Wild Turkey

Yesterday's blog entry, featuring Buddhism and J. Wellington Wimpy, got no comments whatsoever, making me think I might have gone off the deep end.  Then I went to see Proof, at Heartland Theatre, where going off the deep end is a central concern of the brilliant mathematician family wamily.

So today, I am just going to mention that I will be seeing a lot of volleyball and making turkey chili with green olives and raisins.  (But no slivered almonds, as the family wamily doesn't like to find nuts in foods.) Finding nuts in the general area of the kitchen is OK.

I won't be drinking any of this--Wild Turkey--and I notice you have to enter your birth date even to enter the official Wild Turkey website.

Speaking of birth dates, mine is circling around again tomorrow, making me finally old enough to enter the Wild Turkey website.

Heh heh.

No, really, this is the year in which I will be reading The Elegance of the Hedgehog, by Muriel Barbery, because I will be the same age as the French concierge philosopher woman.

No particular birthday plans with family wamily, but a poet friend is coming over in the afternoon tomorrow, and that will be a treat.  I will offer her leftover turkey chili (leftover is the best! spices steep, etc.) but no Wild Turkey, unless I can get hold of this beautiful bottle. And then we might just want to run our fingers over the glass ridges. Because we are poets.