“Rog?” Dad called eagerly as he stumbled through the door from mowing up the leaves. “Have you started cooking dinner yet?” Remembering a prior conversation about the possibility of spaghetti, I had pulled a package of meatballs from the freezer to thaw. With two minutes left on my stationary bike ride, I panted, “I got the meatballs out, just in case, but I have not started dinner.” He told me his idea for dinner, emphasizing it was just an idea—he wanted me to know he was not vested in the idea. “We could grill bratwurst, and warm a can of pork and beans and a can of stewed whole tomatoes,” he offered. This particular random combination of dishes had never occurred to me, but I consider that it had not only occurred to him, but sounded good to him. So, I concurred, suggesting we add steamed spinach to the menu, since we had accidentally added a third bag of spinach to the two bought the week prior. The brats browned up nicely on the indoor electric grill (with a power cord borrowed from an electric skillet, since my cord was thoroughly grilled with the previous brats). After asking God to bless the food for our nourishment and strength, we dug into to the eclectic gathering of food. And I enjoyed it. Remembering childhood dinners of pork and beans mixed with sliced frankfurters, I sliced my bratwurst into the beans, and felt at home. “Didn’t we have a great dinner, Lucille?” Dad crowed. Yes, we did.