Slight Detour: Leftovers?

We have no leftovers in our refrigerator or even in the deck barbecue (it serves as an extra refrigerator in the winter time).

The kids were in Lewiston and Ireland, enjoying their holiday activities so Bill and I were free to do as we wished.

I did spend some time laboring over a hot oven yesterday.

When the oven timer went off, I opened the door and took out two pans of pumpkin muffins.

The muffins were special for two reasons. First, they substituted for Thanksgiving pumpkin pie.

Secondly, the pumpkin came from a seed and then a plant which, this past summer, grew all over my hillside of black gold along the west side of the barn.

There's something special about the homegrown aspect of those muffins.

Plus, they taste good.

Bill warmed two up, had them for breakfast this morning and gave the stamp of approval.

Anywho, that was the extent of my cooking yesterday.

After we all watched the fabulous Gonzaga win over Indiana at the Colburn home, my sisters followed us to Bonners Ferry where we dined at the Kootenai River Inn.

It was a lovely holiday meal, complete with dessert, and it probably tasted especially good because we did not have to spend the day preparing it.

Upon arriving at mid-afternoon, we discovered (to no surprise) that we had lots of company who came to the restaurant with the same idea. We even knew some of the other customers.

Our dogs snoozed in the pickup during the game and while we ate dinner.

They also enjoyed some nice nap breaks when we took them for walks.

All in all, a very satisfying day with successful homegrown and home-baked muffins, a fantastic Gonzaga rebound and an impressive win at their holiday tournament and a wonderful "simply turn over the check" holiday meal.

Meanwhile, off in Northern Ireland, in addition to touring the city, Annie enjoyed preparing her Thanksgiving meal, complete with Grandma's dressing, in Belfast.

All members of our Love family have now viewed the grave of Ireland's famous poet WB Yeats.

Annie visited his grave yesterday in the cemetery next to the Drumcliffe Church near Sligo.

When ya go to Ireland, you usually know that you are in Yeats Country, thanks to road signs and murals and names of facilities.

And, to have visited the grave of a "dead poets society" member whose works we read and often tried our best to understand in our respective college anthologies is a monumental event.