Why is it that food that someone else prepares for you tastes better than anything you might fix for yourself?  Mary-Margaret came to 1880 to tend the menagerie while I was out of town.  I got back just in time to change my clothes and dash out for my duties at the Willamette Master Chorus’s last performance of the season.  When I got home from that, I was so tired and hungry I would have collapsed on the sofa with a bag of microwaved popcorn, but it was a lot better than that.  M-M had concocted the most delicious salad out of everything she could find in the house and garden: chunks of chicken, lettuce both crisp and leafy, spinach, asparagus, carrots, onion, pecans, cranberries, a creamy dressing, and I’m probably forgetting something.  She served it up with buttery skillet toast.  I’m finishing it up tonight.