Cheeseburgers

Since Mark lost his jobs, we've been eating a lot of cheeseburgers.

It's almost like we're back in our York, Pa., house a decade ago.

We used to go running on the trail that stretched from Glen Rock, a little nowhere town in the bowels of Central Pennsylvania, to Gunpowder Falls State Park in Maryland.

After our runs, we both had to get to our jobs at the York Daily Record for the night shift. Mark was news editor and I was night cops reporter. We didn't have much money. So the typical lunchtime fare was veggie burgers with cous cous.

Today, we try to spice it up with homemade pizza - a deal at about $12 a meal when you put sauce, cheese, mushrooms and onions on one of those store-bought crusts - and pasta with hot Italian sausage.

I really haven't had a problem finding decent wines for $10 or less. I used to average $17 a bottle.

I occassionally miss being able to walk into a French bistro _ Les Halles in Lower Manhattan _ at 3 p.m. on a random day off to order Steak Frites and a nice Pinot Noir. So decadent.

But staying home for meals more often has also been quite nice. We play jazz or blues in the background and usually have a candle lit on the table. How many couples can say they've been married for eight years and still have frequent candlelight dinners?

Not many.

(Although, Mark did get a little pissy with me when I grabbed a handful of fries off the pan instead of waiting for him to divvy them out with a hamburger flipper.)

peace,
Tina