Ok, I think maybe I'm too busy. Or maybe someone is slipping me drugs but I don't have any fun side affects; they just make me stupid.

Imagine this: My children are playing together - nicely - on the PS2 and they are playing Madden which is perplexing on many levels but still nice. There I am, shredding the beef into the home made salsa that is simmering in the cast iron skillet, wafting through the house, dancing in whorls of airborne flotsam and jetsam from the woodstove. A tab of bacon fat into a smaller cast iron pan, melting to marry the frijoles refritos with the cumin and salsa. mmmmmm.

I walk into my room to pick up a book. Not to sign a treaty or hammer out the cure for cancer, but just to pick up a book. And forget. I open my laptop (?) and start reading about Jenny and Oatmeal and Obama and the Peanut comes hurtling into my room and says all breathy that the house is on fire 'cause there's smoke.

Luckily, no fire, but Lord, do I have a house FULL of smoke, because bacon renderings apparently smoke like the dickens when left unattended. Apparently.