She telephoned early in the morning to enthuse over her new elliptical trainer.  She used it, she said, for thirty-five minutes and felt it to be excellent, more than meeting her hopeful expectations.  She is able to monitor her heart rate and is full of praise for the machine.  Easier to use, smoother, without the deleterious impact she was exposed to when using other types of exercise machines.

We were glad to obtain it for her in lieu of her going out bicycling regularly on the country roads surrounding her home, where traffic during the summer months can be heavy with both cottage-bound urbanites who aren't much concerned with their driving speed in such areas, and the prevalence of log-filled trucks lumbering along the road.

She called later in the day to ask for my potato salad recipe and methodology, so I was happy enough to oblige, waiting while she wrote down instructions and ingredients-choices.  Later, when I had a look at my email I discovered a message from her BlackBerry along with a photograph of her finished product. 

She likes the idea of ramping up the protein content of a potato salad by adding a tin of salmon or tuna, moistened slightly with mayonnaise, in the middle, atop the salad, not mixed into it.  She was pleased with what she had produced, but claimed that it hadn't the taste of mine.

 A logical outcome, since most people's tastebuds are emotionally involved, appreciating the taste of a dish prepared by someone else, to the taste of one they themselves produce.