Cold macaroni.

I'm eyeballing leftovers in the fridge. Some macaroni, a little tub of baby-style lasagne, half a bottle of orange juice. There's something green in a bowl way at the back, but I don't eat anything that blinks first.

There's a stereotype about leftovers that's probably older than the dinner table. Remember the Far Side comic that showed two cavemen? One of them was complaining to his wife, "Primordial soup again?"

*snicker*

Personally, I kinda like leftovers. They let me enjoy my favorite dishes a second time; maybe a third, if I make a really big batch. Leftovers can be dressed up in something new, too. Cut up the last chunk of ham steak, toss it in with the leftover potatoes, and bake it up with that half block of Velveeta. Everything old is new again!

There's not a lot in the fridge today, but I do have a lot of leftover yarn. Twenty yards of this, half a ball of that, a partial skein of the other. Nothing really goes together. Different weights, clashing colors; a wide variety of fibers. How do I combine these leftovers into a coherent "dish"?

The key is portions. Instead of lamenting that there isn't enough for a whole sweater, I feel pleased that there's enough of this yarn to make a pair of mittens. I've got just enough of that yarn to make some baby socks. If I get creative with stripes, I can get at least two hats from this over here. These skeins are sort of close in color; I can whip up a few pet blankets for the animal shelter. Maybe a stack of plain squares for an afghan.

Yep. Leftovers can be a great thing. It all depends on how you serve them.