I placed her order (Large, with Italian sausage, pepperoni, mushrooms, black olives and tomatoes) for pickup.
Did we ever foresee a world where someone in Cape Girardeau would (a) order a pizza over something called the Internet and (b) would do it so it could be picked up 1,100 miles away in West Palm Beach? My mind is boggled.
Anyway, that touched off a pizza craving for me, but I’m not going to order from a chain when Mario’s Pasta House is just over in Jackson. Mother and I were on our way over there when I noticed the sunset while we were stopped at Hwy 61 and I-55. I grabbed my camera off the console and snatched off a couple of frames, being thankful that I had just washed the windshield.
Stromboli to go
We got there about 20 minutes before closing, so I told our server that I’d get my Stromboli to go. “You know how big that thing is, don’t you?” she asked.
“Yep,” I said, “that’s why I ordered it.” The truth is, I had forgotten how huge it is. It came close to filling a pizza box.
The monster was cut into four pieces. I ate one piece for dinner, two pieces for lunch and have a huge piece left over. I don’t think I’m going to be able to face that last piece, no matter how good it is.
On the road again
Actually, because of the car trouble I’ve detailed over the past few days, I’m going to be OVER the road, not ON the road. I’m going to be dragging out of bed at 4 a.m. (if I make it to bed) to catch a Cape Air flight to St. Louis. There, I will miss a connecting Southwest flight to Tampa, which will be diverted to Baltimore, causing me to arrive in West Palm Beach just in time to see our flight to Seattle lifting off as I touch down. I love to fly.
I’ve got a few stories backlogged, but you may hit some dry spells while we’re exploring the Northwest. If you need to feed your addiction, this sitemap lists every story that we’ve run. There’s bound to have been one or two that you haven’t read. If you go to a page you’ve read before, press CTL-F5 to clear the cache and refresh your browser with new content.