I managed to get to the very end of the day without realizing that it was the thirteenth. The title is a reference to Pogo, the classic Walt Kelly comic strip, which I read as a kid in the Sunday funnies. His character Churchy La Femme would fearfully exclaim that it was Friday the Thirteenth, just appearing on the wrong day. So this should have been a day of bad luck, especially after the week's bad vibes at work, right? Well, apparently not.
Jean is still fighting a cold, and is probably on the early side of the curve, if she's following my pattern at all. I'm still hacking up random guck, but feeling much more energy. So we pushed Renee to set up a play date on her own, and I ended up taking her and her friend Emily to see Chicken Little, in 3-D, no less. The 3-D registration was generally pretty good, though there were the occasional fuzzy moments I've come to expect even from modern efforts. Not really headache inducing, so I feel I'm ahead of the game. The movie itself was inconsequential, and I expect to have forgotten all about it in about three ... two ... one ... what was I talking about?
This evening Renee and I worked together to make our first ever lasagna. We started with a recipe from the America's Test Kitchen folk, but modified it to suit our tastes. We used two kinds of cheese and pork. We would have used three kinds of cheese, but in the hustle and the bustle, I clean forgot about the tub of ricotta in the refrigerator. So I guess that's my bit of bad luck from the thirteenth!
What's the verdict? It is quite delicious. Now if I can just remember what the actual cheeses we used were. Romano and something else. Renee sort of shredded the wrappers when she was shredding the cheese.