Sometimes I feel like we run a feedlot here at Team Sabo headquarters. I'm not sure why that's the case. I'll have to think about it. I do know that we can put down the grub. Here's a shot from dinnertime tonight. You may notice we're a little short on space, because Julie and that husband of hers aren't even in the photo. We're intending to add another leaf to our dinner table to accommodate the large crowds that seem to congregate at meal time. Hopefully that will be soon. Some of you may be looking at the photo and wondering to yourself, "Do they invite the neighbors?" No, not usually. You'll notice that's Anna, an erstwhile Oregonian there in the green `Sonic' shirt who is living with us and making a great adjustment to life in Virginia in a crowded house. (As I pointed out to my parents the other night, in their house they have one resident per 800 square feet. We have 1 resident per 200 square feet. It ain't exactly inner city Hong Kong, but generally speaking there's bodies everywhere around here.) To Anna's right is the lad known as `Killian,' a real-life native Oregonian and the nephew of the Team Sabo lead dog, aka `Matt.' (Editor's note: `Team Sabo lead dog?' What's that all about? Author's reply: I thought it sounded kind of cool. I want to feel important. Is that okay?)
Dinner tonight was steak. I must say, the barbecue job on the steaks was just tremendous. That guy manning the barbecue, or grill as they say in these here parts, deserves a raise. Then we had a side of spuds with some sour cream, broccoli and cheese all mixed together in some sort of concoction that someone at the grocery store did an extraordinary job of putting together in a microwaveable bag. Oh, and sweet corn on the cob on the side as well. Olivia in particular was a big fan of the corn; I think she put down half an ear herself. It's always easy to judge the quality of a meal in the house o' Sabo. Generally it's directly proportional in this manner: The quieter it is at mealtime, the more tastier are the fixins. People probably get the impression that mealtime is a crazed free-for-all with forks and knives everywhere and a First-Aid kit at the ready and kids with Band-Aids on their arms from when they reached across the table for seconds and ended up with a fork in their arm and maybe some little kid gnawing on their elbow because he was so hungry. Au contraire. Plastic forks don't break the skin. Just kidding! No one has required hospitalization after dinnertime for any unfortunate forkings at our house. On this particular night, you could have had no problem hearing a corn cob drop on the floor. It was so quiet, I actually heard myself think. Which means the tastiness value was off the charts. If I don't say so myself.