Thanksgiving; the holiday right before black friday!

Ah Thanksgiving.....I really love this day. The only anticipation is the delicious food and that can never go wrong. Birthdays and Christmas there is always the worry that the recipient of my gift may not like it, and the face ALWAYS lets me know if the person likes it or not. But that fourth Thursday in November is wonderful, laid back, and exquisitely perfect for the palate. Of course if you are a person in the kitchen stirring, mixing, sweating, chopping, measuring, stuffing, flutting, basting, carving, peeling, whipping, toasting, seasoning, jelling, arriving at a boiling point, then maybe this holiday is not for you~! But you see I am never asked to do any of the above... again... NEVER am I asked to do any of the above. In fact this year as I opened my e-mail marked Thanksgiving food assignments I was surprised, even shocked at how far down the cooking pole I had actually slid....I was asked to bring.....drum roll please....BUTTER! not rolls, jams, pies, vegetables, crackers, cranberries, cranberry juice, potatoes, stuffing, appetizers of any kind, just good, creamy, soon to be on sale at the market, BUTTER! And I was a bit miffed. I flashed off a reply to fellow family members asking them to please stop holding one cooking disaster against me.....A few years ago I was asked to bring the holiday pies to Thanksgiving. This family of my husband, who are all REALLY REALLY GOOD COOKS AND PERFECTIONISTS, had opened up their circle of fine cooking and had asked me to bake the pumpkin pies for our Thanksgiving feast. I was honored and humbled. I practiced for a few weeks in advance; my convection oven cooked faster than my convention oven, too much cinnamon was not a good thing, watch the speed of the mixer, let the crusts breathe, make the foil hats for the final 10 minutes of cooking and on and on and on....my own family had never had so many darn pies! We could not look at the moon for several weeks....Anyway the day arrived, my kitchen smelled heavenly; the Pilgrim Gods were pleased. Carefully we drove to Grandma's house over the cement rivers and through the pillared woods. I anxiously awaited dessert time....I do not think I even tasted the potatoes perfectly whipped with cream and garlic, the stuffing moist with pine nuts, the sauted vegetables, the warm from the oven rolls smathered with homemade raspberry jam. Then the moment of truth, the slicing of the satiny pumpkin pie. My expert cook sister in law gingerly placed a morsel on her fork, lifted it to her mouth, began the chewing process and then....bam it was out on her plate faster than the proverbial speeding bullet...ugg....I was in dismay, shock, humiliated and any other adjectives one could insert right about now....what had happened? Was she kidding me because she knew I was apprehensive about my cooking, was this some kind of a cruel joke? No....not at all and as kindly and concernedly (my word) as she could she told me the truth....the pie tasted as if it had been made without any sweetener.....NO FLIPPIN WAY! I grabbed her fork and took a taste of it myself and as fast as the again proverbial speeding bullet the food was out on my plate. I had indeed left out a key ingredient for pumpkin pie...the SUGAR! The pie was absolutely horrific. I was distraught, embarrassed (how is this word spelled?!) and wanted to dash out the door, when my kind sister - in - law took another fork and finished the piece of pie. Of course that was the only piece eaten and she was sick for the remainder of the evening (although she blamed in on the carrots.) So this year when I was given butter I realized the family can forgive but in a family of great cooks they cannot forget. So I get butter, ice, unwhipped cream, etc. Unfortunately they have warned my side of the family and my assignment for this year's Christmas party is soda pop. Actually I am beginning to think I am the winner....and I always have clean aprons....

How many reading this blog have ever, ever stumbled out of bed in the middle of night; in a befuddled bewilderment as to where the bathroom is in the dark; sideswipping the flipped off shoes that were left in the middle of the room instead of the closet because you were too lazy and or tired to place them on the beautifully installed shoe tree inside your closet door. (what, you do not have a beautifully installed shoe tree inside your closet door...hmmm neither do I but I do have a lovely mound of summer sandals, winter slip-ons, slippers for winter and autumn clogs mixed in with a couple of dust bunnies!) anyway you make your way in the misty darkness for the bathroom door, the cold tile only enhances the ache of the full bladder; you make yourself ready to sit on an also cold commode and BAM down down down you go....the problem SOMEONE HAS LEFT, IN UTTER DISREGARD FOR ANOTHER, THE TOILET SEAT UP! now it is amazing to me how a mere half inch of the toilet seat height can throw someone's balance off when sitting upon the toilet seat but when the lid is left up and one goes to sit and there is no seat one feels as if one has missed the toilet and is heading for disaster.....now the meat of my story is not really about bathroom issues (I have saved that for another time because man I do have bathroom issues) but the lead in to this story is just this....Height matters. I am a short person. I know exactly how far down I need to go for my cheeks to meet the seat. My balance is pretty accurate. After using personal and public (ONLY WHEN I ABSOLUTELY HAVE TO) bathrooms for a long time I have pretty good aim. (pun intended) (oh do I have stories on aiming.... I once opened the bathroom door only to find my five year old twins standing in the bathtub trying to arch their flow across the space between the tub and into the toilet. Neither of them made it by a loooong shot) anyway this brings me to my adventure. This year I dressed up in a Halloween costume of my own design which means if you were to ask me what I was I would have to answer I dunno! But I found a cool purple wig, a cool silver jacket, cool gray leggins and the perfect shoe to this perfect outfit was white platform sandals from 1974 - I talked my mom into letting me get them for my sister's wedding...three inches of pure styling heaven. I loved wearing those shoes back in '74, '75, '76 and part of '77...skirts, pants, shorts, gauchos, I looked hot. Well I have never looked hot but I did look lukewarm and that was enough for me! After the shoes went out of style, and even I began to make fun of others still wearing the stilts, my thought was HEY costume closet. Who could someday resist the opportunity to dress like an idiot from the 70's. not me! So I tucked those shoes away for perfect costume and this year with my purple wig I wore those puppies to the office party. Boosted by those three inches I was now a whopping 5'5...not only was I tall I could also see the thick layer of dust on one of my shelves....uck! anyway this story is not about my lack of housecleaning skills (although I do lack them, see above mention of closet floor) but about my adventures at my office halloween party. As a normal part of the day I had to use the restroom. I was feeling very happy as I thoroughly enjoy Halloween. I excused myself to use the bathroom; well I did not really excuse myself because I try not bring a lot of attention to myself, especially when I am using the bathroom and wearing a purple wig with a silver jacket, and gray leggins. I prepared myself to go to the lavoratory and all of a sudden as I started to sit down and down and down even further I let out a bit of a scream, toppled to one side; "oh no" I thought "in about 1 second I am going to be crashing to the floor of a public bathroom because I have lost my balance because....SOME IDIOT LEFT THE TOILET SEAT UP" AND I DID NOT KNOW I WAS GOING TO HAVE TO GO LOWER EVEN A HALF AN INCH LOWER AND MY ELBOW CAUGHT THE COUNTER, MY WIG FISHED AROUND IN FRONT OF MY FACE. MY THOUGHT WAS THAT THE PARAMEDICS would have to break down the door, my grey leggins would be around my ankles, my silver jacket twisted around my waist with my purple wig blanketing my purple face and my three inch heels well I do not know where the three inch heels would end up....I frantically steadied myself, flustered, upset at the rudeness of the employees of this company. And then I thought.....hmmm this is the ladies bathroom and while ladies in this office may use the men's bathroom, men on the other hand dare not to enter into the women's bathroom. And a quick check proved my theory correctly...the seat had not been left up; the cause of my near horrific halloween scare was dah dah dah dah duh...MY STUPID THREE INCH HEELS! MY BALANCE HAD BEEN THROWN OFF BECAUSE I WAS NOW THREE INCHES TALLER AND I HAD TO SINK LOWER FOR MY REAR TO MAKE CONTACT THUS THROWING ME OFF MY GUARD, CRUSHING MY ELBOW, LOSING MY PURPLE DOO AND LETING OUT A MONSTROUS SCREAM. So much for being stylish and cool...( mother this is why I never took a liking to high heels! ) I readied myself, grateful that minimal damage had taken place; flushed the toilet with my foot, turned the water on with my good elbow, adjusted all that needed adjusting and as I moved to leave the bathroom I realized that the paramedics would not have had to break the door down to help me in my disaster....I had FORGOTTEN TO LOCK IT. xo Jane

I can do that! I think.....

I have come to the realization that I cannot do anything really well. Now before my daughter, sons and husband think I am furiously addressing invites to my pity party -STOP- I am not. I used to feel sad, bad, mad and terrifically slighted that I had no talents of which to speak; but now I free know that nothing is expected of me! Let me give a few examples...a few Sundays ago, after baking, boiling, stirring, whipping, chopping, seasoning, slicing, dicing, disengaging the blaring fire alarm, I called the starving family to sit down to the Sunday family dinner. All was quiet as we began to pray...and my son pleaded quite earnestly with the good Lord that the food we were about to partake would taste at best "okay." Obviously the cuisine did not because after a few uncomfortable exchanged glances my eldest son said "mom, PLEASE let us cook the Sabbath meal; (okay he did not say Sabbath) we need to help, we want to help, you are overworked, tired, stressed from the past week's activities!" I asked him if the food was really that bad to which he responded, without missing a beat...YES!" Please a little less enthusiastically next time. Second example. My handy man husband (no really he is a handyman, I need to hire him out) was redoing our 1960's living room, which in today's terms is called a great room. How hard could it be to paint the moldings that would wrap around the ceiling? Straight brushstrokes down a straight piece of wood which in today’s market is actually plastic. Anyway I was willing to proceed but hubby kept sending me on drink runs, food runs, mail runs. Then suddenly every child needed help with their math (another example of something I do not do well.) When I instructed them to ask dad for help with math while I painted they all suspiciously and all too eagerly agreed that I was the math mind they needed. When finally all game plans had been exhausted David had to let me help. Brush in hand I dipped the tool in white gloss paint and down the planks I flew. This was Christmas for me! I was actually beautifying our home, leaving my mark for generations to come or until white molding became outdated! I went to bed with great satisfaction and even though my husband had hovered over me while painting, I felt, no I knew, I had done wonders. About 5:00 the next morning I was awakened by a noise in the soon to be remodeled space. Seeing that David was gone I was concerned that he had singly gone to check if we were being invaded by hoodlums. I wish we had burglars because the sight that greeted me was like a dagger to my heart. There was my beloved REPAINTING EVERY PIECE OF MOLDING I HAD PAINSTAKINGLY PAINTED THE NIGHT BEFORE! Excuses were made, apologies thrown my way but it was too late. My skills had never never been desired; the drink, food, and mail runs were bogus, I REALLY DID NOT HELP WITH THE CHILDREN'S MATH. I quickly woke them all up and had them re-do their assignments. I needed something to eat but alas all that was in the fridge was dinner that I had cooked the night before. Surprisingly ( not) there was A LOT left over. And lastly while singing my heart out one day in women's choir I noticed my friend giggling. When I asked her what was so funny as we prepared to practice the song once more, she replied "I did not realize your singing was so bad." With friends like that who needs enemies. So mediocre is my middle name. I feel free of the pressure of trying to be the best knowing that excellence is way overrated and I have finally found something I can succeed at!

mommy manual

when I was growing up there was a funny story told about a father, a son, and a donkey. As the trio were traveling down the road a stranger laughed and asked "why do you all walk when you have a fine animal to ride!" So the Father placed his child on the back of the donkey and they continued their travels. They then met another stranger who pointed out the child must be very selfish to ride while his hardworking, stressed out father walked. Then the father and son traded places; the father rode while the son walked. You can probably guess what happened next...big chastisement for the selfish father to ride while the young son dragged along in the heat of the day. The father and son both hop on the back of the animal and are then criticized for their unkindness to a poor dumb ass. Eventually the story ends with the Dad and child carrying the donkey into the town only to be met with laughter and jeering. The moral of the story that I took to heart was that there is not way to please everyone and you have to do what you think is best with the information you have! I find it funny how the "never have been in that situation" can tell the "I am so deep in this situation" what to do. Take for instance; My older brother and his wife had a beautiful daughter, their first. Oh how the loved this little baby. But this little child could scream like non other. Imagine nails on a chalkboard magnified 1000 times, a balloon having the air pinched out of it magnified 1000 times, a dentist drill magnified 1000 times.... a dentist drill hitting an unprotected nerve...you get it?...roll those noises all together and you had this child's scream. And scream she did! More plates were dropped from our shaking hands as baby became restless (we eventually went to paper) My comment to my father one day was that I would NEVER allow a child of mine to scream like that. It just was not right. It was rude to others in the vicinity or even the next town. And then I related several activities that those parents should begin doing to halt this problem (one of them was to never procreate again...to this they did not listen and produced 9 more.) I was smug in my comments that if they , the parents, would make a few minor behavior modifications to this child, everyone would be happpy. They did not follow my advice, the child contiued to scream for about 18 months and then grew into one of the most thoughtful, soft spoken, patient adults I have met. Then I had my first child, time to put all my learning to good use. MY DAUGHTER WAS A TERROR!. She would not eat, sleep, let me put her down, let us hire a babysitter (when we would go out for the night she would cry, throw up, and the babysitter would call us tell us to get home and then never come back) I listened to everyone's advice. Someone always had a newer, improved way of solving this problem. I metaphorically speaking, carried the donkey, had the donkey carry me, walked while the donkey carried child, child walked while I rode...you get the picture. My head was spinning faster than Linda Blair's head in the Exorcist. Nothing worked except that I had a very troubling 18 months with a beautiful little girl. I should have done what my brother and his wife did..they let it ride. they stayed calm, did what they thought best while politely ignoring all the good intentions of others. I thought of this the other day when I overheard conversation of few young women giving advice to a frustrated new mother. I think the advice was more overwhelming than the screaming child. I wanted to say "let it go, let the baby cry, just hold her close." This child will soon be grown and gone and you will wish for the sleepless nights, the tender finger grasp, the whisper breathing. Let it go....

husband's birthday

My husband and I attended a 50th birthday party a little while ago. He stated emphatically as the days grew closer to the event that I should not even think to give him a surprise birthday party celebrating his half century mark. He made me cross my heart, swear on the bible, pinkie promise, and a dozen other little 9 year old kid covenants that i would not even let the thought of throwing 50th party garnish my thoughts. And because he is my spouse I am going to honor that. Of course he said nothing about his 49th birthday; which happens to be in 10 days. Which causes me to wonder 1. why would anyone give someone a 50th birthday party; everyone knows that this is the year to have a birthday party to knock the support hose off but because all are expecting it then why do it. It is suppose to be a surprise is it not? and no one is really surprised. example our friends wife took birthday boy out to dinner; normal thing to do, he had no reason to suspect that he was in for an evening of embarassment (sp, I am embarassed to say that I am never 100 percent sure how to spell embarrassment!) anyway this friend was not in fear of a birthday surprise but then AFTER dinner; settled back in the passenger seat (which should have been a warning as the birthday boy never sat in the passenger seat) he was blindsided by being blindfolded (why did he not rip off the eye cover?; because he is a good sport; he was turning 50 and this was the surprise party that he knew he would get but no one told him he was getting thus making it a surprise!) He was then driven around several blocks for several minutes, turning left ,right ,reverse, up hills, down alley's (he peeked just once when the car quickly halted.) Finally, arriving at the gathering place, tripping up the stairs causing a few excited giggles from the audience trying to be quiet until the lights came up, (why he did not peek going up the stairs means he is a little dumb.) then SHAZAM surprise! the crowd shouted (mostly because we were starving!) the birthday guest laughed heartily (a bit too heartily suggesting he really was not surprised at all) and the evening continued with jokes about growing up, viagra, geritol, and ear hair. Growing old stinks. As we left the evening with our pockets full of sweaty confectioners treats I again asked my husband if he would like to pretend to be surprised at a fiftieth birthday party. He answered "sure...whose party shall I pretend to be surprised at?" After I corrected his grammar I started planning his 49th birthday which truly will be a surprise. He'll love it and even thank me for it. ya think?

wow this works!

how cool to get into the blog system. what do i write? I will have to think about that for a while just a wonderment that i set this up. now i will go make a meal with sliced bread! now that is awfully amazing too!