Coming Up: Two weeks of waiting for God-do-n't-know-what-sometimes. And an old barracuda's bite lures her into the simulacrum beyond the ovidrel rainbow. Will our heroine ee'r stir again, or simply spend eternity in a glass casket silently slumbering? Turkeys tut-tut-tarooo as families stir and morph and meld. Will our plucky pretties take to the air land beyond the golden gates? Will dog eat chocolate or simply dog? Will 'hawks snag their quarries on the 49s or will cold comfort greet our Washingtonians at the edge of Holiday cheer?
Get out your tickets, place your bags in the overhead compartment and fly along the way to find the cranberry sauce and answers therein.
Sock Francisco - The Sleepy Chronicles
I'm in good old San Fran, following a successful plane ride and round of car rentals. So far this has been a pretty fantastic vacation. We arrived in the morning. We met my mother in law at her office downtown (I've never seen it before, and it is a fabulous renovation on an old bath house). We walked to lunch. We ate. Andrew and I returned home. I napped while he went on a run. I woke up to have some water. He and I both napped. We ate a snack. We went to the (W)right's enclave in San Rafael. We were inundated with cheese and crackers and - eventually, after some serious to-do that would constitute HOLIDAY MADNESS in my family, but is just a normal Tuesday evening at the Wright home - we ate massive amounts of Puerto Rican food. We drove back to Lisa's house and I collapsed in a heap on the bed to sleep... well, after my various pills and whatnot.
This morning I woke up with the lark for my typical pill pushing and then... oh yes, this is going to weird you all out to bits and pieces... I went back to sleep. Only for an hour, but it was a pretty fantastic hour. Needless to say, I've also eaten. Located some chocolate that MIL-the-awesome brought home for me (and Andrew, maybe, but really, mostly me, I'm sure haha).
I have been, even needlesser to say, enjoying my new super power: SUPER SLEEP! My new alter ego name is ZONK-Girl. I can snooze through anything. At least after a proper resting period and a long spat of "resting my eyes." But that's pretty good for Miss Always-Conscious. I have to say, I don't mind the progesterone as much. It does admittedly have a sheen of headache, dizziness, and nausea. But on the other hand, I mostly just feel semi-conscious in kind of a warm-bath-stupor-of-a-cat-nap sorta way. And ravenous. In spits and spats. Unfortunately, if I eat too much, it then triggers the nausea a bit more I find it awfully canny of the body to flood itself with this hormone during the period in which it may or may not be pregnant. It's like some kind of system override that cause a normal individual to turn into a warm cozy little incubator (obviously the female body is Republican) for whatever emerging life there might or might not be. At least at first. Just in the first few months. To make sure things stick. Ok, I don't know how the nausea and the headache plays into this cleverness, but we'll just call it a side effect of some sort.
Today Andrew is going on some ambitious crazy bike ride with soon-to-be-step-day-but-not-really-because-Andrew's-an-adult-so-more-like-mom's-husband Tom. I intend to take advantage of the time by ... napping. Maybe. Maybe I'll get a walk in. It is in the sixties hereabouts. I could probably use some sun.
And some more of that chocolate... mmmmm chocolate.
Happy T-Day Eve my Amurricahn friends. And to the rest of every one and the aforementioned pals, happy Nearly Officially Past Black Friday and Into the Point of No Return Christmas Season!
Dog-Daze Thanksgiving Afternoons And the T-Day Eve Tech-Rehearsal
It is upon us: T-DAY!! Let the weak of heart and spirit douse themselves in stealth stuffing and take cover under cranberry crannies. Let the dressing flow freely and potatoes do the monster mash. Let opportunistic cutie canines lick their lusty maws and stealthily slink beneath that gigantic table.
There shall be food. There shall be droves of celebrants. There shall be Turkey in a pea-pod! Or a green egg! Or something cute sounding like that!
Our little soiree continues to escalate. At current head count, there will now be 17 people in attendance. And one cute dog. Hopefully not too many more stragglers attend, because we're already short a chair or two.
But we should be good on food. Arriving at Tom's house yesterday, we discovered a bulk bag of potatoes and several piles of other fixin's. I'm fairly certain there's enough to feed Mali in that kitchen. Some of it was even tret enough for dining last night.
Thanksgiving Eve: the Run-Through. More or less, it was a bit of a test-drive. Instead of calling it "hell, we're about to spend an entire day cooking, let's get McDonald's," Lisa (with my help) made not one but two Ottolenghi dishes. Lentils and broiled eggplant, and saffron cauliflower. They took quite the kitchen acrobatics, but we made them all in perfect time to wait for about an hour for the other immediate family (Tom's two daughters and his one daughter's boyfriend) to arrive.
In the interim, we set and set-up the gargantuan table. It involved several creative reshufflings of heavy furniture. I cannot complain as it was recognized I probably shouldn't be lifting heavy things in my progesterone muddle, but it looked quite challenging. I did help attempt to center one of the extended tables. We finally managed to construct a second table and plonk it at the far in at a T to the other table. T for Tom? T for Turkey? T for To-do and Ta-da!?!
Then came the quest for chairs. I believe we now have fourteen places, if three people can be coaxed into sitting on the porch bench at the head of the T (it was a gift from Tom's realtor!)
One chairs were scrounged and table clothes improvised, most of us adjourned to the kitchen for food, while Andrew lingered on a couch and fell into an Andrew-coma. He'd been biking. It amazing I was able to rouse him at all when I finally decided I rather wanted him to be sleepy by the time bedtime hit me (repeatedly with a baterring baton).
Having no other choice, our merry band of seven (which is larger than most of my actual Thanksgiving dinners, actually) dined at the head of the giant Thanksgiving T-tables. With yet another table-cloth. And plenty of wine and beer. Being zonk-girl still, I was pretty incoherent (and voices were beginning to echo in my head) some time slightly before we sat down to dinner at 7. I finally dragged Andrew from the table at 8 (since I need to get home to take certain timed medications by about 8:40, and it's a bit of a drive, 8:00 p.m. is kind of my official cut-off time on this trip... also I think our rental car turns into a butternut squash if we're out past my bedtime). It seemed like a good time was had by all. There was lots of laughing and jollity. I could discern merriment through my little gauzy head-haze.
Today the madness begins officially at 3, during which time the Santa Cruz contingency shall arrive and all 14 or so of the primary guests will start trying to use the cozy kitchen all at once. The pre-madness probably begins more like 11 for Tom, who is started the turkey at this point. I don't quite know what madness lies in store for me personally just yet. But I do know that if I let my guard down for a minute, Meg the adorable dog will steal my food.
And she really shouldn't steal my chocolate. So I'd best eat it in advance... Breakfast!!
Happy T-Day, whether that be Tippy-Toe Thursday or Thanks-friggin-givin'. And for those of you starting your Black Friday looting early, may the blood run clean and clear of your major arteries and organs!!
Back on the Air Again A Brief Sock Francisco Snooze and Up up and Away
We've alit from our toussles with strata and wild watoosies with cute cumuli. After a mere pittance of days and insanity, the (W)rights have once again descended from balmy November breezes into the hibernal heyday that awaits us at home. First chance of snow forecast tomorrow! We shall carry on. With heated slippers and very warm gloves!
The big T-Day bash went surprisingly smoothly. Last minute additions and subtractions to the rotating list of guests left us with (I think) 15 final affirmative answers to the dinner table. I think. It was very hard to keep track.
The turkey went on at 11 from what I hear. Into something called "the big green egg." It is, apparently, not actually an egg as much as a specially sized BBQ type grill that happens to be both green and egg shaped. Although I suppose it incubated the turkey for several hours before it is ready to hatch in glorious avian sapor. Or something like that. And "egg" is better than, say, "meat uterus." Which sounds like some very disturbing slash fiction.
Back to the PG family friendly stuff. Andrew and I arrived at Casa Del Turkey around 1:00 p.m. The kitchen was in full roil by this time. Tom's ex-wife and his daughters were knee deep in several different cooking projects, while Lisa was replicating a pre-dinner squash soup that would later accompany several tons of appetizers. Andrew and I discovered that if we sat in the comfy chairs by the kitchen, a constant stream of food would trickle in and by. Others would gravitate towards us as we held court and binged on several kinds of breads, carrots, hummus, soups, brie, olives, onion tart thingies, and possibly live doves. I forget the entire spread, but it was pretty constant and varied.
Tom's daughters brought a few friends. One, the boyfriend, an eerily California kind of beautiful surfer dude. The sort that is almost too perfect and pleasant to be exactly attractive, but nonetheless has a striking presence that obstinately belies any attempts at seeing him as something deeper than an intensely pretty face. The kind I imagine a young girl - not quite yet enmeshed in the snares of womanly urges - forming a crush on after a few days of friendly flirting at the beach.
I think he's actually a very nice guy, and probably much sharper than his tawny everything and wave-spun smile might suggest. If nothing else, he's a good complement to Tom's equally California-beauty daughter (who does, of course, do modelling part time, and who is equally bubby and mellow in mien). Another friend came along, although I didn't meet him much more than to shake a hand and watch him and the rest of "the kids" go in and out with their various beers.
Around 3:00 p.m. the Santa Cruz contingent showed up in full force with several coolers. Sure, there was plenty of beer, but also more food! Cooking continued, as did the gush of viands. Andrew and I found ourselves mostly holding court with Jane, the mother of Lisa's cousin's husband... the entire guest list was a big game of Six degrees of Kevin Bacon (Turkey edition). Jane was a quirky gal, originally from West Virginia and so saturated in that heritage that one would think she was quite provincial. She did look a mite bit dazed in the California hubub. Then again, she's the only West Virginian I know who lived in Belgium for years and has had the joy of suffering both malaria and lyme disease. And they are most recently from Boston before moving (for reasons I never quite discerned) to California.
Upon meeting, Lisa and Jane exchanged this dialog:
Lisa: So, how do you like California.
Jane: (scrunching her nose and shaking her head) I don't like it.
Lisa: So, not better now that you're stuck here?
Jane: I'm hoping it will get better.
Lisa: Naw, if anything it's getting worse... All those Bostonians ruining everything.
Jane was a very nice, albeit somewhat gloomy lady, who got a macabre twinkle in her eye telling her daughter-in-law (recently returned from Africa) that she got Malaria eight weeks or month later, and she also got the shots before going so... wait, who's going to Turkey? What kind of diseases do they have there??
After a good long spell in the kitchen to living room limbo, we squirted through into the dining room, where a showing of the extended version of Return of the King sprawled out into infinity. I've not seen the trilogy fully, but I've seen "the end" of this movie several times and my lord the end is several hours and episodes long!! had been abandoned in favor of cooking and drinking on the veranda (near the green egg).
Eventually several layers of settings were applied to the table. Dishes were plonked onto the table. Then removed. Then moved to a table elsewhere. Then more dishes came to the dining table. Several casks and vats of wine were tapped. And water glasses were filled. A makeshift buffet/traditional pass-around eventually exposed guests to all their many dining options. On the far away buffet table: turkey (of course), stuffing, yams, roast brussel sprouts, and mashed potatoes. On the table itself (and mostly requiring more direct "rising and retrieving" while people seated closest to these items were filling up at the buffet table): gravy, cranberry sauce, mashed butternut, string beans and almonds, two green salads, baked sweet potatoes, and more that I am forgetting.
I ate a fairly moderate plate comprised of about half of these items and had a full on stomach churn for a good hour. I do not know how several people managed to return for seconds at the buffet table, but I can only imagine that the copiously flowing wine and beer gave an extra kick to degustation.
And then there was dessert. which turned into quite the moment of accidental Adella serendipity. Apparently, the pumpkin pie had gone wrong. All wrong. Horribly and explosively wrong. Something to do with exploding filling trickled through the tales. But beyond that, the pie apparently lacked sugar. A misunderstanding had led to our baker buying plain powdered milk instead of sweetened condensed. It was, needless to say, a savory sort of experience with just a sweet kick of pumpkin. We were warned, and several vats of whipped cream were stirred up to compensate, but some of our lactose intolerant indulgers were stuck with the sere and sec savory succulence.
In the pith of my amiable acerb, I adored it. So much, in fact, that (for a bold and brash turn of events) Andrew palmed off his dessert on my plate. I did eventually return the crust to him, but I most certainly ate a few slices' worth of good pumpkiney filling.
All in all, it was a wildly (so wild it was perhaps feral) successful evening. And joy of joys, Andrew and I were able to depart when the clock ticked 8:00 p.m. Which got me back in time for my evening lady not-exactly-oral orbs of good old sleepy luteal goodness. And us both back in time to snuggle into bed in preparation for our 4:30 a.m. jaunt to the airport.
And we're back, baby. It's been a slow return with some detours, but I've finally unloaded the dishwasher. I have five billion other tasks in mind that MUST BE DONE before I can fully relax. But a nap and a shower have rechristened the household quite nicely.
I know by now several of my plus-peeps are well into Saturday. In which case, sweet dreams and/or good morning when you get there!
I'm ready to be into some more food!
Happy Black Friday all! Let the Christmas season flow freely and madly!!
Baby, It's Cold Outside, So Bring on the Nog and Nummies with a Nip of Nostalgic Notions
One more day until Advent! The coming comes! We slink through crimson velvet and puffed white trimmings into our holliest & holiest ho-ho-hos. Or perhaps merely shrug and say "wow, yesterday was Black Friday?? So the other cars on the road at 5 a.m. were not also heading to the airport for an early morning flight??"
Actually, the old BF seemed fairly docile in my corner of the world (my nested little nook of depravity and delusion that hardly constitutes reality, granted, but one which does browse the newspapers from time to time). As predicted, the creep of Black Friday sales into earlier parts of November and back through Cyber Monday (I think the best deals actually occur closer to Christmas or sometime in mid-October nowadays) seems to have diluted the frenzy. Not entirely, but a fair bit. From what I could tell, most Bellinghamsters stayed home to watch the Seahawks game on Thursday evening. And many of them maybe slept off their turkey trots Friday morning.
They were, of course, in full force by the time we arrived. But they were rapacious for the hair of the dog that they consumed whole and smothered in cranberry sauce. Not as much for fantastic deals. Yes, attempting to find a dining establishment at 10:45 a.m. yesterday morning was surely not for the weak of heart, head, or adrenal glands. And earplugs were well-advised for those that managed to plant themselves in a booth or table.
As promised, we returned from a late summer in November to DECEMBER and then some. There be no doubt that the Christmas season is looming when gelid gusts chill blood and pond alike. Yesterday, our brief window of "regular" Pacific Northwest grey and rainy took a turn for BRRRRRRR! The temperature is consistently dropping with each hour and should reach the teens by this evening. There was talk of snow, but I don't believe it has manifested. Then again, I'm none too motivated to open the door to the great outdoors and make my own discoveries on that matter.
To celebrate our own descent into holly and ivy, Miss Mom-boss and her boy-toy are treating us (W)rights to our first and last Stowell/Sendak Nutcracker at the Pacific Northwest Ballet. Maurice Sendak the creature of Where the Wild Things Are designed the sets, and Kent Stowell, choreographed. It premiered in 1983 and has been been playing ever since. In 2015, it will be replaced by a new production using Balanchine's choreography and new costumes and sets by - and this tickles me - Ian Falconer. My nephew? I had no idea he was so accomplished.
This production is an institution. When I was a wee lass, going to Seattle to see the Nutcracker (the real one - with the magical trees and the professional ballerinas - not the one that I was routinely a part of) at the Seattle Center. It was, needless to say, magical. I still get chills whenever strains of the suite tickle my ear buds (regardless of how ubiquitous they are at this time of year). I haven't seen it in years, but how could I miss seeing it one last time. It's a brilliant showing of stagecraft and choreography. Factoid about that magical tree: the Christmas tree was built by Boeing and grows from 14 to 28 feet during each show.
It is going to be awesome. And a bit of a drive. In poor weather. That part may be less awesome. So I hope the snow didn't really hit, and that it wasn't accompanied by too much freezing rain or other perils of the hibernal variety.
It was so nice having Friday to relax and readjust. I keep getting surprised and excited that today is only Saturday, although I won't have time to get to my "usual" Saturday chores with this grand holiday blitz. But since the Christmas season is upon us (almost) officially, I don't think there will be time for "usual" for quite a while.
And with a happy holly jolly totally fantastic Advent Calender/tree received from Mom-boss just yesterday, I am feeling gosh darn festive. Possibly even more acclimated to the oblivion-juice of my orange barracuda "luteal support." I seem to be able to go full hours without passing out. Sad that I shall no longer be Zonk Girl, but with great napping power comes great bed sores. So glad I may be able to keep my eyes propped open for all the pirouettes and pas de deux action.
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