This is the year of the roll debate. At Thanksgiving don't you love soft white yeast rolls rising on the radiators, later popped in the oven, and served hot with lots of butter?
That's what I thought. (Unless you eat gluten free of course.)
Consider: this year we will have at least 17 family members for our meal. Everyone will pitch in to cook turkey, roast, green beans, mashed potatoes (with butter), baked stuffing, sweet potato casserole, roasted vegetables, creamed onions, cranberry orange relish, and lots of pie!
Getting all of this and 17 people to the table is quite a chore. To time it just right so the rolls roll out of the oven hot is an art. Everyone is carrying hot dishes through to the dining room while someone is trying to check the rolls' progress. Wait. They're not quite done. Wait. What's that burning smell?
Grandma says, "you have to serve rolls at Thanksgiving."
Sister says, "it doesn't matter because, if they have rolls, the boys will eat them instead of other healthier foods."
I say, "I don't need the stress. I don't have the talent to make it all happen. We can make rolls the next day to eat with our leftovers."
Coffee, however, is not up for debate. Andy went to the coffee bean store today and splurged (yeah!) on Costa Rican and Kenya AA. It will be a good Thanksgiving no matter what. Just pour me a cup of hot richness. I'll breathe deeply and drink deeply. I'll be alright!
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
fugitives
Recently I've felt like a fugitive from the 8-5 life.
My neck pain has increased the past few days, so I am reminded that I left that tract for good reason.
Still, I feel like I'm a fugitive from some perdition I should be serving.
The dogs woke me up this morning quite early, seeking passage outside and then some food. Then we all laid back down.
Soon, the phone rang. In the dim light I couldn't make out the caller, but, given the time of day, answered it.
A message informed me that two men had broken out of the Peoria County Jail. One was a particularly bad dude, a rapist and home invader who had taken the police two years to corral. The thought of him on the loose set me on edge. I made sure all the doors were locked.
In the early afternoon, I learned the minor criminal had been apprehended at a residence. Later, in the dark, I had to go outside. I thought of the brazen, desperate rapist. My dogs would put down their lives for me. They would never be fugitives from their duty. I think such dedication and commitment are difficult for humans to understand.
Intellectually, I have given up such dedication. Yet, I still feel like a fugitive. The dogs lack the intellectual ability to abandon their responsibility. Such an act isn't in their nature, which is hard wired for commitment.
The real fugitive in this story, once having decided to flee, has no freedom to choose another course. He is on the run. The dogs can't choose to be different - being by my side is their whole life. The fugitive has chosen his course and can't turn back.
My neck pain has increased the past few days, so I am reminded that I left that tract for good reason.
Still, I feel like I'm a fugitive from some perdition I should be serving.
The dogs woke me up this morning quite early, seeking passage outside and then some food. Then we all laid back down.
Soon, the phone rang. In the dim light I couldn't make out the caller, but, given the time of day, answered it.
A message informed me that two men had broken out of the Peoria County Jail. One was a particularly bad dude, a rapist and home invader who had taken the police two years to corral. The thought of him on the loose set me on edge. I made sure all the doors were locked.
In the early afternoon, I learned the minor criminal had been apprehended at a residence. Later, in the dark, I had to go outside. I thought of the brazen, desperate rapist. My dogs would put down their lives for me. They would never be fugitives from their duty. I think such dedication and commitment are difficult for humans to understand.
Intellectually, I have given up such dedication. Yet, I still feel like a fugitive. The dogs lack the intellectual ability to abandon their responsibility. Such an act isn't in their nature, which is hard wired for commitment.
The real fugitive in this story, once having decided to flee, has no freedom to choose another course. He is on the run. The dogs can't choose to be different - being by my side is their whole life. The fugitive has chosen his course and can't turn back.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Dancing on air
Since leaving my basement cubicle at Bradley, I've struggled with what to call this blog. First I tried Coffee… Outside the Cubicle. But that was awkward. Today I renamed it Coffee and a Miracle. My husband asked me what the miracle was. I said I don't know. I'm still waiting to find out.
When I was in junior high I loved doing the broad jump in track. I'd run as fast I could down the asphalt and then take flight over the sand pit. I was told to kick my feet to keep going further. That worked very well. I made it to the conference tourney, where I think I earned second place.
Later, when I fell in love with music, I would imagine myself a dancer, although I had no training. I would spin and twirl across my living rooms as if I was on a New York stage. I felt absolutely graceful and marvelous.
In my dreams, I think, these two memories merge into something beautiful. I find myself dancing and taking flight. I dance but also kick so I can go even higher. People are amazed that I don't fall to the floor. I float above it all. I feel wonderful.
In my dream, at least, that's a miracle!
When I was in junior high I loved doing the broad jump in track. I'd run as fast I could down the asphalt and then take flight over the sand pit. I was told to kick my feet to keep going further. That worked very well. I made it to the conference tourney, where I think I earned second place.
Later, when I fell in love with music, I would imagine myself a dancer, although I had no training. I would spin and twirl across my living rooms as if I was on a New York stage. I felt absolutely graceful and marvelous.
In my dreams, I think, these two memories merge into something beautiful. I find myself dancing and taking flight. I dance but also kick so I can go even higher. People are amazed that I don't fall to the floor. I float above it all. I feel wonderful.
In my dream, at least, that's a miracle!
Sunday, November 08, 2009
Indian Summer
This weekend we experienced a classic Indian Summer.
The leaves have turned, many plants have been hurt by an earlier frost, and the air is warm.
Working on the leaves today, I sunburned my face in the beautiful warmth of 70 degrees.
While the origins of the term "Indian Summer" are unclear, we know for sure that it is a time we all enjoy. We've experienced cold days and we know winter is coming, so this physical remembrance of summer is most welcome.
Indian Summer often occurs just before a killing frost, so I expect that will be coming next week. Then, I will have to go out and lift the black, slimy nasturtiums from the ground and dump them into Landscape Waste tubs.
But, today, they are blooming in vivid orange and yellow, just as if it were July.
The leaves have turned, many plants have been hurt by an earlier frost, and the air is warm.
Working on the leaves today, I sunburned my face in the beautiful warmth of 70 degrees.
While the origins of the term "Indian Summer" are unclear, we know for sure that it is a time we all enjoy. We've experienced cold days and we know winter is coming, so this physical remembrance of summer is most welcome.
Indian Summer often occurs just before a killing frost, so I expect that will be coming next week. Then, I will have to go out and lift the black, slimy nasturtiums from the ground and dump them into Landscape Waste tubs.
But, today, they are blooming in vivid orange and yellow, just as if it were July.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Great Halloween
Didn't see the Great Pumpkin - but it was a lovely Halloween.
My mom, brother, and sister-in-law visited today and before they left, Trick-or-Treaters started coming. I thought they would be early since the holiday falls on a Saturday this year. So Mom and I got to sit together outside for a bit and pass out candy. It was a chilly but beautiful afternoon. We haven't mulched any leaves yet so the yard was a carpet of red, yellow, orange, and green.
I usually sit outside so I don't have to try to keep the dogs from jumping out and scaring the monsters, witches, and goblins.
Since the festivities started early and my hands got quite cold, I turned out the lights by 6:45. Problem is I still have tons of candy left. I'm always afraid of running out just as some throng of 10 ghouls approach the house.
All in all an enjoyable evening. Hope all those kids have a great time. I remember this was by far my favorite holiday when I was little.
Oh yeah and happy fourth blogoversary to me!
My mom, brother, and sister-in-law visited today and before they left, Trick-or-Treaters started coming. I thought they would be early since the holiday falls on a Saturday this year. So Mom and I got to sit together outside for a bit and pass out candy. It was a chilly but beautiful afternoon. We haven't mulched any leaves yet so the yard was a carpet of red, yellow, orange, and green.
I usually sit outside so I don't have to try to keep the dogs from jumping out and scaring the monsters, witches, and goblins.
Since the festivities started early and my hands got quite cold, I turned out the lights by 6:45. Problem is I still have tons of candy left. I'm always afraid of running out just as some throng of 10 ghouls approach the house.
All in all an enjoyable evening. Hope all those kids have a great time. I remember this was by far my favorite holiday when I was little.
Oh yeah and happy fourth blogoversary to me!
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
JAZZ
When I was 18 I set out for lands unknown in my 1969 red Volkswagen Beetle. The odometer didn't work and the gas tank had a leak. So, I had to stop frequently to pump gas.
First stop: Carbondale, where my sister was an art student at SIU. She was taking summer classes, so I was left to myself most of the day. A friend of hers had left his record collection for safe keeping at her apartment. I delved in and found the provocative cover of John Coltrane's "A Love Supreme." I played it and was swept away by emotion and desire. Desire that I could create something so wonderful.
I drove my bug on down the road to Lexington, KY, where my other sister lived. She was minutes away from used bookshops, which I took advantage of.
I rode home to Auburn, IL in the leaking VW. I longed, in the middle of cornfields, for the more Bohemian life of Carbondale and Lexington.
I wanted more jazz. Our local public radio station played it of an evening, but my mom complained when "they keep repeating that same note over and over."
We would usually be playing Scrabble when this happened. And I would say "I love it."
And then, "Oh, if I only had an "e."
Years later, I would drive to Chicago to visit my sister and her boys. Chicago airwaves are filled with hair band rock crap but also a jazz station that plays nothing but top notch stuff - some of it wildly discordant but wonderful.
Now we have XM Radio with 70 Real Jazz. Mostly they play awesome stuff. Lots of Coltrane and a great show on Saturdays by W. Marsalis.
Once in a while, though, I hear something indulgent or uninspiring. But, thankful that I have good jazz all day long, I abide.
Most of the time I moved by the jazz spirit that I first encountered long ago.
First stop: Carbondale, where my sister was an art student at SIU. She was taking summer classes, so I was left to myself most of the day. A friend of hers had left his record collection for safe keeping at her apartment. I delved in and found the provocative cover of John Coltrane's "A Love Supreme." I played it and was swept away by emotion and desire. Desire that I could create something so wonderful.
I drove my bug on down the road to Lexington, KY, where my other sister lived. She was minutes away from used bookshops, which I took advantage of.
I rode home to Auburn, IL in the leaking VW. I longed, in the middle of cornfields, for the more Bohemian life of Carbondale and Lexington.
I wanted more jazz. Our local public radio station played it of an evening, but my mom complained when "they keep repeating that same note over and over."
We would usually be playing Scrabble when this happened. And I would say "I love it."
And then, "Oh, if I only had an "e."
Years later, I would drive to Chicago to visit my sister and her boys. Chicago airwaves are filled with hair band rock crap but also a jazz station that plays nothing but top notch stuff - some of it wildly discordant but wonderful.
Now we have XM Radio with 70 Real Jazz. Mostly they play awesome stuff. Lots of Coltrane and a great show on Saturdays by W. Marsalis.
Once in a while, though, I hear something indulgent or uninspiring. But, thankful that I have good jazz all day long, I abide.
Most of the time I moved by the jazz spirit that I first encountered long ago.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Beautiful fall day
• used the horrible noisy blower to push leaves from the patio - they went in every direction except the one I wanted them to• pulled the dying marigold, Mexican zinnia, Asiatic day lily, and four o'clock plants from the front porch garden. Hope I didn't aggravate my neck problem - will know tomorrow morning. The nasturtiums are still doing fine.
• sitting outside on the patio, still dusted with maple leaves, thinking about the day and thinking about what I could write about tomorrow. The topic that came to mind? "Crab!" When I was quite young, my sisters and I would help my mom clean up the kitchen after dinner. Then, we would go to her closet and find the "old lady dress up clothes." These were black lace dresses and black hats that she had found at auction sales.
We would put on the dresses, high-heeled shoes, gloves, and elegant hats and proceed to the "parlor" - our narrow hallway - where the piano sat. One of us would sit on the piano stool and start playing beautiful sweet music (we all took lessons). The other two would sit in awe, quietly clapping our gloved hands. Soon, the room would turn dark. Tension filled the air. The pianist resorted to pounding minor chords that made no musical sense. She would turn an ugly face to the audience and shout "Crab!"
We would all run from the hallway parlor shouting "crab, crab, crab."
Over and over we would play this game. To write about it I need to be able to show, in imagery, why the young girls turned a serene, elegant setting into something frightening.
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