Like sand through the hourglass

9:30 a.m. - Turkey in the oven. Other stuff underway.

10: 15 a.m. -- While rushing through the kitchen carrying some vintage china plates, I step on the metal hose part of the vacuum, which is
lying on the tile floor. The hose begins to skid across the tiles, and I cannot shift my weight to step off - or use my arms to regain my balance.
I learn right then that a rounded metal tube can move on tile like butter moves on a red-hot griddle; which is the last coherent thought I have before unwillingly doing the splits like an Olympic gymnast.
10:16 -- Pain.

10:40 a.m. -- I discover that those squeezy plastic bulb things on turkey basters don't last forever. I don't want to serve my guests a big pile of boot leather shaped like a turkey, so I look around for some other thing to baste with...and find absolutely nothing. I briefly consider using some plastic tubing to siphon the juices into a bowl - until my son reminds me that a mouthful of superheated grease could put a damper on our day.
After several plans fail (all ending with me getting sprayed or spattered with hot fat), I empty out a mustard squeeze bottle, and juicy tenderness is again on the menu.
10:53 a.m. -- Pain.

12:37 p.m. -- Some friends unexpectedly drop by to say hello.
I am wearing the following: Shrunken, pickle-green pants made
of long underwear material. A short-sleeved, salmon colored
zip up shirt made of corduroy. Black leather shoes with no socks.
My glasses, circa 1988. Yesterdays' hair.
12:38 p.m. -- Pain.

3:18 p.m. -- I pour baby peas into my favorite blue bowl, take
them to the table, and another Thanksgiving begins.
The turkey is bliss, the gravy divine, and my once-a-year jello
doesn't slip off its plate to land in anyones lap.
There is silence for a moment and I am fed, looking at
these people I love.

1:29 a.m. -- My brother is finally asleep upstairs; an hour and
a half after he first went to bed. First he lost his toothpaste, and
then he lost his cane. He lost his balance in the bathroom at a critical
moment, but D. scored some bonus points by mopping up the pee.
He brushed his teeth for 15 minutes, then he actually got undressed,
but before he even hit the bed...it was back to the bathroom again.
I was ready to kill him, I was planning to kill him - but he crawled
under the covers right before I went for the axe.
Lying there, he looked up at me and for a minute I could see the boy
he was so long ago....
I miss my parents.
I feel the weight of his condition more and more as time goes by.
I worry.
I feel guilty.
Pain.

Lucky is my middle name

I woke up late this morning, from a dream about an annoying next door neighbor who would not stop using his remote-control chain-saw right outside the bedroom window I do not currently have in real life. I hate alarm clock dreams - they make for agitated re-entry into the waking life.
I was late leaving for work, so I indulged in a bit of extreme speeding on the back road to my job. I was the only car around, and had hit about about 57.5 mph (in a 35 mph zone) when I saw a car with a roof-top luggage rack pulled off on the wrong side of the road. I slowed down a bit, and had time to think, "I wonder wha...." when I realized THAT was no luggage rack. I actually threw my hands up like somebody about to get shot and.... nothing happened. No lights came on, no hand waved; NOTHING.
I was so stunned I don't remember driving the next few miles to my job (that's not true - I turned a corner just after I passed the cop, and did 65 with one eye on my rearview mirror so I could pull into my workplace before I was busted). However, it is totally true that there's a message there about counting one's blessings, so - since I spent last night complaining, whining and moping - today I will take notice when good fortune cuts me a massive break.
The sun is out, the fog has lifted and I will not be paying a $275 speeding ticket. Hey - hit me with some giblets - it's time to celebrate.
In other news, my cat has won the battle of the tomatoes yet again - and I am beginning to think about ripping his little fur-filled head off. If I bring a tomato into the house, he will hunt it down and eat it. I have hidden tomatoes on top of the fridge, in drawers, and under bowls on the counter. This time, I had them in a plastic bag, inside of a paper bag, under the cupboard with some other Thanksgiving stuff. While I was at work, he discovered them, and now I have a handful of pulpy, mutilated tissue to toss in my salad tomorrow.
Mmmm - do you want Italian or Bleu cheese with your remains?
Okay, okay - time to get on with it
Pathetic T.V. - I did watch a little last night - The American Music Awards kept me
company while I tore up bread for dressing. Between Mariah Carey's exploding breasts
and Lindsay Lohan's size 14 shoes, it was quite distracting. Annie Lennox was fabulous -
and sadly the only political moment of the entire night.
Oh shit.
Oh shit city.
Son of a son of a mother#&^*+$# +*&%$ @!!!!!
I hid my carefully torn bread in the oven last night so the cat could not get into it - and
did not think once about it when I turned the oven on to preheat an hour ago...I kept smelling something like overdone toast.... Oh well; change one little letter and luck becomes something else entirely....
And so, the fun begins.

Thanksgiving pre-ramble

It is late and I am tired, and should be in bed.
But fear and loathing are keeping me more than wide awake, yet
somehow delightfully unable to complete even one of the 254 duties
on my Thanksgiving roster.
My brother will ome over early Thursday morning - D. will go pick him up,
thus acquiring another Saints-of-the-Modern-World merit badge.
I will be cooking.
Turkey, dressing, peas in butter sauce, my mom's black cherry/raspberry jello,
garlic-mashed potatoes and possibly the best gravy ever made on Earth. Pumpkin pie, raspberry-apple pie, and the obligatory puffy white rolls. All of which is basically
prep for the real Thanksgiving, which comes the next day when we have leftover
mashed potatoes and gravy for breakfast and heavenly turkey sandwhiches for dinner.
And then lay around, watching ice skating so we can be cruel and critical, or
Spanish T.V. so we can make up our own dialogue.
When I could still have wine while I worked, I was really dedicated to creating
THE most beautifully inviting table and THE most classic holiday ambience;
I worked my ass off to achieve perfect... perfectness.
I could - and would - work slavishly for days on end, multi-tasking like Martha.
Now, I suppose I am like a regular person - or maybe a slightly irregular one.
I am resistant to over-doing, and have left many jobs to the most horrifyingly last minute.
I have pared down my usual menu, given up on making THE indelible
holiday memory, and basically decided to do what I can (and want to) do.
Even the idea of perfection makes me tired...
I hope good is good enough.
However, the ghosts of perfection must be persistent, because here I am,
still up at 1 a.m. - stunned by all I have not done.
Tomorrow I WILL vacuum up the dog-hair tumbleweeds and dust off the major flat
areas around the house. I will. I will.
Won't I?

My own private Iowa

In the news this morning:
"Dangerous inmates escape from an Iowa prison - scaling a 50' wall
with a 'rope' made of upholstery webbing to make their getaway in a
waiting gold Pontiac Bonneville." And as the holiday season turns
one last corner and begins to bear down upon me; I can relate...
I used to look forward to Thanksgiving - it was my favorite celebration.
For almost 20 years our house was the place to come for fabulous turkey with
all the accessories, and we usually had between 10 and 25 people at the table.
Now I would almost rather stuff and roast my own larynx than think about busting
out my baster and making turkey for 5 people.
How did it come to this? What is the matter with me?
Well.... for starters, there is the Village of the Damned syndrome that occurs whenever my brother comes to stay with us (which includes, but is not limited to: urinal spilling,
dog whacking, cat baiting, cane pounding, 3 a.m. NPR blaring, accidental full body
stairway surfing, pot-induced speechifying, arguing, and the biggest platter of guilt,
grief and agitation ever served at any holiday since last Thanksgiving). Then, there is
the grown and gone effect - featuring the son who lives in Spokane and cannot get over
to this side of Snoqualmie Pass and the daughter who works and cannot get over to this
side of the theatrical release of the new Harry Potter.
And of course, I can't forget that pesky little no-alcohol rule I made for myself a few
years ago; now it's merely cooking - no more Teatro Butterball for me.
I guess I better start practicing some powerful positive thinking or I won't make it
through the rigors of the season alive.
Or - start weaving that upholstery webbing...

Sad T.V. - Ooooh - Invasion was scienceficsational last night.

He's VERY gentle with the needle

.... and with prices like that, he better be.

I'm referring, of course, to my man in white, The King of Pain,
Dr. Whoyagottacall; my freaking endodontist.
After enduring terrible pain for over 7 months, I finally had to throw in the towel
(and most of my other household goods) and get a root canal Thursday.
Aside from the horror of having strange hands in my mouth, and the agony of
10 shots of novacaine, the whole ordeal wasn't too bad. And, I am now tooth-pain
free, which is absolutely marvelous.
I had no idea how much I'd been suffering until it was over.
My face is puffy and I spent the whole next day overhung from Citizen novaCaine...
but I am now ready for my crown - and that much closer to being royalty.
He was very gentle with that needle, even after I pointed out to him that the word
DON'T is right there in his title.

And ennui go...

The last disheartening 24 hours have been mostly about arguing with my brother.
Because of his brain injury, he cannot always help being a lit match - and I, in spite of knowing better, cannot seem to stop being an endless, high octane gas leak. And so we go, around and around, in a ridiculous contest of wills that never changes and rarely ends well.
Conflagrations - you may already be a winner!
I am thinking now, as I often do, of how overwhelming and confusing living is - and how fragile and poorly equipped we all are for the job. To live well, it seems one must always strive to do what is healthy and right and safe and fulfilling - and how does anyone succeed at that? It's like becoming your own IRS agent and auditing yourself, or judging your entry in your own art show. "Woah, this is an ugly piece of work but you know, it is MY show..."
Hmmm, that sounds a bit bumperstickery, though not quite as lame as IF FARTING WAS AN ART I'D BE PICASSO, which I actually saw today.
Okay - time for sleep, and then further exhibiting - because it is, you know,
my show.

Pathetic tv - Invasion. Ya gotta love it.
Recent reading matter: The Adversary by Emmanuel Carrere
(If you've ever known a master liar - this is the book for you.)

Perfect.
'Mildred Pierce' is on the television.
James M. Cain - he falls like rain inside my head.

Autumn is fading and the trees are mostly naked; they stand around in groups
stunned by the arrival of colder weather. I miss the extravagant finery they still wore
last week and applaud the stubborn few still hanging on to their gold and their crimson.
These briefer, darker days agitate me. Somehow, navigating inside an ever shrinking pool of sunlight creates ambivalent compulsions: do more/be less, do less/be more, get busy/plant your ass, wake up/sleep like the dead...
connect.
disconnect.