gobble gobble gobble

It's that time again....Thanksgiving 2010.  For weeks my Facebook friends have been posting all the things they are most grateful for, like family, friends and health.  Since I feel truly blessed and therefore thankful all year long, I am here to say this is what I am thankful for this year:

I am thankful to my daughter for sharing with her friend the fact that I think I need a face lift, and will now be hosting one of those “face-lift in a bottle” party. Gonna take a little more than some lotion to lift all these chins!

I am thankful that I have a washer and dryer. Not that I love to do laundry, but whenever my son (the one that moved to Queens) finds his hamper overflowing he comes to Brooklyn. To see me.  His laundry misses me.

I am thankful that I have a husband that snores like a pissed off bear. I am equally thankful that he has restless leg syndrome or some other freakazoid ailment that has him twitching for most of the night. Sleep is highly over rated anyway!

I am thankful for safety pins. (don’t ask)

I am thankful for my mother in law’s generosity. She shares, without hesitation her best bowel stories right down to the quality, quantity and I am sorry to say, color. Like a jeweler rating a diamond cut, my mother in law makes sure I know exactly how she went that day…and every other day for that matter.

I went shopping for my Thanksgiving dinner. We are 19 this year, counting the kids and a baby. I didn’t need a list since my Thanksgiving fare is basically the same each year.

Antipasto (with fresh crusty bread and smoked mozzarella cheese courtesy of the bowel lady),

Pasta (this year it is ravioli since the kids really don’t like lasagna, manicotti, stuffed shells or anything else I could have bought threw sauce on and baked….and it was on sale),

Turkey (Butterball, by default),

Bread stuffing (my mom’s famous sausage and chestnut stuffing which only half the people like but I love and I make as a tribute to Gracie….even though she wasn’t the best cook in the world her stuffing was amazing, although she did make a really neat lemon meringue pie with real merangue, not that sweet marshmallow shit they serve at diners)….breath 2,3, 4…

Vegetables…every one they’ve ever grown on Farmville and then some,

Sweet Potatoes (which I layer with brown sugar and marshmallows before I bake just in case my blood sugar isn’t high enough already),

Mashed Potatoes (which I would love to use the boxed instant shit but won’t because I would have to bury the boxes so my son and grandsons won’t find them),

Turkey Gravy (which I start with a canned version and then add bird droppings drippings to make it look and taste more like homemade), and of course dessert.

Pies (my sister in law makes one for probably every berry out there,

cookies (my neice makes amazing chocolate chip cookies that I refuse to put out until I have made myself sick in the kitchen huffing them as I plate the food),

the insanely overpriced Chocolate Cornucopias my husband buys from the bakery every year that start out as a table decoration get in the way, removed from the table, then forgotten until the next day where he enjoys them all by himself…maybe that was his plan all along),

Nuts (which I serve in my 50 year old wooden nut bowl that was carved by a neighbor when I was a kid and was bequeathed to me when they died…that or they bought it at one of those cheap souvenir stores in Florida and lied way back when to a trusting little girl),

Figs (which make me fart),

Thin Mints (which I just realized… I finished yesterday) and finally

Fruit (which oddly reminds me of my brother since he  used to  juggle the fruit while I hummed some melodic circus tune and my mother called us, 'wasters').

I got my wagon, geared up for the crowd and went shopping. The first stop was the produce…fennel (which no one but me eats), lettuce, potatoes and all the fruit. When did oranges start costing 89 cents apiece? Bananas (green so they can ripen in time for Thursday), apples and grapes (which my granddaughter loves and I cut into miniscule pieces for fear of choking) and a bag of tangerines which promptly tears open from the bottom sending orange orbs rolling across the store. Sliced Salami and provolone cheese from the deli, and just in case…pepperoni chunks. (You just never know when you will need a chunk of pepperoni!) The rest of the shop went pretty well until I got to the turkey. I am not a fan of Butterball, although I honestly have forgotten why specifically. They carried three brands….$2.39 a pound for a bird blessed by a Rabbi (was that before or after they whacked his head off I wonder), $1.99 for Butterball (which comes with a hot line number in case you want to call and reem out someone when the bird burns because the pop up timer didn't pop in time.) and .99 for Frank’s which came with feet and feathers. I opted for the unblessed, bald, footless Butterball. The Butterball’s were in the freezer case which seemed odd since the flyer said ‘never frozen’.   I opened the door which was already slightly ajar and seven 20+ pound frozen turkeys came tumbling out barely missing my feet. (Damn, I could have had some viable law suit there!) The Mexican stock boy who was on a ladder trying to stack paper towels atop the freezer unit simply looked down from his perch and laughed. (Thanks Julio but guess what, these frozen projectiles will remain on the floor until you come down and help me.) He did, but before the birds were tucked safely back in their frozen nest I picked a 19 pound self-basting Butterball. I named him Al.  Happy Thanksgiving to Al...I mean All!

my apologies to the great state of Delaware

Last week my husband was sick. He stayed home from work for four days. When he is sick he does three things: moans; huddles on the couch wearing his Mr. Rogers sweater which he refuses to admit is two sizes too small; and he shops….on eBay. Day one he was too sick to even open the computer, by day two he had bought a bubble machine. The kind DJ’s use. An expensive DJ quality bubble machine. For all of our outdoor parties, he says. Oh yes, we are such party animals! On day three he asked me to Mapquest an address in Delaware. 230 miles one way, 4 hours and 22 minutes. By day four he had bought a truck….yup…in Delaware. 230 miles and 4 hours and 22 minutes away. I took off work to take him to Delaware to pick up his new toy truck. Now before you go thinking what an amazing, patient, understand wife I am (which I am, of course) let me explain. I love having something to hold over his head. I love having something to say like, ‘oh sure but I drove all the way to Delaware for you’ - you get the picture! That and the fact that my birthday and Christmas are just around the corner. I had not thoroughly thought through the prospect of spending four and a half hours trying to make conversation with a man that will only hear half of it and/or go into his repetitive mode where every 50 miles or so he will repeat a story I already heard and wasn’t that interested in the first time around. But Paypal already issued a deposit and so we were off by 8am.

Map and directions in hand we got in the car. My seat was moved. It takes me 53 moves to get the seat so that I can reach both the gas and brake pedals at the same time, while not having the steering wheel embedded in my stomach. I asked him if he used my car…yes…to get gas….which still has only about a quarter of a tank because he only put in enough to get us to Jersey where the gas is cheaper. (The man just bought an industrial bubble machine and he’s trying to save pennies on gas….did I miss something??) We make it to Jersey without killing each other or stopping for gas. The day was gloriously sunny and clear, and the air smelled like cinnamon, something Mr. Wonderful commented on pretty much every 20 miles. Uh oh, we were slipping into repeat mode. As we drove through Jersey and into Delaware the weather started to change. As did the scenery. Earlier, beautiful brown and orange leaves adorned the trees on either side of the parkways. If I hadn’t been married for 36 years it would have been down right romantic. The trees here were green…the leaves hadn’t turned yet as if no one bothered to tell them it was Fall. The sky had darkened. At least I wouldn’t have to hear what a clear sunny day it was anymore. The roads got smaller. Four lane highways because 3 lane routes which eventually became 2 land roads which were surrounded by flat non descript land. Farms surrounded us, the air smelled like manure. My shoulders ached from being crammed into the mal-adjusted seat for over 3 hours. My left leg throbbed and I drove envisioning a clot traveling from my poor leg into my brain or lung or…”Wanna stop and get pumpkins?” he interrupted my crisis. “Halloween is over,“ I grumbled. “Wanna stop and get corn?”  No.  “Wanna stop and get coffee?”  Now your talkin’!  We pulled into a rest stop which looked like every horror movie ever made could have been filmed there. I could hear the chainsaws in the background and worried what sedative they would put in the coffee to make us cooperate. The only saving grace was that it machine vended coffee, so while it tasted hideous it most likely wasn’t tainted. I had to pee but opted to live instead and we headed back to the car. We should have got coffee back in Jersey at the gas station where we saved 8 cents a gallon. (20 gals x .08 = $1.60 savings whoo hoo)

The roads narrowed even more and we eventually were on a one lane road which actually was a two way….and the locals thought it was hysterical to terrorize the black truck with the NY plate. We passed the car lot, and I use the term loosely, three times since we thought it would have been more than a trailer….each time u-turning in someone’s corn field. Bob, Bill, Bubba…whatever, came out hand extended and greeted us with more gusto than really necessary. In a southern twang that just didn’t go with the territory he asked how our ride from the ‘north’ was.  No comment.  I cleaned out my car while my husband went inside to do some paperwork. I turned to look for a garbage pail and ended up staring back at a snarling, drooling dog.  I tried as gingerly as my fat ass would allow, to get back in the car before Cujo came running. He was barking and shaking his head and as I estimated the distance between me and the trailer, and how fast I could get there…the trailer door opened and Billy Bob yelled out. “Rudy…Rooooody… god dammit! c’mere ya mangy mutt” and with that Cujo’s ears went limp, his bark silenced and he followed his master into the trailer…where I hoped he was having my husband for lunch. I still had to pee but opted to live instead. A quick test drive later, we were back in the car…umm cars…for the long drive home. With him following me (since I had the map) the car was delightfully quiet.   I put on my Peter Lemongello CD, sang along to his love ballads and pretended it was 1976 again. I checked my rear view mirror every so often to make sure Cujo’s lunch was still there and he was except that he drove like an old Jew (apologies to my Jewish friends). If the speed limit said 55 he did 45, 65 - 55, and god forbid we were in a work area where the speed limit was 30...he all but stopped. (The man has an unreasonable fear of speeding tickets. Must be something from his youth.)  I found a great radio station that broadcast out of Philly and I sang along to Beatle songs I hadn’t heard in years. The time and miles were passing.  Quick check in my rear view mirror and  Mr. Wonderful goes rogue. I called his cell. No answer, can’t hear it…deafness will do that… told him to put it on vibrate!   I changed lanes and found him behind a speeding 18 wheel semi that seemed determined to kill someone or at least himself. I made sure he saw me and pulled into an Arby’s.  I was hungry and had to pee desperately and now death defying or not, I was gonna find a bathroom.  Arby’s provided everything I needed for the rest of the trip home, food, coffee and a clean bathroom. My husband stole sugar (is that a senior thing?) and we left for a thankfully uneventful ride home. Ten hours after we left for Delaware we arrived home with a truck that looks exactly like the one he already has. All I have to say is Happy Birthday to me and it’s gonna be one hell of Christmas!

buzzzzz.........

It’s 47 degrees out. The last two tomatoes perilously hanging from my Topsy Turvy tomatoe planter are all but frozen to the vine.   The plants I painstakingly nurtured throughout the summer peer at me through my sliding deck doors begging to be brought inside.  Most of them will sleep and wake next year, but for the few that will perish in the winter cold, I am looking for places in my house to relocate them. The overgrown ivy, which was technically my son’s until he decided to move out and leave her (him?) with me, is the most beautiful and the most un-relocatable. It has a huge lets-pretend-we-are-made-of-stone pot which just fits nowhere. It, unfortunately will perish on the deck. My pussy willow, which bore no pussies this year for some reason, will come back next year so she is on her own. No pussies next year either and she is history! The honeysuckles, of which I have two, were originally purchased to lure hummingbirds. (my husband’s favorite bird) But the few times a hummingbird came near our deck it took Mr. Wonderful so long to hear me announce their arrival, then to get up and go to the door that the bird simply flew off in search of another flower, leaving my husband certain that I had seen a bee instead of a bird. So for most of the day I brought plants in and out, trying not to get wayward soil everywhere. I found homes for two of the plants so far and the plan is to continue for the next few days until all or most of them find a niche in my house. If not I will simply have to let them go to that hot house in the sky.

I sat to watch TV that night and in the darkness of the room and across the light of the TV….there it was….the biggest mosquito I have seen in my life. I jumped up and switched on the light.  It was gone.  Of course. I tried to convince myself that I really hadn’t seen anything at all but then I heard that buzzing sound that my husband insists means it is a male and males don’t bite. Where does he get these things?  Needless to say I wasn’t buying any of that and continued my search. I shut the light hoping to see it buzz past the TV screen again but it didn’t. It was hiding, stalking.. waiting for me to let my guard down, waiting for me to get involved in some trashy reality show and then…wham…an itchy welt! I started feeling bugs on me, scratching and twitching…of course nothing was there but the thought of this sucker….well, sucking on me had me itchy to say the least. The light back on I stood staring into the air waiting for it to fly by. Nothing. Then I went into the kitchen hoping it had decided to go near the Venus Fly Trap plant we had just bought during an outing with the grandkids. The plant stood there with its leaves positioned for the hunt, but no bug ventured near it. I took the plant and brought it with me into the dining room. Armed with my bug eating plant I sat at the dining room table waiting for the mosquito to surface, but instead not one, but two spiders walked across the table in front of me. They were tiny and white and although certainly not menacing enough at this stage of the game, I could tell they were going to find someplace to hide, perhaps behind my new white couch and emerge huge hairy eight legged creatures. They would never be cute word-webbing Charlotte’s. Whack! Problem solved.

I cleaned up the spider guts as the bug-eating plant sat there wondering why I had not offered up the spiders for dessert and since I was near the sink I gave my dog and two windowsill plants some water. The dog came running and so did the mosquito. It flew out of one of the plants I had generously taken the time to reposition in my warm kitchen.  I flailed at it with the dish towel but it simply flew into the ceiling fan as the dog barked.  I swatted with a newspaper but it just whafted into the dining room as the dog barked and knocked over his water dish.  No time to clean up the water, I was hot on the trail now.  I immediately regretted not feeding the spider babies to the Fly Trap since I now needed it to do its thing. Lure the damn mosquito over and snatch it up with it’s sticky trap door leaves justifying the $7.99 I paid for it. I followed the little buzzing blood sucker from room to room carrying my plant like Florence nightingale carried her candle.   I zig-zagged in and out of rooms and although I was on a mission not to get bitten, I was tired.   Having all but given up on the defeated and uninterested Fly Trap I sat down to watch TV. And there she was…flying past the Geico gecko. I followed her with the light off this time as she blindly went into the bathroom. I slammed the door shut and as the dog continued to bark I did the happy dance. Luckily I  realized that it could get out under the door so I grabbed for a  dish towel to block its exit as the dog circled in the water from the overturned water dish. I put my useless Fly Trap friend back on the windowsill and watched as a spider crawled out of the other relocated plant. I took both ungrateful plants and threw them back outside on the deck where they could now freeze to death for all I cared.   I could finally relax.  I cleaned up the water, made a cup of tea and went to the bathroom....oh shit!