nephew, Jared. He's one of us who got the family cooking gene, it seems. Good rib-eyes, good talk, good evening.

But today is about gravy. For while there is almost no Italian left in our side of the family -- Debbie and I are about one eighth, I think -- Italian is not a recessive gene. The "gravy" (spaghetti sauce) recipe in the family comes from Gabrielle Cassano, Salerno, Italy, our great-grandfather. And though generations of our family use it, everyone's tastes completely different.

Tonight, I'm making my version for my family. Takes about eight hours. So I'm going home to cook. And a bunch of the kids are coming over and hopefully it will be loud and animated and fun.

Like I said, Italian is not a recessive gene. (I can hear my sister yelling about that comment from here.)

Talk at ya' tomorrow.