Frozen?

The phone rang on Sunday. It was my mother in law telling us to head for the river bed. She's not Moses and we're not fleeing an oppressive people, but we needed to see for ourselves how low the river was.  The Maumee River dumps into Lake Erie and after a day or two of 40 mile an hour winds and some weeks of dry weather the river is dried up like a giant rock filled raisin.

We had to obey so we ran to the car. Actually, me and Tim ran to the car. A&P thought we were insane. 

Me: Ma says you can walk across the River. Let's go check it out.
Andrew : Is it frozen?

Frozen? Have you been watching a few too many episodes of "Ice Road Truckers"? Seriously.

Here's Peter inspecting the river bed at Buttonwood. He looks skeptical. And angry. I think you're perennially angry when you're 13. Do you suppose 14 is any different?

We tried to get the boys to go with us to Grand Rapids, but they complained about homework or some such thing.  Had I not been wearing flip flops and if it were not nearly dinnertime, I would have walked across.

In Andrew's defense, it does look frozen.

Lunch Break

Here's a snapshot of what is floating around in my head (if you watch South Park, I'm probably a bit like what Cartman sees when he closes his eyes). It is nearly noon as I type this. Where does the day go?

I am inspired by the following two things today (beware, things are going to get sappy around here)...

• A quote from Moulin Rouge "The greatest thing you will ever learn is to love and to be loved in return."
• Time spent serving and preparing a community dinner for people who need it on Sunday.

First, the quote... it's just a great quote. I am going to give my boys and the kitty and Timmy and maybe the guinea pig (Not all at the same time) a big squeeze. Peter really needs a big squeeze. He was feeling a little low yesterday. So, if you see him before I do, squeeze him until he squeaks.

Second, the dinner... A&P and a friend needed some more service hours for school so off we went to the community dinner. The boys all worked very hard and made me very proud. They worked for four hours straight to help get dinner on the table for about 50 people who come off of the street once a month for a meal. Some of the people leave prayer requests behind.

I should tell you that Sunday was a miserable rainy day. People came in dripping wet and cold. Some smiled anyway.

I have to tell you about these prayer requests.... if I was homeless or downtrodden and needed a meal... I would be miserable. I would be a pill and a half. I would be pulling my hair out and I would pray for indulgent things like a job and an income and a place to live. This is because I'm selfish and I have too much to learn about how to live my life. Do you know what these people left prayers for? Not a single prayer that I picked up was for something indulgent.

They prayed for...

• the missing oil rig workers
• miners in West Virginia
• peace
• beauty
• happiness
• some signed their names and said thank you
• some didn't say anything at all

Remember, give Peter a squeeze.

Christmas Eve Delivery?

Yesterday, it hit me that I will have 7 people for Christmas Eve dinner and not 6. I think I forgot to count myself.

This was quite a shock. I had washed 6 napkins.

So, now what? The dining table is too small. It has no leaves. We bought it right before we got married and it's been holding court in the dining room since we moved here for lack of any other place to put it or anything to put in its place.

This is not due to a lack of effort. Not a lot of effort, mind you, but I can never decide what I want. Provincial? Stuffy. Country? Casual. Colonial? Too George Washington-y.

I tromped to the basement for my normal "the table is too small solution"- a card table tacked on the end. I was completely non-plussed. This looked awful and I was so totally over the shabby chic. Now what? It's 2 days before Christmas. Tables are big and something that large won't fit in my VW. Nor will the chairs. Sigh. It would be pretty mean to make one of the boys sit in the kitchen alone just to cut out a chair.

I drove to a furniture store and walked in- sullen. I found exactly what I wanted. More depression, why didn't I do this in April? "So," I say sweetly, "any chance this could be delivered tomorrow?" YES!

So, tonight may you enjoy good food at a table that is big enough for all the people that you can cram around it. Merry Christmas.

A Contained Conspiracy

I have a cabinet.

I have 5000 plastic containers.

I have 4999 lids and never the lid I seek. Never. Dang.

Tonight, I whipped up some spaghetti with leftover beef. This, in and of itself, is almost miraculous. I never use leftovers. But, this was leftover Wagyu beef and I would have been struck down by the leftover gods had I let it go to waste.

Shortly after serving everyone up and scarfing it down, we surveyed the leftovers. By careful viewing of the approximate volume of food left in the pot, I found the perfect container- A beautiful little Rubbermaid #2. Hmmm, where's the lid?

No lid. Sheesh. I got down on my hands and knees. Then I sat Indian style on the floor and rooted around like one of those truffle seeking pigs in the Italian forest. No lid. Really.

Kid: I hide those in my room you know.

Me: WHAT?

Kid: I'm kidding.

I emptied the contents of the entire cabinet onto the kitchen floor. There was not a single Rubbermaid #2 lid. This is a conspiracy.

Kid: My friends come over and take the lids.

Me: Seriously. You're just rubbing this in.

I don't get it. The lids are like socks except I'm fairly certain I don't have container lids static clinging to my pants.

A Letter to my Turkey

Dear Fresh, Never Frozen Turkey:

You may be big and scary, but I'm on to you. You may slide around on the rack and teeter precariously on the edge of your roaster, but I'm watching your every move. So help me if you end up on the floor.

The thermometer is like a nanny cam. You can't hide from me and I'll know when the juices run clear because I'm sitting 4 feet away from the oven and have been since 7 o'clock this morning.

I do have a question. Was it necessary for your Amish keepers to stuff your neck in? I didn't need to see that. I think there's soup I could make with that but the thought of it holding up your head was more than I could stomach so thanks for that.

I have at least 14 cookbooks splayed all over the kitchen and we've obsessively read every turkey cooking article on the Food Network website. Alton Brown? Giada? I can't decide who's better. Betty Crocker? To cover or not to cover? Baste? Where the heck is the baster? You're browing too early! What's wrong with my oven? Are my aromatics, aromatic enough? I grew my own thyme. Does that count extra?

With my arms covered in butter and turkey fat, I massaged you with butter just like Julia Child taught me on the poultry episode. She was molesting a capon, but I think this will work. Maybe I should do a good luck turkey dance in the front yard in my jammies.

Alas, everyone has a first turkey. I've cooked plenty of chickens so I will crown you a giant Thanksgiving chicken. Now, for more basting.

Sincerely, Foul Slayer

Foul!

I went to meat market to buy a turkey for Thanksgiving. I wanted a fresh Amish turkey.

I ran into the market 3 minutes before it closed at 6:30 pm. I knew they had fresh turkeys because a friend told me to get off my rump and buy one before they were all gone.

The meat market guy was very helpful and he managed to locate an 18 pound turkey. As he wrapped it up, I said "Hey! How long has that thing been thawing?"

He looked at me a bit strange. "It's fresh. Never frozen." Oh duh. "Yes, ma'am."

My poultry folly reminded me of a story told by my very first boss, Doris. Doris was one fierce lady, but that's a story for another day. Anyway, when Doris was first married she went to the butcher to buy a chicken. She asked the butcher to chop it apart (there's a name for that I'm sure, so that she had parts and not the whole chicken. )

As she watched the butcher work, she snorted "Hey, you shorted me some legs!"

"What?" he replied, amused.

Doris persisted. "I may be young, but I know that I'm supposed to have 4 legs on that chicken and you only gave me two. You're crooked!"

The butcher looked at her from behind the counter and started to laugh. It was then that Doris realized that chickens have only two legs.

I wonder if the chicken was fresh, never frozen?

Things that will Probably Haunt Me

I've done a few things that will come back to haunt me some day....

• Wearing rainbow embroidered gauchos in 3rd grade. (What is a gaucho anyway? Oddly reminiscent of the "slanket" but real clothing worn that should be forgotten. Someone at work asked what you would call a blanket with a hole in it for your head. A poncho, of course, but "Blancho" sounds much cooler. I should totally sell these on line. Want one?)
• Recycling. (How can this be? It is so good for the planet! True, dear reader, but hard to explain to the kids who have been indoctrinated by the 3rd generation of Nancy Reagan "Just Say No" officers. It's hard to dodge the following week after week "Hey Mom, the bin looks like you had a really big party, but no one's been here." At least no one you know about, my very observant child. And no, there's no reason to tell your school counselor.)
• This conversation... ("Mom, you swear a lot." "What the H8!!, no I don't." "Yes you do. What's going to happen when I come home when I'm in my 30's, Mom? I'll swear and you'll still try to smack me." Nice. )
• Another conversation... ("Mom I need some birthday candles." "In the cabinet." Time passes.... "STOP LIGHTING FIRES ON THE DECK, YOU WILL BURN THE HOUSE DOWN." "It's OK Mom, I'm taking these candles, some matches and my knife with me on the Scout camp out to the nuclear power plant." )
• Teaching critical thinking skills to my children. (Emphasis on CRITICAL. My parents joined us for a weekend a while back and were amazed by the spectacle that two 12 year olds and their father can create while discussing Greek City States. Seriously, it got ugly and resulted in Tim actually pulling out a college text book to prove his point. My parents laughed at me, for hours, whilst I drank.)
• Wednesday night's margarita. (They served in a glass the size of the bucket I use to wash my car. Should have been my first, freaking clue.)
• The animal cracker I dropped in my toaster.
• Henry Van Hellen. Where art thou, Henry?

Haunted and it's not even close to Halloween...

Home Alone

(Cue creepy ghost town music. A tumbleweed blows down the driveway. The lights are on, but no body's home....)



Yes, we're home alone. I vacillate between my thirteen year old (Omigosh I've been left home alone self) and my older (doesn't matter how much older, but it's nowhere near 40, ahem) more responsible self.



13year old me: Whoo Hoo! I am inviting over my friends and watching whatever I want on TV while simultaneously bouncing on the couch, talking to someone on the phone, drinking pop in the room with the white carpet, and wearing red lipstick. Awesome!

Regular me: Huh?

So here we are, sitting around in our underwear, blowing off our friends, watching basketball and drinking gin & tonics. Where are they, you ask? Where are the lovelies? Did you send them to the military school down the road? Guam? A detention center?

ON VACATION WITH THEIR GRANDPARENTS FOR A WEEK!

(Cue Beastie Boys "Fight for your right to Party", dance like a wacko in the kitchen and eat the sushi that you don't have to share with anyone but the spouse.)

I won't bounce on my furniture since I know what I paid for it but I might:

• Eat all the raisin toast and Lucky Charms without being accosted.
• Forget how to do laundry, except for my own which is kind of overdue.
• Read a book
• Research my book "52 weeks, 52 Martinis: Essays on Twin Parenting"
• Do my Snoopy happy dance
• Wait for the phone to ring- why haven't they called all day?
• Sleep with their stuffed animals

Those last two were pathetic.

My 13 year old self is telling me to paint my toe nails bright blue and make some nachos. Talk at ya later!

Problematic Dinner Companions

The New York Times has a short article today about dining with Hitler. Truly awful and detestable at best, but I guess one has to eat to have the energy to commit crimes against humanity.

The Fuhrer aside, this article got me to thinking about dinner guests that would pose a multitude of problems for a host. We all have vegetarian friends and friends for whom nuts would be disastrous. Some don't like fish- others no asparagus. Alas, these are not problems for a host- not really. I'll eat nearly anything so I like to think of myself as an easy dinner companion. I'll even share a chocolate dessert with you, if you please, and I'll only complain a teeny, tiny bit.

How about dinner with a thawed out caveman? What would you serve the poor fellow and should you worry that he'll conk you on the head with a lamp or your meat cleaver when you turn your back to stir the French Onion Soup? The smell of the caveman could be a bit strong as well, depending on the amount of time that he's been reanimated. I would suggest, if consulted as an authority on such things and surely I must be because I can't think of any other person anywhere writing about something so ridiculous, the following Caveman protocol:

• Schedule your dinner at least 6 months after his reanimation to avoid exposure to ancient odors and germs for which you and your other guests have no immunity.


• Serve all meats with the bones so as to avoid embarrassing your new prehistoric friend.


• Avoid all flambes or any other flaming foods or drinks.


• Do not schedule your party on any solstice or equinox in an effort to reduce the probability that one of your other guests, or even you, could become a sacrifice to the sun or moon, or both.

How about dinner with Typhoid Mary? Here was a lady without many friends so perhaps you take pity upon her and invite her over for some fondue? Not only would this result in swift and certain death for you and your other guests, but if you did survive, you might be offering an invitation that is not likely to be accepted by anyone, ever. I have no list of suggestions for Mary so avoid it like the plague.

How about dinner with President Andrew Jackson? He had an interesting Indian removal policy that would be entertaining to discuss. He also had a penchant for dueling so I would recommend:

• All guests must leave their firearms at the door.
• Do not allow Mr. Jackson to engage other guests in spirited discussions that could lead to arguments spilling over onto your front yard in reach of firearms.
• If you see Mr. Jackson counting of 20 paces or some such thing, ask every one to leave and hide under your bed.
• Some sources attribute the founding of the "Democratic Party" to Mr. Jackson. Knowing this, choose your other companions carefully so as to avoid the ruckus described above.

How about dinner with Marie Antoinette? She had a penchant for masked, formal balls. So if you happen to have a ballroom and 400 other friends, you could consider inviting her to your soiree. I think she might complain a lot and bring servants with her that would have to be fed as well. Make sure you have plenty of extra champagne. Don't be surprised if she hovers around your dessert table and claims all the chocolate mousse for herself while shrilly announcing, regarding the other guests, "Let them eat cake!" If her behavior continues, you may find your other guests chanting her ill-will while whisking Marie into a waiting car with a paper bag over her head. I'm not sure where your liability, as the party thrower stops or starts, but a zealous prosecutor could find you responsible if her head somehow gets separated from her body while on your property. Unless everyone signs a release, it's not worth the hassle.

Dear Reader, what are you doing for dinner?