Sunday, November 18, 2007
With Grandma out of town, Sarah is taking over as our Thanksgiving Director. Assigning jobs and doing most of the work herself, plus blogging yesterday and tending to two small children and her husband, I'm fairly sure the nut didn't fall far from the tree as I may have scrambled the cliche beyond recognition. Sarah will straighten me out.
Chris, Lisa A's husband, provides four turkeys for us each year, his company has been doing so now for quite some time. I may be a vegetarian but I do not force this choice upon my children. This year it appears that Sarah's darling husband, Preston, is going to fry them all.
My very El Salvadoran son-in-law, Big Jose, absolutely adores this Pilgrim holiday beyond explanation. He looks forward to it for months, mentioning it often, and this year it has a bittersweet significance that I'll disclose at another time.
I spend so much time outside in the summer in my gardens, that coming into a darkened house soothes my eyes that have squinted for so long, resulting in more than my share of eye wrinkles. In the fall and winter I notice that I amp up the wattage of light bulbs, flipping on too many lights as if attempting to replace the sun that has retreated, fighting against Seasonal Affective Disorder. It seems unnatural to spend so much time indoors. This horrendous drought bears down on my spirit as well.
A new reader from Kentucky, Lori, commented that she'd found my blog while I'm slogging through the tail end of this unusual blue period. I'm embarrassed to have been caught like that, what kind of a role model am I presenting for the kids? Shake it off Big Mama, move on.
I've earned these crow's feet - 34 years of gardening - my friend, Dottie, a horticulture major, helped me plant my first garden when I was pregnant with Sarah. Who knew then what an affect that fresh organic foods would have on her? Full circle now, we both feed folks the most nutritious way possible, and neither of us will touch the dead fried bird on Thursday. I'm holding Sarah's baby, Hazel Bay, who will likely grow up disdaining bird-eating as well.