Things are pretty good, aside from the chore that dare not speak its name: exercise. I've given up speaking its name, in fact; he's supposed to exercise, he won't, and clearly, I can't do a thing about it, so he'll have to suffer the consequences. The visiting nurse was here this morning and discussed his diabetic diet--what a laugh.
The veal cutlet turned out good last night. I did fry, rather than bake it--not so good, but I'll bake next time. Not sure what to cook tonight, but we have plenty in the house and I'll think of something.
Right now, am waiting for the cleaning people to come. Pat is making his own lunch, I'm happy to say. I don't mind at all making it for him, but I know it's better for him to move at least around the kitchen, rather than sit and let me get it. He made his own breakfast, too, as I was out getting my oil changed. I do continue to make him dinner, of course.
I'm hungry and will make myself lunch now.