When I picked up Pat for lunch today, I went inside her house, and the first thing I spotted, there on the coffee table, was a beautiful photo album, all with golden-white and antique-y embellishments. And just what should be the contents of this album, pray tell? Only wonderful old photos of Pat as a little girl at her lake house, that's all. And all her family members who were smart enough and wealthy enough (Pat's grandfather had something to do with the invention of the paper bag, don't quote me) to carve out this little slice of heaven-on-earth that Pat enjoyed to the hilt for many years. Her elegant parents used to play cards with another lake couple. Pat reminded me of the young Haley Mills. Friends, this was another time, another place.

Oh boy, I saw the boat house from which she used to jump into the lake for swimming. I saw the stone path that climbed from the lake to the house on the hill. I saw the giant fish they would catch and fry. The yard and giant trees. The vegetable garden, Oh, law!, as they used to say in North Carolina. The boat, the porch, the glory. I heard about the nearby little quaint towns they frequented, oh yum. I'm telling you, I was THERE, I was living it, heck with lunch, this was way more fun. I could feel the cool soft northern grass, so different from Florida's St. Augustine grass, under my bare little bunioned feet. Flat feet, too, which allows for more surface to cover the grass. I could sense the coziness of belonging to such a dear house and place, the kind that gives you shivers. The picturesqueness (word?) breathed peace, quiet, contentment, happiness. How's that for an unbeatable foursome? Pat's house for many years was only reachable by boat, isn't that just dandy?

Now of course everything has changed. She has a dream to go back one more time. Her heart is YEARNING. There are roads now, and the new owners ripped down the old house, but at least rebuilt a similar style. Furthermore, there are condos springing up all around the huge lakes, even movie stars have descended. So, I told Pat we should take a road trip and go to her old lake and my old lake. She thinks that would be a long drive, but I said, We could stop along the way. You watch, KEM is coming to 100 miles north of Toronto. Coming soon . . . stay tuned.

Well, we finally tore ourselves away from desperately fond memories and went to WineBurgers, a neat little place in a sort of out-of-the-way location near the water. I wanted to redeem my dreadful burger experience from the night before, and Pat loves burgers. Too bad it was closed. So we went to Billy's across the way, a St. Pete kind of landmark fish house. Thick creamy clam chowder, a bowl, of course, I have no use for a spoonful of a cup, a grouper slider with jazzed up French fries and Key Lime pie. When I heard the man who made the soup made the pie . . . SOLD.

Then I ran home to fix pork chops, mashed sweet taters with squeezed tangelo juice, broccoli. My stepson saw the pork chops and said, What's the sauce? I said, Good old-fashioned sauce (I'm always purposefully mysteriously vague with him because you never can tell what suits his fancy, or not). He said, What? I said, Ketchup. Well, these were little frozen organic babies, these pork chops, can you even believe it, after the burger fiasco? But I'd made them once before and these were as good as the burgers were bad. So that means they were VERY, VERY good. This meal was topped off with a sliver of anniversary cake by Carolyn. It was merely a sliver because that was all that was left.

As you can see, this was a very low calorie day. And brown sugar went into the sweet taters and the ketchup sauce, just to round things out, especially me. If you are wondering what is with the organic meat, just let me say, Watch the documentary FOOD, INC. Life as you know it will be gone from you forever, like pulling the plug on a tub full of water. WHISH . . . GONE!

Okay, why not finish this cold night off with hot chocolate and Dear Carolyn Hax?

Flakey Lakey Chubby Tubby KEM