Good morning glorious Sunday morning. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping and I'm thinking about making breakfast in just two shakes of a cat's tail. And as we all know or should know by now, the Sunday morning breakfast rule, instituted by KC many moons ago, means FRENCH TOAST. But not just any french toast but french toast smothered in sweet maple syrup, with a hint of vanilla and brown sugar beneath its buttered surface. Is there anyone in this world who can resist the lure of luscious french toast in all its wonderful goodness? Could french toast indeed be the secret to world peace as well as an aphrodisiac for love and human kindness ... Or did I just really wake up on the right side of the bed this morning?

After post note: Many thanks to the gentleman who sent both kind and wise advice on the advertising "burps" along the header of my page ... Should I ever decide to take out vengeance on my previous rants such knowledge will prove beneficial ... I guess until then it all, Depends ... (Oh horrid pun, spare me thy horribly bad sense of humor.)