Super What?

I have no idea how this image fits the Super Bowl except maybe Linus got knocked out by a football, and Lucy is consoling him--or apologizing. But the picture struck my fancy more than a lot of footballs sailing through the air. Guess that tells you my attitude before I even begin.

Yes, tonight is that game. I considered inviting a couple of friends for a Souper Bowl party, but Jordan and Christian beat me to it. They know how to mark the occasion. They invited a few close friends, including some young people for Jacob, and Christian slaved all day over a huge pot of white chili. Someone brought a couple of dips, and someone else, a bowl of fresh fruits. We had a traditional feast.

The guests were all people I’m fond of, and I was glad to see them. But I really don’t have much interest in football. Christian said he’d be more excited if it was a team he likes—but I don’t particularly care for any team, so that cancelled out my interest. I had already seen a couple of the best ads—Budweiser, Jeep—and I’m not sure how interested I will be in the halftime entertainment.

So I visited, ate my chili, drank some wine, and came home to eat some chocolate. Turned on the TV just in time to see a super ad that had people passing a gold football at a banquet, crashing into tables, etc. Missed enough that I don’t know what was being advertised, but I admired the talent and skill of the acrobatic actors and the concept dreamed up by whatever PR firm.

Now the halftime show is on. I have no idea who the guy leading the entertainment is except that I’m quite sure it’s not John Mayer. My daughters will be so proud of me! Whoever he is, he just took off his jacket, revealing solid tattoos from wrist to shoulder on both arms. Do these people think what that will look like as they age and their skin begins to sag—and keeps on sagging? I hate to sound like an old fuddy-duddy, but I guess I am. This entertainment does not restore my faith in mankind, but I am grateful that other things do.

Super Bowl of course makes us think of food. Have you noticed how advertising really pushes the seasonal foods of the moment? We’re about to go from dips and nachos and the like, for football watching, to chocolate for Valentine’s Day. I never object to chocolate—in fact I crave it. But somewhere the other day I saw mention that made me question my devotion. Chocolate hummus? I can’t quite imagine it. Not sure I want to.

This has been a weekend of recalling old times. Yesterday I had lunch with an old friend, and today my friend Linda went to a birthday party for another old friend, a woman my age who was once the nurse assistant to my ex-. We have not seen this friend for over fifteen years—she’s been going through a rough patch. But Linda brought back a good report on her and her family, who we knew well once upon a time when we were all young and optimistic. Fun to hear about people I’ve lost touch with, even if some of the stories are sad. It makes me realize, as my friend said yesterday, how very fortunate I am.

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.