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Happy Friday friends.
If I am honest, I have been laboring under something of a lingering 4th of July hangover all week. I tried to shoot the festive moon last weekend: family in town, all day cook-out with friends from the parish, time at the pool, full-on fireworks display, the whole thing.
I concede now, as I am doing this week without the Barry Bonds-sized dosage of steroids which had me feeling so good last week, that I may have stretched myself a little thin, considering I’m still in the early stages of a recovery process I have already come to resent.
My recent convalescence meant I didn’t have this year my usual prep time for a long-smoke BBQ, so I pivoted to proper Chicago brats and sausage. I got a little over-ambitious with the homemade giardiniera and have been left with a… substantial quantity, currently hidden in the basement but soon to be discovered by my wife who will, no doubt, start asking awkward questions about what I plan to do with it all.
At one point, it looked like some summer storms were going to rain out the evening, but I ended up spending a good half an hour with my daughter
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