I don’t make gravy.

In my trillion years (exaggeration) here I earth, I’ve never learned to make homemade gravy. I have tried. And I have failed. I’ve tried a lot. But today as I’m preparing a package of country gravy it dawns on me that I don’t even have to try anymore. I don’t have to beat myself up thinking I can’t do something. I don’t care. I can use the time to perhaps learn something else that doesn’t have an easy, alternative way of doing it.

What’s really nice is that I know I don’t have to learn. I don’t know if Dr. Phil would agree with this new attitude of mine, but it doesn’t matter. My opinion (to me) means so much more than Dr. Phil’s.

What a grand place to arrive at in one’s life. I imagine there are thousands of things that I can’t or won’t do, and I don’t care.

Plus you can always eat at a friend’s house, go to a restaurant or buy a packaged mix.

I guess you’ve figured out that Suzy Homemaker I’m not.