Last night, I cooked a chicken pot pie for Dave--Ann's hubby, and invited them over to eat.  I had been promising him I would do that for months and months.  "I don't know what you do different, that makes it so good!" he had told me the last time I made one.  Praise will get you another pot pie.

"Butter," I said.  "A lot of butter.  And you have to boil the entire chicken.  You can't just use white meat.  You have to have real broth from boiling an entire chicken.  Not chicken broth from the store."  I really have to be in the mood to make pot pie, because boiling and boning a chicken is such a mess. 

Thus, I don't make chicken pot pie for anyone but Dave--and then very rarely.  He ate three helpings, and then took the leftovers home.  I like it okay, but it is fattening. "Butter is the secret.  Butter makes everything better."

I don't cook very often anymore.  Everything I cook ends up making too many servings.  Pot pie makes twelve.  I was able to share pot pie with my neighbors who bring me food three or four times a week.  Why cook with neighbors like that?

I'm going to Pryor and see my brother this week. I'm taking film from CT's etc. I've spent the last three weeks getting referred and referred. Maddening. Thirty seven years in China with not much more than a black bag taught Bill how to diagnose.  He is excellent.  He had to read all of his own film in China.  Do his all of his own tests.  X-rays, Echos, Slides. Everything.  There wasn't anyone to refer a patient to where he was living.  He was it.  He had to figure everything out himself.  He can tell you "What it isn't."  Which is huge to me.  He is willing to say he doesn't know when he doesn't know.  That is a rare attribute among doctors. I'm tired of being shuffled around.