brought to you by the letter "r"

So here we are at the end of the year and the nightly news is asking for votes on the fave picture/event of the last 12 months. I’d rather remember my fave children’s sermon (thank you, Doshia) that was brought to us by the letter "R." She began by talking about we’re Ready to start the last month on the calendar. Our parents are Rattled and there’s just never enough time to get it all done, and we’re thinking about gifts to buy and presents to Receive (and maybe Return). She mentioned New Year's Resolutions, of course, and then turned her attention, and those of the small listeners sitting at her feet, to R's that are Really Relevant. Such as Restoration of Relationships with family and friends, Renewal of long-term goals, and Rebirth of life-long values that have sadly, for one reason or another, gone lacking.

I was, as always, enthralled by her words and bet I (and the other adults in the congregation) got a lot more out of it than the kids. But at the conclusion, as the little ones trooped off to Children's Church, in view of Recent computer issues, one R she didn't mention was the foremost on my mind: Reboot.

What if we could Reboot our life? What if we could look back and not just do something differently but totally erase it from existence? A real "do-over." As I was preparing my lunch a few hours later that day, I Reviewed the morning. And Realized there's nothing in my life that I would Revoke completely. Yes, there are events in my past that still hurt, memories that give me pause, happenings that if I'm not careful will put me into panic mode with my head beneath the covers, but all in all the lessons have led me to this place, this time, this life. And while I may not exactly Rejoice in some, I am grateful for them all.

As my very best lifelong friend said, “I so totally agree with you. There are things that are still painful. There are things, the thought of which make me cringe and thank God that He was watching over me, or I wouldn't be here today. There are things that at the time I so desperately wanted to turn out differently from the way they did. But after all is said and done, I wouldn't change a single drop of Rain, for fear it would destroy the subsequent Rainbow.”

thanks but no thanks

So there was actually turkey for dinner, after all, in our house yesterday. Found a 4-pound turkey breast that required only 2 ½ hours to cook, and it was excellent: just moist enough, skin perfectly browned with its coating of butter/rosemary/lemon peel. Carrots instead of sweet potatoes, as expected, but that was ok. Blueberry pie instead of pumpkin, and that was ok, too. The cornbread dressing contained bits of Italian sausage, apples, celery, and mushrooms. Again, excellent. Gravy really really good with just enough chunky stuff to be interesting. Three kinds of deviled eggs (dill, parsley, regular), a loaf of homemade bread, and omg Trisha Yearwood’s recipe for bacon-wrapped-asparagus bundles. Sour cream mashed potatoes, yum-m-m-m-m-my!! And creamed onions.

Now, keep in mind last week I asked hubby about what I should fix for Thanksgiving dinner, so I’d know what to put on the shopping list, making sure to include all his faves, but leaving out all the good stuff (read that to mean the things I like that he doesn’t). When I asked if he would like creamed onions this year he assured me he likes them just fine and yes add it to the menu.

And so I made creamed onions. They turned out great. Sauce perfect, tiny fresh pearl onions cooked but still with just a hint of crunch, taste of bay leaf just barely coming through, and with just the proper amount of heat from a dash of tabasco.

Noticed at the end of the meal everything was gone from his plate except the creamed onions.

I said, “What’s the matter, you didn’t eat the creamed onions, you told me you like creamed onions.”

He replied, “I like creamed onions, just not THESE creamed onions.”

“What’s wrong with them?” I queried.

Silence.

I tried again. “You’ve never actually eaten creamed onions before today, have you?”

A small voice came back from somewhere down in the middle of his easy chair, “No, but they looked so good when Julia made them on last week’s show that I thought it might be nice to try.”

Three guesses what will not be on the Christmas menu. And the first two don't count.

the most wonderful time of the year

Recently a friend said she is becoming aware of the futility of trying to schedule holiday celebrations with her children. Not because of anything she’s done, but because the kids are grown now and significant others have begun to take center stage in their lives.

I was reminded that when I married it was made known to me, in no uncertain terms, that we were expected to be at the in-law’s house, not just for Thanksgiving but for Christmas, too.

It wasn’t such a big deal at Thanksgiving, although I missed the favorite foods I knew growing up, and soon learned that venison was an acceptable alternative to turkey. At least we had sweet potatoes, but forget cranberry sauce, and anything pumpkin was not to be seen, mainly because anything you couldn’t raise on the farm wasn’t worth having.

Christmas was a real trial. Forget the fact that my family might like to see us, fil’s forcefulness combined with hubby’s irritation at being asked to set up a tree in our own home made it next to impossible for personal decorations.

My children have very few memories of celebrating a holiday in their own home. We always had to pack up and go at least two days in advance, so there went Christmas Eve, too. And how to keep presents secret from inquisitive five-and six-year-olds during a ten-plus-hour car trip was more than I could manage, there simply weren’t enough blankets in the world, so whatever we took had to be small in size and number. Even though the station wagon was large, there wasn’t a lot of room left over after you packed enough clothes to last a week for four people and added a dog in the back. But there was always a light in my kids eyes, from what was under the tree at the other house, and they certainly enjoyed spending time with a granny who doted on them.

Which was way better than the second marriage. Good thing my kids were older by then. After a couple of years of being all but forgotten they became less expectant of receiving anything from hubby’s family, and learned to sit quietly with their two presents while they watched the only four people who mattered tear through the wrappings of numberless boxes of joy. (I hope there’s a special place in hell for adults who take out their frustrations and unhappiness on little children.)

But the upside is that all those years were good training for me. These days I snail mail what I must to people I care about but who don't care about me. Thank you God for a daughter who, even with her Herculean schedule, makes sure there is time for me to spend with her and her family in the week before the actual day. Otherwise, I spend the holidays at home alone, while hubby works. Food? He does not eat pumpkin, sneers at cranberry sauce, and don’t even think about putting sweet potatoes where they can be even sniffed, much less seen. He favors beef tenderloin over turkey, quail instead of ham. It just doesn’t seem worth the expense to buy something that only I enjoy, and so I don’t. There are very few Christmas decorations in our home, because, frankly, after twenty years of trying I am just too tired to set up a tree and decorate and then take it all down and put it away on Christmas morning. I’m the only one who knows it’s there, so have pared down to whatever can fit on the dining room table. And it’s not like there would be anything under the tree, anyway. Oh, well. At least cleanup is fast.

And, yes, please, I'll have some cheese with my whine.

magic hour

Daylight savings time ended on Sunday. Have noticed that it takes me longer and longer each year to reset all the timepieces in the house. With the advent of the latest ubercoffeemaker (thank you, Denise!! we truly love it), there are now six clocks in my kitchen alone. Add three in the master bedroom (two electric and one battery operated), two in each bathroom (one electronic, one battery), one in each of the two guest bedrooms, one in the office, one in the great room, and one in the master closet.

I’ve learned the best way to get ‘er done, without expending a noticeable block of time and energy is, starting at noon on the day before the change, I take a couple of minutes to reset the clock(s) in whatever room I happen to be in at the time, and so before I go to bed on Saturday the task is complete. Except for the one in the car, which I never can seem to remember, and on my way to Church realize it’s off. And of course for the next month every watch I wear (depending on the day’s couture) also will be wrong. But all in all it works out pretty well.

And despite the time it takes to do it, with the “setback” there is an hour that I don’t have something specifically scheduled to do. Which brings me to the subject of today’s blog. How did you spend your extra hour?

This year I didn’t sleep through the change, as per normal, but instead I went Christmas shopping. Oh, don’t misunderstand, I was not literally out on the highways and byways at that hour, I’m not that foolish, but comparison shopping on the internet is not only possible, it’s preferable. And so today, as I make my weekly foray, I’m also buying the presents I picked out during that magic hour. Which means I can have everything bought and wrapped by Thanksgiving. WOOHOO!!

Only one problem with the time change. At 3:30 each morning this week kitty has nudged me and whined, “I don’t care what the clock says, my tummy says it’s 4:30. Get your butt out of bed and feed me.” This week I’m letting him slide. But beginning next week each morning I’ll make him wait an extra few minutes before I actually do get up. Which means he and the clock will be sync’d somewhere along about March. When daylight savings begins again. Sigh.

not quite a "thriller" and aren't we glad

So another Hallowe’en has come and gone. In 90 minutes handed out 150 dum dum lollipops (because they’re allergy free) and a case of water (to the grateful adults). Light levels on the porch too low to get pics, but saw some really cute costumes. The tiniest participants were the best, as they toddled up to my door.

I do question the motives of the several single parents who showed up with a tiny baby clamped to one shoulder and carrying an old ratty pillowcase in the other hand.

I didn’t grow up celebrating the holiday, there were no costumes donned at our house and I honestly don’t remember doing anything about it even in school, it evidently was not a real big deal back in fifties era Birmingham. I do remember my mother saying the reason our family didn’t “do” Hallowe’en was because it would be begging, and in her way of thinking anything even resembling begging was anathema.

For that matter, I don’t think most of the under six crowd even knew the original purpose for why they were out there trudging the sidewalks last night. Far too few instances of a kid who actually said “trick or treat” and fewer still anyone saying thank you.

Only had one instance of too-old-to-be-out-doing-that, but not about to stand up and say no to teenage thugs who knew intimidation was the real name of the game.

For three hours our street was double (and in places triple) parked with vans and pickups and flatbed trailers (seems our street, being first, serves as the designated drop-off point), which made it really hard for hubby to turn into our drive when he got home. And there was one instance of someone POUNDING on our door thirty minutes AFTER I turned off all the outside lights and came in to nuke a quick dinner (we ignored them and finally they went away).

GHPD was a refreshing and welcome presence during the evening, cruising the neighborhoods in their SUVs and handing out candy to the youngest goublins. A big thank you to Mayor Pereira and the City Council for what I hope will be an annual appearance for our Finest.

The only thriller was Sirius in the background. All in all, I'd say it went pretty well.

So now, this morning, the plush gray rat with black plastic tail and flashing red eyes that plays scary music when you push his tummy is retired for another year, along with the spider web serving platters, the big plastic orange porch pumpkin, and the ghostbusters treat bowl. The four-foot-long scarecrow has come off the front door, replaced by a festive harvest time wreath. All that’s left to do is pick up the candy wrappers and soda cans from the yard, after daylight. Speaking of which, have not yet decided what I’ll do with that extra hour this weekend, but stay tuned, I’ll let you know.