Thanksgiving in the rearview mirror

 

Our long table

We are home again after three days and nights in Tomball celebrating with all the Alters, minus one. It was a plentiful, wonderful, be-grateful Thanksgiving. Moments that made my heart glad: a long table for all of us and a guest, plus Lisa’s mom who took Maddie’s place as the sixteenth Alter; my oldest son asking the grace and composing it as he went; my granddaughter making yeast-rising rolls and coffee cakes from my mom’s recipe; my grown children talking about all the awful things I fed them as children—liver and turnips and tongue; a sandwich from the Czech Stop in West; one evening of beautiful weather, sitting by the fire on the new deck, looking at the lake.

The weather was beautiful Wednesday night when we got there, then rainy, foggy, and chilly for two days with heavy rain last night. But today dawned bright and sunny, and we were grateful for clear weather on the drive home.

Our trip was a lesson in highway driving for Jacob, who drove from Reisel (outside Waco) to Tomball and back from Tomball to Hearne, all under the watchful eye of his mom. It went as smoothly as could be expected—I did hear comments about two hands on the wheel answered by my wrist gets tired. He willingly surrendered the wheel to Jordan in Hearne. We made our way through two traffic jams on the way there and two on the way back today—fortunately none of major proportions, though pity people going south on I-35 because an accident caused a backup several miles long. Jamie reported an accident with an eight-wheeler meant it was three a.m. before they got to their motel in Cypress (next door to Tomball).

We are grateful that everyone is back in place tonight, and two families report they rushed out and got their Christmas trees today. Jordan and Christian retrieved the Christmas decorations from the storage locker and will get a tree tomorrow. (When you have no garage and limited attic space, a storge lock is an annoying necessity.)

Lonely Sophie

The Tomball Alters have a wonderful Aussie/collie mix, Ginger—I tried to bring her home but couldn’t get away with it. She has that Aussie sweetness. But granddaughter Morgan and her boyfriend share a seven-month old pup of undetermined lineage, and Morgan was babysitting while Clayton was out of town. So we had Blue, who takes a long time to cotton to strangers but is otherwise puppy-crazy. I recount all this because it meant I had to leave Sophie in Fort Worth with the dog sitter, who is efficient and wonderful and kind. But it was harder on me than on Soph to leave her behind. Here is a picture of lonely Sophie.

A lesson I guess I knew but learned more firmly this trip: I function much better, with my walker, in my own environment. I have visited Tomball many times since I needed a walker, and it’s always a challenge—it is a multi-level house. The result is I have to ask for everything—from my morning cup of tea to my dinner plate and yes, please, another glass of wine. And I cannot pitch in and help, as all the other females present do. It’s sort of an emotional or mental problem for me—I feel guilty, am hesitant to ask, etc. I do try to avoid pouting or getting in a sour mood, but you’ll have to ask the others if I succeed. The Tomball grands—Morgan, seventeen and a high school senior, and Kegan, fifteen and a freshman (I think)—are both terrific about asking, “You need anything, Juju?” Kegan surrendered his bedroom to me and went across the pasture to his grandmother’s house (in Tomball I call myself the other grandmother).

And so it begins again—the hectic, happy holiday season. I am resolved to get back to serious writing Monday morning, but please don’t check on me. The best-laid plans gang oft agley. The next month will be filled with planning and partying, music and joy, and for too many, a bit of sadness or loneliness. Let’s all reach out to those not as fortunate as we are.

My favorite spot in Tomball
Note Sophie in the foreground and Grace in the back
(Grace is now playing on the rainbow bridge--this
was a few years ago)

Thanksgiving went to the dogs

Me and the dogs.
Note that they were reluctant to stay still
for the slow photogapher.

Since my last visit to Tomball, the family has lost Grace, the big old shepherd mix who sat on my feet while I worked, and acquired Ginger. She’s billed as an Aussie, but I think she’s got some smooth-coated collie in her. She definitely has the collie/Aussie sweet disposition. And she’s a beauty, with a coat that truly is the color of gingerbread.

We wondered how Ginger and Sophie would get along, but after about two minutes they were just fine. And I have spent the visit surrounded by dogs. Ginger is just the right height to get under the dining table and lay her head in my lap, big brown eyes looking soulfully at me. Or she literally lies at my feet, making sure that some part of her touches some part of me. Sophie has not been as jealous as I expected, but she will wander over to be petted when she sees Ginger by me. Ginger on the other hand, has radar, and if Sophie comes to me, Ginger will rouse herself from elsewhere in the house to come be petted.

This morning both dogs had a good romp—herding is as instinctive to each of them as running is, and they ran in huge circles chasing each other. One thing that’s always worried me with Sophie in Tomball is that there are no fences, and I feared if she once got loose, she’d be gone forever. If I’d been outside this morning, I’d have said no, but Colin let her off the leash, and she happily came back to him, maybe because Ginger did. I don’t go outside here and pretty much stay in the wing of the house with the kitchen, family room, and my bedroom. The house is multi-level, and getting from one end to the other is a challenge for me.

Once in Fort Worth, granddaughter Morgan said to me, “I think I’ve got everything packed and ready to go home.” I turned to look, and she had Sophie under her arm. Told her last night turnabout is fair play, and I may have to talk Ginger home.

Our Thanksgiving table, with the two grandmothers as bookends.
Although we were very happy, something about this photo
reminds me of American Gothic.

Our Thanksgving dinner was traditional, the way we all like it, and bountiful. You know if I eat two slivers of pie, and neither of them chocolate, it’s got to be good. We had Brussel sprouts which I sometimes eat, and Colin kept talking about three bites for politeness and the eggplant of his childhood (I don’t think I really did that, but he insists). Turkey was moist and flavorful, and I look forward to leftovers tonight.

Strange thing this afternoon. I was napping and had a bad dream in which I called out for help. Apparently I really did because Colin gently shook me awake, and Sophie jumped on the bed and walked all over me. I went back to dozing, but I worried about that and wondered if I ever do that at home. I think we all have dreams, occasionally, that make us call out for help. On the other hand, I know my dreams are quite vivid—in color and with audio.

May you all sleep tight tonight, with full bellies and sweet dreams—no bad dreams.

A better view of Ginger

More on the shingles saga

 

What we wish shingles looked like

Sorry I haven’t posted for a couple of days. The medications which I am gratefully taking make me sleepy. This morning I did a thing unheard of for me. I let Sophie out about 7:30, didn’t do any of my regular morning routine except to make a cup of hot tea. I read some emails, fiddled a bit on Facebook, and when Sophie came back in, I went back to bed and slept until 9:45. And I’m sleepy as I write this.

I have decided I cannot write the great American novel, let alone a sequel to Saving Irene, until the shingles pass, and who knows when that will be. Research on the web leads me to conclude that the average case lasts two to six weeks. I figure I’ve had it a week and a half. I look awful. Last night we had friends for happy hour, and I wore a mask even though I have been strictly quarantining—it was to hide the ugly, red lesions on my face rather than to keep from spreading contagion. Once when I slipped it down for a sip, I could tell my friend was surprised to say the least.

Back again after a break for a nap.

To illustrate what I mean about these meds, it is now 5:00, and I haven’t finished this post which was my sole project. I have kept up with emails, including answering a long letter from a friend I haven’t seen since lockdown began. And I have had two long naps.

It’s hard for me to type—either the disease or the medication affect your muscles, and something has happened to my fine muscle control. Periodically I have great tremors in both hands (I always have a slight tremor in my left hand). When that happens, my hands bounce around on the keys, hitting ones I had no intention of hitting. Even when the tremors do not appear, I have a hard time typing accurately. A good paragraph takes me a long time. I will be so glad when these shingles have run their course.

Sophie doesn’t know quite what’s going on. She alternates between staring at me and jumping up on the bed. Much as both of us would like for her to be a cuddly pup, she simply isn’t. She can’t help squirming.

Obviously, there’s not much for me to tell. It has been an absolutely gorgeous day, and I have had the patio door open whenever I was upright. Sometimes a lovely, gentle breeze blew in. Last night when friends came for happy hour, we thought it was a bit cool but lovely on the patio. The temperature is supposed to dip again tomorrow, but only into the sixties. The mild weather is so out of step with what the weather should be in late November that it makes me nervous.

Like many Americans, we are saddened and befuddled by what to do for Thanksgiving. We were supposed to go to Austin to Megan’s new house, which I have not seen. A jolly mix-up of all the Alter clan, all sixteen of us. Obviously, that isn’t happening. But the Burtons and I still l planned on going—until the surge in corona cases made us uncertain. Jordan has done so much to keep me isolated that it seems folly to risk it now. Meantime, we waited too long to get a pet sitter, so Christian will be here. Thinking we would go ahead and go, he invited his sister and her family. It’s all a muddle, and I may end eating dinner alone in my cottage. Given this awful year and how much has gone wrong, I would be thankful.

This morning I was thinking that the tremors in my hands made me feel like an old woman. Then I laughed aloud. “Judith,” I told myself sternly, “You are an old woman.”

 

The morning after

I love that morning-after-the-holiday feeling. The pressure is off, though I readily admit with Lisa preparing the feast, I was under little pressure. Maybe it’s anticipation that adds a bit of spice to the holiday—waiting for company, waiting for the meal. Anyway, that feeling is gone by morning, and I feel free to sleep late and sort of float through the day.  Early this morning, a dense fog contributed to the lazy atmosphere. It has gone now, but the day is cloudy and uninspiring.

I may not have had the hostess pressure yesterday, but I do want to protest that I did my part for the meal. Because I asked how I could help from a sitting position, I got the great privilege of peeling apples and potatoes. When Lisa plunked the bag of apples down in front of me, I asked weakly, “All those apples?” She smiled (a bit mischievously) and said, ‘Yep.” And do realize how many potatoes it takes for mashed potatoes for thirteen? I’m now even more in favor of mashing red potatoes with the skins on!

Dinner was traditional and so good—I think I forget from holiday to holiday how much I like turkey and gravy. And Lisa, despite being a Texan, made ‘northern” white-bread stuffing—my favorite dish perhaps of the whole meal. An updated version of green bean casserole, homemade cranberry sauce, pistachio salad, and rolls. All wonderful. And of course it had been preceded by bountiful appetizers—a vegetable platter, a sausage-and-cheese platter, a French onion dip, hummus, guacamole—need I go on?

I haven’t yet had a piece of apple pie. After dinner, which we ate about 3:30, I suddenly found myself alone in the dining room—I think boys had gone to watch football and the ladies to see Lisa’s parents’ new house. Turkey had worked its proverbial effect, aided by a bit of wine, and made me sleepy. Plus the a/c was running full steam, and I was freezing—my internal thermometer does not sync with the rest of this family. So, full and sleepy, I snuck off for a nap. After a bit, I was vaguely aware of the hum of conversation of many voices but too comfortable and cozy to rouse myself. Two hours later, I joined everyone, just as some guests were leaving. I’d totally missed dessert.

Among the guests was a longtime friend of Colin’s—they tended bar together in their salad days—and his wife and two teenage sons. Alirio, a native of Colombia, just retired after twenty-two years with the Border Patrol. Somehow, after my nap, I ended up at the now-clear dining table with those two—lots of catching up to do, but we also talked about everything from raising kids to politics. For at least two hours. Serious discussion, interspersed with bits of humor—no, Alirio, I did not “yell” at you all those years ago for speaking Spanish at the dinner table, when I was trying to encourage Central American students to speak English. I gently suggested.

It was the kind of sustained exchange of ideas I think you only have with people you don’t see often. I did ask once if Alirio had anything to do with immigrant caravans, and he put his head in his hands and said, “It was horrible, horrible.” After a minute, he added, “Still is.” I didn’t pursue it.

One big takeaway for me: Colin and I, though basically in agreement, look at things from different perspectives: he, once a science major and now involved in big business, looks at process and results, whereas I, after a lifetime in the humanities, focus on the human aspect of politics, as well as everything else. It was an evening that will long stick in my mind, and a thoroughly good holiday.

My hope is your holiday, whatever, wherever, and with whoever, was equally rich.

Over the river . . . .

Thanksgiving buffet--and some special people

Over the river and through two humongous traffic jams we did go. All the Alters, all sixteen of us, gathered in Frisco at Jamie and Mel’s house for feasting and fun.

Much of the time was spent “hanging out.” Conversations ranged widely, from politics—we’re all on the same page though our prognostications about the future differ. Then there was a long conversation about tattoos—one of my granddaughters has a couple, talks about getting more, and is knowledgeable about the art. There was even much searching the web and studying various tattoo artists. Hard for me to adjust to, but I love this girl dearly and will accept what she wants to do. Four grandsons holed up in the media room with electronic games so long I thought they’d suffer from sunlight deficiency. Two of the big boys concentrated on a robotic chess game-fascinating to watch the pieces move seemingly on their own. Early Black Friday the two oldest girls were at the mall—home by lunch with bags of “finds.” Wonderful quiet moments with each of my sons—with Colin when a football game distracted others and this morning a kitchen visit with Jamie.

One night we went to dinner at a restaurant new to several of us—Tupelo Honey, which apparently comes from a song by Van Morrison with that title. Southern comfort food cooked from scratch and delicious—everything from to-die-for biscuits with little pots of butter topped with blueberry jam to chocolate cake with ganache and lots of fried chicken and shrimp and grits in between.

Early—and I do mean early—Thanksgiving morning, everyone was up to do the Frisco Turkey Trot. Except me.  But I was staying in the upstairs guest room and cannot manage the stairs without help. It was either get up early and come down or be marooned up there until nine or non-thirty. I chose to get up and spend some time writing in a quiet house—with a puppy yipping his indignation about being locked up.

Kids table

My girls and me

The morning before I’d spent a little time in the guest room waiting for Jordan to come get me. It dawned on me that’s what life in a traditional nursing home is like—you’re alone with a bed, a bathroom, a TV, one comfortable chair, and maybe your iPad. Made me so grateful for my health and my cottage.

Thanksgiving dinner was plentiful and delicious and joyous with all the expected dishes and three pies, including my favorite chess pie that Melanie makes from scratch. The turkey dinner after-effect sent us all to bed early. Kudos to Melanie for pulling off the perfect huge meal and blessing it with sweet words about family. Next day, lunch of leftovers followed hard upon a hearty breakfast, and we all headed home, full of food and family and love.

So I’m home with Sophie, facing the headlong rush into Christmas, while still trying to work on my Alamo book. I miss my scattered family, but Sophie seems glad to see me—and I am as always glad to see her.

Birthdays, turkey day, and elections

There he is—Ford Hudgeons, newly twelve years old, in the TCU shirt I sent him. Ford is in the middle of my grandchildren, neither the oldest nor the youngest. But he is distinguished by being the absolute best TCU fan in the bunch. For some time, his ambition was to play soccer for TCU, but he has played so many sports—including on the Austin all-city baseball team—that I don’t know what sport he’ll choose for college. But I sure am encouraging those TCU leanings. We have occasional happy weekends when his mom brings him to Fort Worth for a TCU game of one kind of another. His dad and brother stay behind and do dumb things like go off in desert country and shoot at targets.

It’s getting close to Thanksgiving. I was leafing through the November Bon Appetit today and was struck by the editor’s story of the year his mom introduced a new stuffing. She was severely chastised and threatened not to do that again. Actually, I don’t care a lot about stuffing. I grew up on “northern” white bread stuffing and like it with some gravy. But I’ve fallen into a family of southern girls who make cornbread stuffing, and I’m not crazy about the texture. The magazine had a recipe for stuffing with apricots and mushrooms—now I could go for that. We never “stuff” the bird anymore—it’s a side dish, just like mashed potatoes, green bean casserole.

One of my southern girls also changes the traditional green bean casserole recipe—heresy! Her version is good, but I long for the plain old green beans, mushroom soup, and French’s fried onion rings. In his opening essay, the editor suggested that Thanksgiving is 90% about cooking and 10% about eating. I think that’s true. I’m just never the one in charge of the kitchen anymore—a benefit/problem of old age. I remember when I was the head cook.

One thing I wondered as I read the magazine: why is everything charred these days? I don’t like a burnt taste. They had recipes for chicken soup with charred cabbage—okay I could happily eat chicken soup with cabbage, but the charred doesn’t appeal. Or shaved carrots with charred garlic? I read that as burnt garlic. Even my grandkids used to accuse me of burning things—and now people do it on purpose?

And then there’s politics, more so these days as the election draws closer. I am distressed by the vitriolic posts on Facebook, and I long to have a reasonable discussion with someone. Instead, I am told I’m an idiot for my opinions and even questions I raise. I have had several messages that call President Obama a POS and one that declares he and Hillary collaborated to murder Judge Scalia in a plot to put a Democrat on the Supreme Court. Really? I’d love to see the evidence. I’d like to ask someone why they’ll vote for Cruz and why they accept trump’s dismissal of the Khashoggi torture/murder and his hyper-tweets that place Middle Eastern terrorists in the midst of the immigrant caravan. My favorite meme of the day: Middle Eastern terrorists who want to slip into the country always fly into Honduras and walk the rest of the way.

What has happened to civility and common sense? I was delighted that the Dallas Morning News endorse Beto O’Rourke for his efforts to bring unity to the country. Remember the words of Lincoln: A house divided against itself cannot stand.

Home again, home again

I came home to a cottage fully decorated for Christmas. A small table tree with lots of lights, Christmas towels in the kitchen and bathroom, a small glittering tree on my desk, a glowing glass brick wrapped with a big gold bow, and, crème de la crème, a display of scattered green lights outside my French doors—somehow a projection of LED lights, like a screen hanging from the trees. Absolutely gorgeous. And the front door has the wreath granddaughter Eden made last year. The deck railings are draped with multicolor lights, and a fancy wreath a neighbor made is on the back door. The fence between the driveway and the yard is draped with white lights. Even the gate has greens and a wreath. We’re in full Christmas mode around here, and the view from my desk is really quite spectacular. Makes me cheerful.

Colin, with Morgan and Kegan, drove me to Waco where we met Jordan, Christian, and Jacob at Buzzard Billy’s for lunch. The minute I walked in, I knew I’d been to thatome restaurant before, but it’s been painted and spruced up, the name and menu changed. Matter of fact, I think it’s been stabilized—I remember the floor used to shake. We ate on the deck, overlooking the Brazos—lovely, but hot in the sun. And I ate too much fried food—pickles for an appetizer, oyster po’ boy for my lunch.

We didn’t get home until four-thirty, and I was whipped, grateful that my dinner date vanished into thin air. Stayed home and had a baked potato.

But I brought memories both silly and happy with me. Like Colin stashing the water glass I asked him to carry in my purse—it promptly spilled, dousing the purse, some of the contents, and the floor of Lisa’s car. Today, Jordan unloaded her purse looking for her phone and set her sunglasses down in ketchup on someone’s plate. And tonight, I stepped into the wastebasket to tamp down the contents, got my foot stuck, and had to be rescued by Jordan. Okay, you had to be there!

Moments that I treasure—the Tomball Alters decorating their tree as a family, Morgan practicing her clarinet for me, Kegan showing off his card tricks, long talks with Colin, all of us gathered around the bountiful table while Kegan offered thanks. Sophie behaved wonderfully during our whole Tomball stay, slept in her crate at the foot of my bed all night and sometimes during the day. Morgan was great about taking her for walks.

All in all, a Thanksgiving to be grateful for and a homecoming to warm the heart. Life is good.

Traditions loom ahead

Every family treasures its own holiday traditions. For the Alter clan, the night before Thanksgiving (or Christmas—whenever we’re all together) is chili night. Brandon, Megan’s husband, makes killer chili; everyone else stands around watching, drinking margueritas, amd kibbutzing.

We used to combine with my brother’s family but there grew to be too many of us, so we split the holidays. This year we’ll go to his ranch to party with his family the day after Thanksgiving. There will be 30 of us, eleven of them children. Religious attention will be paid to the TCU-UT  game, with both side represented by family members. My brother is already joking about the conflicting cheering that will go on. I’m not a fan but would of course like TCU to win. If I understand correctly, neither team is having a particularly good year. Meantime, on Friday John will cook a couple of tenderloins in his "magic""" (commercial) oven ad we'll' bring queso and potato casserole.

Another thing we’ve grown too big for—seating all of us at a formal table. We number sixteen, ranging in age from 78 to nine. Jordan and I always set out serving dishes for any gathering days ahead of time, with little slips of paper in each indicating what goes in each dish. When Christian first saw this, he told Jordan, “You and your mother have a screw loose.” So did my mom, I guess, because she taught me that when I began helping her entertain—at about ten or twelve. Not sure what Jordan’s plan is this year—she’s the mistress of the castle now.

One tradition is going by the wayside: my annual tree trimming party. I’ve been giving it in one form or another since 1965. Divorce didn’t stop it but we missed two years—once for remodeling and once because of an angry husband. Every year about October I’d play the “Should I, or should I not” game but I always ended up giving it. This year there’s no game. No way I could have 60 of my nearest and dearest in the cottage, nor am I up to fixing all that food, I’m not making a cheeseball or caviar and cream cheese or all those things we loved from year to year. I often tried to inject a little variety but nobody liked that. A friend suggested I have an all-day open house—no food, just fellowship and, oh yeah, wine.

Jordan and Christian don’t feel settled enough in the house to undertake the annual party, and they always trim their tree together. I started those parties because even when I was a child, trimming the tree was a chore, no fun, finally relegated to the “little woman.” At my parties people arrived to a tree without ornaments; by the time the evening was over, every ornament was on the tree. Each year people brought new ornaments so I have an amazing collection—in the attic.

Times change, situations change, and you best change too—my family has had a real lesson in that this year. I imagine other traditions—church events, etc., will also get a bye this year. Who knows what will happen next?

Over the river and through the woods....

Ahem!  Baylor fans. I can't help it. 

Well, it wasn’t quite that way but I did go over a river and through an endless but lovely part of Texas landscape to get to my brother’s for Thanksgiving. We used to always celebrate Thanksgiving and Christmas together, but our families have gotten too big. This year my children were all with their in-laws, and I thought it a perfect time to invite myself to my brother’s ranch to join part of his family and extended family. My sister-in-law Cindy is the energizer bunny—I never saw her stop and sit down in the 24 hours I was there, but she served a wonderful dinner. My only contribution was a blue cheeseball and cranberry relish. My niece, Jenn, is not far behind Cindy in energy and made a wonderful sous chef for dinner and breakfast this morning. Cindy’s sister Patty watched after me with great care, so I didn’t have to walk much in strange surroundings. And Cindy’s Ralph drove me back and forth—Cindy in another car with her mom and the dogs—and Ralph and I had great conversations, mostly about how the landscape had changed with development from “back in the day.” It was a lovely warm 24 hours when I felt surrounded by people who love me and whom I love a lot—can’t ask for more.

Forgot to mention that Jenn and her husband Carlton have two absolutely gorgeous, mesmerizing daughters—Emory, the oldest, fixed perfect omelets for all of us (an art I’ve never mastered), and Maddie, the youngest at five, is a free spirit like you’ve never seen. Charming beguiling, and irresistible.

It was a lovely getaway, thunderstorms and cold notwithstanding. Last night we heard lightning strike so close that this morning John and Ralph went looking for damage but found none.

Now I’m home, warm and cozy, loving on Sophie who was glad to see me. But I’m worrying a bit about Jordan, Christian, and Jacob who are at the TCU/Baylor game.  It is 37 and rainy. Jordan, with divided loyalties, is with a TCU friend where she has access to indoor shelter. Her boys are in the visitors’ stands without such access. It is as she says a divided household. Christian is a loyal Baylor fan and has had an unfortunate influence on Jacob; Jordan, having grown up in the shadow of TCU, is divided in her loyalties. She threatened to wear green and purple to the game, but David, the old friend who was taking, her, said he wouldn’t go with her if she did that.

It was one of those holidays when I wasn’t with my children but was with family, talked to the kids, and felt warm and loved and happy. Hope you all had as happy a holiday.

As for TCU/Baylor, last time I looked they were tied. Who knows, but it’s liable to be a long, cold night for my babies and others at Amon Carter Stadium.

Families

I've spent today thinking a lot about families. I came home yesterday late morning after three glorious days with my four children, the wonderful spouses they had the good sense to marry, and my seven unbelievably marvelous grandchildren. Okay a bit of hyperbole, but they are really great...and they so love when we are all together. We have three little boys who are for a brief while the same age each year, and they have a delightful time together--out the door after breakfast and we don't see them again till lunch. The three girls alternate between the boys and their own deal, and the oldest boy is perfectly happy to go his own way and play the guitar. I get great hugs from all of them, and one whispered in my ear, "I love you so much!" What else can I ask for?
I came home with the rosy glow of that experience still about me--though tired, I must admit. Had a really long, deep nap and then Sat. night hosted ten for dinner to welcome a visit from Elizabeth. She was my work-study student in the early '90s, and we've remained friends over the years, through transformations in our lives, though greater in hers than mine. In Sept. 2012 she moved into my guest apartment and stayed a year before moving to PA to be with her love, Brian. In that year, she wove herself into the hearts of some of my closest friends, so they came for dinner, and neighbor Jay (yes, the good-looking one) made a pot of stew. All I had to do was set out bowls, etc.
It struck me last night that the people here--neighbors, a former neighbor, and Jordan and her family--were family of a different sort. The family I'd chosen--and who had chosen me--and we have a bond, a closeness that is akin to that I have with my immediate family. I am so fortunate to have these people in my life--like my own family, they take care of me, like my parties, are comfortable in my house, make my life bright.
I'm not a proponent of the theory that blood ties are what bind. My four children are adopted--no blood relations there--but I don't know of a family that is closer or children that are more caring and kind about their mom, proud of what I do, loving me for who I am, even when--as I did on Thanksgiving--I spill turkey blood all over myself and the floor. I think we choose those we feel are like family--and they choose us. So I'm not only lucky with my immediately family, I am fortunate with my little clutch of neighbors. And I have known the people here last night (except Jordan and Elizabeth) for less than ten years.
I guess the only way to go happily through life is to reach out to new people and make them part of your life. I'm back again to that verse I quote so often: Make new friends, but keep the old/ The new are silver, the old are gold.
Written with a thankful heart.

Hymns of thanksgiving

 

All day these words ran through my mind, "Come ye thankful people, come/Raise the song of harvest home/All is safely gathered in/Ere the winter storms begin." This hymn of thanksgiving was particularly appropriate today, as is the other one I kept hearing in my mind: "We gather together to ask the Lord's blessing/He chastens and hastens, his will to make known." Last Sunday in church I started off singing that one heartily, but the second line threw me--the hymnal has changed the words. I wanted the words imprinted in my mind since childhood. Maybe that's why it's been so much on my mind.

I have much to be thankful for tonight. My entire family is with me--eight other adults and seven children. We make a formidable, noisy crew, and it takes a lot of food to keep us going. Here's the snack table. We had enough food to feed two homeless families--and I wish we had.

Son-in-law Brandon complains that the civilized time to eat Thanksgiving dinner is 2:00 p.m., but his in-laws never eat until five-thirty. I thought for a bit today he might get his wish--everyone wanted to be through for the TCU game at 6:30. But, alas, it was 5:45 before we all gathered at the table.
We assign dishes to everyone, with the result that the kitchen is a beehive of activity and periodically the order goes out for everyone not directly involved in cooking to clear the area. My girls are all good cooks, but they are each squeamish about turkeys--so it falls tome to take out the innards, throw away the bloody bags, etc. As we often do, we roasted one turkey--with herb butter, which made delicious gravy--and fried one. The boys love to fry turkey but I mostly prefer roast. It was all delicious--I am responsible for gravy, and Megan said it was exceptionally good this year. They like gravy from pan drippings but in recent years I augment it with gravy from Central Market. But mostly the girls do the cooking and I help where I can--a reverse from years ago.
After dinner we sat around a fire in a pit outdoors, and the two guitarists among us--Brandon and his son Sawyer serenaded us with everything from Willie Nelson to Christmas songs. Granddaughter Eden said it's her favorite time of the year--because it means it's now the Christmas season. She's delighted that her older sister now has an after-school job because she thinks it means she'll have more money to buy Eden Christmas presents.
There's a prayer from the Book of Common Prayer that I can never commit to memory but it has to do with asking the Lord to be with those who weep and worry and those who wait. I know that I am so blessed that I can't even begin to talk about but I wish the impossible--peace, happiness, food, shelter for everyone. It's potent request in these times.

Reflections on the blessing of the season

I'm just back from two days in Frisco with my younger son, Jamie, his wife, Melanie, two granddaughters, Maddie and Eden, and Mel's parents and brother. I've spent holidays with them before and am grateful for the warm hospitality I feel. Jordan arranged a meeting spot on the road where they could hand me from their car to Jamie's (my kids take good care of me) but it was later than we expected. Jamie's family had already eaten, so he and I went to his favorite pizza restaurant--and it is really good. When you have four children, their spouses, and seven grandchildren, time alone with one child is a real blessing and I reveled in his company, hearing about his work, and his lessons on how to use my new 5s iPhone--that was to be a theme of our time together.
Thanksgiving Day was lovely and calm. We watched the Macy's parade and then the National Dog Show, which I loved. Mel had prepped for days because she didn't want to spend all day on her feet, and we had a lovely meal of turkey, ham, green bean casserole, mashed potatoes, dressing and coconut pie. After we cleaned up from a late lunch or early dinner, everybody went to the movies--except me. I didn't want to spend my holiday watching either Gravity or Hunger Games II. I read (Wrong Girl, by Hank Phllippi Ryan) and napped, kept company by a wonderful chocolate lab and an itty bitty Morkie who has finally decided she'll let me love on her.
Today was more of the same--hanging out, visiting, checking Facebook, and readings--I'm hooked on the book). Jordan and family arrived about one, adding  one more child and two dogs to the mix. Jacob had a lively game of football catch with his oldest cousin, Maddie. It was after three before we finally left for home and four-thirty before I got home--side trip to Central Market (wish I'd had my list for tomorrow with me!).
Sophie was overjoyed to see us, and frankly I was pretty happy to see her. I hated to leave her for two days, but she survived just fine. She seemed more interested in Jordan than me (not unusual) but we both smelled of other dogs. We quickly settled back into routine and had a fierce game of tug of war tonight--followed by fetch when she finally let go. That dog has obviously wormed her way into my heart--though when I said I'd thought about asking if I could bring her to Frisco, there were horrified cries of "No!" "She's too hyper!" Why does everyone always think my sweet, loving dogs are hyper?
Came home tonight to things that cheered me--a lovely, thoughtful note and gift from my former tenant and longtime friend, Elizabeth. And neighbors Jay and Susan had decked my deck with lights. I am so grateful to be surrounded by people who are so thoughtful.
And after days of being dependent, asking Jamie about this, that and the other on my phone, I was most proud that I figured out my data plan and bill by myself--upped the number of data minutes. And the stuck door that I called Jay and told him would need "brute strength"? I figured out a shot of WD40 and medium strength would do it--and it did. Feeling very self-sufficient.
It's been a good holiday, and I may milk it all weekend and not get down to serious work until Monday. Meantime, I'm most thankful for family and friends, especially those of you I only know through the net. God bless.