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.
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6 comments:
Oh Brown Shoes, if we could only spend the holidays with those we REALLY love, instead of those we're supposed to "love", how much lovelier it would be. I get to watch my brother consuming vast quantities of everything in sight while blaming his "medication" for making him fat. He will likely wear a shirt that exposes the bottom of his gut like a horrible burlesque of the maternity fashions of the present. Then he will fall asleep sprawled out on the couch for two hours so nobody else can sit there. I will have a sore jaw from gritting my teeth for 5 hours and my Good Mate will remain silent for most of the day, causing my neck to freeze into a position it will not come out of for several days. I won't go into the stories my Mom will tell that we've heard so many times that we can recite them ourselves. Ah yes, the lovely golden days of the holidays are upon us again.....
I'm thinking that the turkey sandwhich is not nearly enough of a 'day after Thanksgiving' remedy.
Kay and I are looking forward to our Thanksgiving dinner. The secret: none of the expected six guests are in any way related to us. I am doing turkey, dressing, and cranberry sauce and all the rest of the meal comes with the guests.
I'm enjoying 'Invasion' ... it's by far the best of the three SciFi series this Fall. I lost my ability to suspend disbelief the other night when (on one of the other two) three people constructed a deep-sea diving vessel in two days from from an old rusty steel tank and some other junkyard materials. This jury-rigged item should have collapsed under pressure and squashed the stars at maybe a depth of 200 ft. Didn't happen. As the hour closed they were down in the neighborhood of 4500 ft and dropping in free fall. I think our nuc submarines might be good for half that depth. Totally off the scale on the ridiculous meter.
I wish I could have a relatively free Thanksgiving (except for my kids) but that is not going to happen. Re Invasion - I cannot wait to see what happen next.
What I love about Thanksgiving is thinking ahead about Thanksgiving. A few days off, an air of expansiveness and generosity. We reserve Thanksgiving for certain older friends (although the Dietz's 46 yr old daughter Gretchen and her partner Ann are coming this year) and Christmas for family. I love to set the table. I love leafing through ten yrs of Thanksgiving magazines to get ideas. I have never taken one idea from these magazines but you never know. I can not throw them away. I love it when the first guests arrive and the champagne is broken out. I love it when (if) I am in a good hearty mood when the whole thing starts. I love dressing and gravy. I love cornbread and always hope there will be some. I love mashed potatoes. The turkey? Eh! I could give a........crow. I love pumpkin pie, the simplest kind. I love it for breakfast. I love the candles. I love to give thanks for all kinds of things but the people I am with, including Jim, do not have my overly-verbal-expansive thing going. They find it sentimental and gooey. I find it fabulous and fascinating. They win. I hate the clean up. HATE IT. I wish the dinner itself, eating in candlelight, everyone looking their kind of beautiful or handsome - - utterly glorious. If the conversation is good, it's good. It's hard for me to believe that, long ago, I myself cooked thanksgiving dinners. Didn't I? I MUST have. Or maybe I didn't. Maybe I have always been indolent and hedonistic and smart enough to stay out of the kitchen. Only people who love to cook should be there. Jim and Ann and Bob and Mel. The rest of us should be in the living room drinking wine and sparkling wine and sparkling water. I carry a deep sadness, too, at this time of year - a sadness about my son - where is he...who is he with ....will he have some turkey and dressing....but of course he CAN because so many places in Seattle offer free Thanksgiving dinners. I always contribue either an entire dinner or a large part of one. I do this in honor of my heroin sticking son. Lost in Seattle. I hope this year he has a really good time.
What I love about Thanksgiving is thinking ahead about Thanksgiving. A few days off, an air of expansiveness and generosity. We reserve Thanksgiving for certain older friends (although the Dietz's 46 yr old daughter Gretchen and her partner Ann are coming this year) and Christmas for family. I love to set the table. I love leafing through ten yrs of Thanksgiving magazines to get ideas. I have never taken one idea from these magazines but you never know. I can not throw them away. I love it when the first guests arrive and the champagne is broken out. I love it when (if) I am in a good hearty mood when the whole thing starts. I love dressing and gravy. I love cornbread and always hope there will be some. I love mashed potatoes. The turkey? Eh! I could give a........crow. I love pumpkin pie, the simplest kind. I love it for breakfast. I love the candles. I love to give thanks for all kinds of things but the people I am with, including Jim, do not have my overly-verbal-expansive thing going. They find it sentimental and gooey. I find it fabulous and fascinating. They win. I hate the clean up. HATE IT. I wish the dinner itself, eating in candlelight, everyone looking their kind of beautiful or handsome - - utterly glorious. If the conversation is good, it's good. It's hard for me to believe that, long ago, I myself cooked thanksgiving dinners. Didn't I? I MUST have. Or maybe I didn't. Maybe I have always been indolent and hedonistic and smart enough to stay out of the kitchen. Only people who love to cook should be there. Jim and Ann and Bob and Mel. The rest of us should be in the living room drinking wine and sparkling wine and sparkling water. I carry a deep sadness, too, at this time of year - a sadness about my son - where is he...who is he with ....will he have some turkey and dressing....but of course he CAN because so many places in Seattle offer free Thanksgiving dinners. I always contribue either an entire dinner or a large part of one. I do this in honor of my heroin sticking son. Lost in Seattle. I hope this year he has a really good time.
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