Susie's bag

had garlic in it. The bag was from something else, the garlic was for me. She advised me to chop it up with a T or so of olive oil and a t or so of vinegar. At that point it can be frozen for later. But preparing the garlic was a little like organizing geese for the relocation, all the flapping. I felt fine with garlic on my hands but my grand-daughter shied away. A little later she didn't mind so much. Then came the night of the pork chops with a t or two of the stuff, which the chops tried to ignore. Next morning I ran hard on the treadmill, garlic in my step.