Twelve Dollar Pizza

And Last Vestiges Of Freedom

I was cranking around this morning doing some AutoCAD work on the California stack project when my camera caught my eye laying here on the coffee table. I've been holding it in my hand a little over the past week in an attempt to document our transition from our little Island to the shores of the mighty Tennessee River.

Here's a last look of the island house (with the now abandoned Suburban sitting in the driveway) as we pulled away for the last time:

and the approach to the bridge over the intercoastal:



with a teary eyed view looking north across the marsh:



Finally, here's a photo of last night's dinner, one of my patented home made pizzas...the first meal cooked in the new kitchen:


(double click on that photo and look at the enlarged image...hungry now?)

I was doing a little math in my head as I gazed lovingly at my culinary creation--awaiting it to cool off to a temperature somewhere below that of a thermonuclear explosion where it could be cut and handled onto plates--when I realized that I make a nice $12 pizza.

That's right, even working from "scratch", at home, with a pound of Mozzarella, green olives, black olives, a quarter pound of sliced pepperoni, a half pound of crumbled Feta Cheese, and portebella mushrooms on top of a chunky tomato sauce and bread flour based crust--if you ignore the three hours of labor to put it all together my pizza costs...

TWELVE DOLLARS.

Pat and Missy the Turbo Pup appreciate my efforts, and that's all that really matters to me.

Time to open some more boxes...