Snow!

Earlier this week, I woke up to beauty on the other side of my bedroom window. 

(As former New Englanders, we love the snow and don't mind it doesn't happen too often.)

 

Thanksgiving Day! We didn't have any children or grandchildren home for the holiday--they're coming at Christmas. But we did have a lovely mix of relatives and people who feel like relatives. 

Preparing for the Holidays with a Seventeen Year Old Son

Here’s how you know (as if you could possibly be confused) that you’re preparing for the holidays with a seventeen year old son as your helper.

1. He surfs the wood floors with the new chair pads that he’s supposed to be putting on the chairs.

2. He makes the cranberry sauce with fresh cranberries because when you cook them, they explode.

3. You ask him to refill all the bathroom soap containers and he says, “That seems pretty menial.” Then, you casually mention that toilets need to be cleaned.

4. He’s eager to help because he’s gotten off school a day early to help.

5. He asks if he can choose music to listen to while you clean. You cringe and nod. Until Silent Night fills the air. Maybe Christmas music before Thanksgiving isn’t so bad. 

Shredding the Bedding

Lots of people have been posting on Facebook and other places about participating in Thirty Days of Thanksgiving. I began to ponder some of the more unusual things I have to be thankful for like a husband who puts up with my sleep idiosyncrasies.

I sleep-talk a lot. (Though I will say, Cal needs to be thankful that I’m not my cousin who’s known to sit bolt upright in bed during the middle of the night and “sing” at the top of her lungs. You’ve never experienced sleep issues until you wake up at 2am to someone screaming “Jesus Loves Me” at the top of her lungs.) In any case, when Cal and I first got married, he didn’t realize I talked in my sleep. He’d thought sleep talking was the occasional mumbled word. Not the ramblings that went on and on. It wasn’t until he realized that I didn’t always make sense that I was asleep.

Then there are the times I wake him saying, “The police are pounding on the front door. Go answer it.” Except it’s only a dream. When I’ve been insistent, he’s actually gone down two flights of stairs and opened the door for me. Now he rolls over and says, “Go back to sleep.”

I can’t forget the sleep walking where he finds me and brings me back to bed.

But what would drive me crazy if he did it is the “bedding shredding.” No, I don’t kick the sheets around or pull the blanket loose. I actually shred the bedding. I wake up with sheets torn all around me. On some nights, I become the Incredible Hulk and rip the sheets. Thankfully, I’m not that strong and sheets are well made, so it only happens when the fabric is getting old from repeated washings. I’ve even shredded a heavy wool blanket. (Yes, I know I’m some sleep doctor’s key to the lead article in the Journal of Sleep Medicine.) If Cal had woken up among puffs of shredded wool, I would’ve said, “Ack, what did you do? Do you know how much a wool blanket costs?” Instead, he said, “Hmm. I guess that must be getting old.”

Yeah, he’s pretty much a saint. Last week, I ripped a pillowcase during the night—I guess it must have been getting old.

BTW, Screwing Up Babylon will soon be available. (In spite of Sandy) Today I plan to convert the file and upload it to Amazon. Yay!

Thanksgiving in June

Last Thanksgiving, I bought an extra turkey. Turkeys are good, cheap protein. And I thought it would be fun to cook one for something other than Thanksgiving. Since I really needed to defrost the big freezer and the turkey wouldn’t fit in the small freezer, I decided it was time to cook the turkey. (Actually, the kids are going to defrost the freezer. I just haven’t told them yet.)

I was planning to brine the turkey. I've never brined a turkey and it sounded cool--I love to experiment when I cook. However, the kids found out. Ariel said, “You’re going to pickle the turkey?!” I tried to explain that I wasn’t pickling the turkey, but all I got was hostile, betrayed looks from her and the boys. So I decided not to pickle the turkey. I stuffed it with cornbread dressing. I made mashed potatoes from red potatoes—yum, so rich. I made French beans, just barely seared with butter and lemon. Ariel made country gravy. Matt made a tart cranberry sauce using fresh cranberries that I froze at Christmas time. And my mom made a fresh berry trifle.

The scent of turkey cooking was amazing—it made a muggy, overcast, hot June day festive. And since I didn’t use the china, crystal, or the needs-to-be-ironed table linens, it was much easier in terms of preparation.  I’m starting a new tradition, Thanksgiving in June.