Independence Day Spread, Dirty Clothes, Chemistry Notes, First Aid, CPR, and Preparing for a Speech

It's all in a day's work. A day in the life of Miles Jay Oliver, that is.

I just finished creating my first ever 4th of July meal. The burgers are prepped and pressed into patties interspersed between sheets of foil and marinating in the fridge along side my own personal take on baked beans, and deviled eggs. Mom did the potato salad. I'll leave today having some idea of everything that goes into it, but still never having made her recipe. Potato Salad is a lot like the dressing you go for at Thanksgiving. Chances are, if it's close to your mom and dad's that's the one you're going to pick, which is probably why I'm much more a glutton for the cornbread style brimming with sage than I am for the oyster and other northern varieties.

The clothes I washed are probably just finishing their last few tosses in the dryer, and I really need to get in there to begin folding and hanging so I can eliminate the wrinkles and last another week without forking over the extra funds to Porter's for the great work they do. That's what I'll be leaving my computer to do.

I have that speech tonight at the Clubhouse. I'm kinda looking forward to it. It's just another story, another chance to tell a bunch of people who have heard most of it before (and more importantly have their own tales of equal or greater value). My only hope in ever walking into one of these deals is that there's at least one person in the audience, a male or a female, who is feeling helpless, hopeless, and unable to identify with anyone. I'd always like to know that I touched that one addict, whoever he or she may be.

There's more that I have to do than what I've accomplished so far. So, aside from the clothes, I'm going to work on the school stuff after while I try not to stew on some of my feelings I have toward my family members. I'm sure most reading this are no stranger to the fact that I feel as if I have a somewhat strained relationship with all the people with whom I grew up. There was a time that I blamed myself for this, but I have no choice at this point other than to feel it's really nothing I have any control over. Besides, I have a pleasant atmosphere surrounding me that consists of men and women of all ages, races, and backgrounds who would be more than happy to continue to call me their brother. So what if the bloodlines are strained. Maybe God wants me to focus on the family I've found for myself rather than the one into which I was born.

The clothes are probably wrinking as I write this. More later.