Clump #101: Bring Thanksgiving dinner to my mom’s place.
I am very thankful for our daughter, who got up early this morning to cook our Thanksgiving turkey.
Over the river and through the woods … to Grandmother’s house we went.
We brought along a turkey hat, which proved to be quite fun.
My hero!
Every year at this time I feel like I’m on one of those flume rides … clicking slowly up to the top, and then — right after Thanksgiving — shooting down to the big splash of Christmas.
Hold on tight!
Clump #100: Chop potatoes, rutabaga, cranberries, and apples.
The one hundredth clump! Can I get a balloon drop? No? A leaf drop? A rain drop?
How about a baboon drop?
Oh dear … I’m so tired, I’m getting punchy. I’ve been doing a lot of chopping. The potatoes and rutabaga are skinned and sliced; the cranberry sauce and the pies are made.
Getting these clumps out of the way today will make tomorrow so much easier.
My younger daughter came home and, bless her heart, almost immediately started preparing the turkey.
Very best wishes for a holiday of warmth and abundance to you and yours!
(The picture of the ape, above, was from an amazing installation, Mosaiculters at the Montreal Botanical Garden, which we had the pleasure of visiting this summer. Hair/fur made with plant material.)
Clump #99: Clean (most of) downstairs; make pie crust dough.
The rest of the title: “Makes the Pie Crust Go Down!” (Sorry.) I’ve adopted Cook’s Illustrated‘s Foolproof Pie Dough recipe, which makes use of vodka because, as the illustrious cooks say, “Pie dough gets structure from gluten, long chains of protein that form when flour mixes with water. But too much gluten will make pie dough tough. … We discovered that vodka let us add more liquid (so the dough is easy to roll out) without toughening the crust.” The 40 percent ethanol in vodka is the element that does not form gluten. So now you know! Here is a link to the recipe. Last year’s pie crusts, made with this method, got rave reviews.
Happiness is … having disks of pie dough nestled in the refrigerator:
Peanuts on the brain. It might be all the A Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack listening I’ve been doing …
I was cleaning up a storm today, and the astute comment I received on yesterday’s post really hit home: “‘Just getting started is sometimes the hardest part of the job’ … and sometimes recognizing when to stop is even harder” … I mentioned yesterday that having more time for cleaning this year, by starting earlier, allowed me to do a more thorough job. Today I was obsessing over so many things, I felt I could have kept cleaning for an eternity and a half. Maybe that’s one reason I leave things to the last minute? At least under the crunch of a short deadline, I’m forced to stop. I found myself saying, “I’ll never be Martha Stewart!” (Anyone who read yesterday’s housekeeping confessionals would say, “You ain’t kidding!”) But I’m surprisingly okay with that. And then Peanuts and Martha Stewart came together. (What? Stay with me.)
I was trying to decide whether or not to order a set of pajamas, with Peanuts characters on the pants, from The Vermont Country Store. I couldn’t tell whether “Pig-Pen” (our son’s favorite) was one of the characters on the fabric, which would have made the decision easy. So I checked the company website.
On the homepage I found a video featuring Martha Stewart, who had filmed a segment on the store for her show. It’s worth watching if only to see a vintage commercial for Lifebuoy Soap, starring Martha at fifteen years old, playing a busy, active, odor-proof wife! Amazing. No Pig-Pen, but the video did make me want to patronize the company.
I guess Pig-Pen might be a candidate for Lifebuoy soap, but he is okay with his less than sterling hygiene, too. In searching out “Happiness is …” images I had fun rereading the different definitions (… a stack of comic books … a smooth side walk … a sad song … eighteen different colors … a pile of leaves… and, of course, … a warm blanket).
Let me add, Happiness is a tree waving hello through the window.
And finally:
Clump #98: Clean (most of) upstairs to prepare for Thanksgiving guests.
At holiday time I usually greet my guests with the vacuum cleaner in one hand and the can of Comet in the other. (When I started this blog I never realized it would become such a confessional!) I thought I’d give myself one more challenge — get the house cleaned before Wednesday — within a challenge — Project Enjoy Christmas — within a challenge — the 30-day, 30-clumps, 30-posts. Kind of like a Turducken. (Just googled the name for correct spelling, and wouldn’t you know Paula Deen has a recipe for it?)
This calendar page belongs to a friend who is a wild woman in the best sense of the word:
Just getting started is sometimes the hardest part of the job. So True! And now I’m on a roll.
I’m ashamed to say that when my kids were young, whenever I got out the vacuum cleaner, one or more would ask, “Who’s coming over?” Also, when I’m feeling stressed out for any reason, I’ll soon notice that someone (usually my son) has put on the soundtrack to A Charlie Brown Christmas, composed by the incomparable Vince Guaraldi. With the first eloquent piano notes of O Tannenbaum , I relax and smile. It’s a surefire way to get Mom to chill.
Today I discovered that just one of the benefits of cleaning early is that I have enough time to do a much more thorough job. I even started with my husband’s and my bedroom. Usually this would be last priority, after the guest rooms … “the shoemaker’s children go without shoes.”
Note to self: books left on the floor are not more likely to be read than books on a shelf. Here’s the second Hunger Games book, which I mean to read before seeing the movie. (Have the books been out since the first movie of the series was in theaters?)
The trees I photographed this morning are a testament to the beauty of clear and clean.
This year I might just arrive at the door to greet guests with a calm demeanor and nary a cleaning product in sight. The funny thing is, my Thanksgiving guests will probably miss the traditional greeting and the laugh we have about it, but it’s a tradition I have to let go!
Clump #97: Shop for Thanksgiving meal and stamp Christmas card envelopes.
Pictured below: last year’s Christmas stamp Santa looks like he’s about to land on this year’s cute gingerbread house stamps. For those dear, devoted readers who might remember, last year I sent out my cards so late that I abandoned the Christmas stamps and went with Chinese New Year’s ones. What a difference (almost) a year and this blog have made!
I’ve been thinking and writing lately about how Thanksgiving gets a bit steamrolled by the gift giving holidays. When I was in the grocery store picking out ingredients for our Thanksgiving dinner, it hit me: it’s not just the earlier and earlier Christmas marketing; it’s also that we are no longer a predominantly agrarian society. For most of us, the urgency of bringing in ample crops to survive the winter is no longer part of our lives. Giving thanks for the harvest has given way to plain old giving thanks, certainly a beautiful thing, but we’ve lost our direct connection to the seasonal supply of food.
The elements of our traditional Thanksgiving meal come from the supermarket. Growing up, we would refer to “the turnips” that were always on our holiday table. Only after I was old enough to participate in the shopping for, and cooking of, the meal did I learn from my mom it’s actually a rutabaga we use to make “turnips.” The other family traditions are: a plate with carrot and celery sticks and black and green olives, turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, my older sister’s creamed onions (with her “secret ingredient”), peas, gravy, rolls, and cranberry sauce. I’m starting to get exhausted thinking about it. But getting the shopping done early is a relief. I don’t have to worry that the store will run out of cranberries, or fight off the hordes for a turkey.
Our traditional dessert is pumpkin and apple pies. This year my husband suggested adding pecan pie … we’re busting out! In my experience you can never have too much pie.
For my mother, who grew up in the depression, getting an orange in her Christmas stocking was the most exciting treat she could imagine. At the grocery store today I was thinking of how spoiled we are with a year-round array of exotic treats my parents would never have believed.
Actually, I can hardly believe some of them, myself.
But when the landscape looks like this:
And the “flowers” look like this:
I’m thankful for dazzling color and variety in the market.
Clump #96: Give away catalogs; buy natural skin product gifts.
A dear friend told me she wished she had some of the catalogs I was describing as the scourge of our mailbox. I curated a bunch for her (on the right), recycled the rest (left), and dropped the nice ones off at her house today. I’m glad they have a new home with someone who will appreciate them.
My husband has taught me to rip off and shred our names, address, and all the codes on the backs of catalogs before recycling:
Another good friend, who started the business Only NatCHeryl Body Cremes, was selling her products at a local craft and gift sale today.
Her brochure begins, “I first started making lotion about 10 years ago after my son was born with a hormone related birth defect. After researching the possible causes, I discovered one of the contributing factors could have been exposure to BPA and Phthalates, common hormone disruptors that are found in products used daily in many households.” Her products are homemade, contain only the good stuff, and can be ordered here.
Deodorants are a very popular item in the line, formulated because she couldn’t find, for herself, a natural product that really worked. She also sells lip balms, bath salts, sugar scrubs, sunblock, and seriously dry skin balm. I went crazy over her mojito (lime and coconut) scented balm and lotion. You can tell how excited I was by the blurry photo:
Yesterday I wrote about our youth-obsessed world, with a hope that we will evolve into a culture that values, and finds beauty in, age and life experience. At lunch I drank a bottle of Honest Tea, and this was my message in the bottle:
The six words Elle McPherson chose to sum up her memoir: “I want to be Tina Fey.”
I feel renewed hope for the world and woman-kind that a super model, who built her fame and fortune on a Sports-Illustrated-Swimsuit-Issue-Worthy body, wants to be someone known for intelligence, talent, and great, sharp wit. Poor Elle is now a fading flower in an industry that values only youthful exteriors.
We’re all flowers bound for fading, but why not delay the process with a good moisturizer?
Clump #95: Look through and order from catalogs; make one more plea for family gift ideas.
I put out the last call for gift ideas today. It’s now or never, but the task shouldn’t be too hard. Buying presents for loved ones should be a pleasure for both parties. When I was emailing my kids, I wanted to put one word in italics, and then couldn’t get the italic icon to un-click. My note ended:
“…Please let me know soon!”
Thanks, Mom (can’t seem to get out of the italic setting, so just continue to hear the desperation in my voice).”
A wonderful comment was left on yesterday’s post: “Would that our lives were ordered with the peak of beauty coming at the end.” This was a reference to the deep, red, gorgeous leaves of the Japanese maple. It really affected me, especially since I’ve been thinking recently along the same lines. I was purchasing a gift for someone “over 50.” Without giving away the specifics to a person on my list who might be reading, I could choose this item either billed “for older people,” many “for seniors,” but the one I was attracted to was entitled “… for enlighteners.”
It made me want to start a new movement to change the lexicon, and of course, then, the image of older people. Instead of worshiping youth, we would revere enlighteners. No more “crones,” evoking crooked noses and hairy warts. A new definition of beauty would certainly follow.
Here is a photo of a beautiful rose in full glory, not in June, but late fall:
I must acknowledge that today is the fiftieth anniversary of the assassination of President Kennedy. I still have a scrapbook I kept during that time.
Between torn out magazine photos of babies and dream rooms, I placed the Weekly Reader insert that was given out to our class to explain the tragedy:
I must have had a sense of the historic importance.
The flyer introduced our new president:
And contained a very factual description of the murder:
I remember sitting that night, on our front steps, in a state of disbelief. The phrase “trying to wrap my head around it” hadn’t been coined yet. But that was the feeling. Lost was the trust I had previously felt for the adults in running the world. I know I wasn’t alone.
“the peak of beauty coming at the end.”
Clump #94: Continue present ordering; return cloths to Meeting.
I’ve been putting off laundering and returning the colorful fabrics used for table cloths at out Quaker Meeting’s Fall Festival. A low priority job that I finally cleared from our house and my mind. Out of there!
As the days shorten, I find myself cherishing light and color.
The deep red leaves of Japanese maples seem to rebel against the gradual tide toward monochromatic landscape.
I want to join their army,
And proclaim the promise of future suns.
Clump #93: Finish the writing part of Christmas cards.
I was talking to a good friend who reads this blog. She said I was making her feel badly about her lack of progress on her holiday preparations, adding, “I feel like we’ve switched ourselves around.” Usually she is organized and ahead of the game, while I am chronically the opposite, in every way. I really want to make clear that I am not sailing along smoothly. I am still feeling pretty overwhelmed. The motto of this challenge should be: “If I can do this, anyone can.”
Even the challenge of 30-days, 30-clumps, 30-posts has been a bit much lately. Last night I could not stand to read one sentence I wrote. Delete, delete, delete. Delete. I don’t have the luxury of trying again tomorrow when nothing goes right. Only while getting ready for bed, with disappointment still palpable, it dawned on me that I was trying to write words alongside the Gettysburg Address, one of the most famous and powerful collections of sentences, ever.
I went out into the world today not being able to shake the bad vibe, but fortunately I had planned to visit my mom. Everything was hurting my feelings. “I want my Mommy!” Whenever the conversation would get to a point where my mom would be justified in making a negative pronouncement, she would say, “Well, we’ll see how it all works out.” Her iron-clad positivity was the perfect antidote to my petty wounds. We went outside for a bit and enjoyed the last tree there still holding onto its glorious leaves:
On the way home I stopped to photograph some goats. A woman came out, and I asked permission to take a few pictures.
She said sure, and was very nice. She even pointed out one goat who smiles:
She went back into the house, and I took a moment to capture a picture of some barn cats nearby. Suddenly the door opened, and the (same?) woman was yelling that she was going to let her dogs out. I said, “What?” She replied, I don’t like anyone getting close to my barn.” “Oh, Sorry!” And off I went. Sicking the dogs on me? I tried to explain her bipolar behavior by joking to myself that she must have a meth lab in the barn.
The goats seemed sad to see me go.
I know there are people fighting for their lives in the Philippines and elsewhere, and my little bumps and bruises are minuscule in comparison. I’m trying to take a cue from the dear, dapper goose I pass every week. Today’s outfit spoke of letting things roll off one’s shoulders. Even with a coat of sturdy feathers, sometimes you need extra reinforcement.
Clump #92: Writing addresses on Christmas cards, part two.
Every year my mom would set up a card table for what seemed like forever, writing a personal note to each in a long list of Christmas card recipients. I’m not that dedicated. We print up a newsletter, but I still feel the need to put pen to paper.
Today is the 150th anniversary of the Gettysburg address. I found this article, on the website The Daily Beast, written by Martin P. Johnson, author of Writing the Gettysburg Address. Sobering was the mention of funerals for over 3,000 soldiers.
Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.
Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.
But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate — we can not consecrate — we can not hallow — this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract.
The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us — that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion — that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain — that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom — and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.
— Abraham Lincoln
Nov. 19, 1863
272 words; two and a half minutes from start to finish.
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