Pass the Mush, Please

So, guess what happens the evening before Thanksgiving?

My crown falls out.

Yup.

I've had a world of trouble with this darn thing, as y'all know.

But Thanksgiving Eve? Really?

I call my dentist's office and of course they are all at home whipping up feasts that they can eat with all their teeth staying right where they belong.

But there is an emergency number for the dentist on call.

After a failed attempt at using the "Temp Dent" junk to make it stay on, I call that number.

I'll have to give that dentist credit. He answered on the second ring. Good old on call dentist.

"No, no!" He exclaimed when I told him I'd tried the temp dent. "Clean that stuff out as quickly as possible. Go to the drug store and buy some denture adhesive. Read the directions. It should work." Then he went into a somewhat dizzying explanation of how to put the crown back on. I didn't bother to tell him I'd already put it back on a zillion times. "I think you can do it!" He exclaimed. (He was very cheerleader like). "I can't see you because I'm on my way out of town."

Um, the on call dentist is leaving? What if I get hit in the mouth with a frozen turkey? Who ya gonna call? Mouth busters?

Anyway, Husband ran to the grocery store (to pick up the turkey, by the way) and got me some good old denture adhesive.

By cracky.

As of this writing, the crown is still in. My permanent crown has arrived at the dentist and if I can hang in there for three more days until my appointment, surely, surely, surely, the new crown will stay on.

I mean, what are the odds that it won't?

Don't answer that. I'd really rather not know. 

Happenin' Stuff

So much has been going on these past few days, I don't know where to start.

Thanksgiving was nice. We did the usual preparations, except we are all chipping in more and more and Mother less. She should actually be doing nothing but when you figure out how to keep her from it, let me know, okay?
Last year I was flat on my back and had to rely on Daughter to do my part, too. This year I hung in there and wasn't flat on my back until Friday. But the massage therapist has helped. If I ain't a lot better, chiropractor, here I come. I hate being on muscle relaxants too much, but sometimes that seems to be the only solution. Daughter and I are doing a duet at church tomorrow, so I may be hollering for help in putting on my pantyhose. I'm not sure it's possible.

Speaking of being flat on one's back, one of my dearest, bestest friend's husband fell off the roof and landed flat on his back. He has grievous injuries to his back and at least ten if not more ribs broken. One surgery has been done, the "real" surgery is set for Monday if his lungs have healed enough.

I am heartbroken for them. Their lives have changed forever. As she once told me, "There was  your life before you fell, now you have a life for after you have fallen."

If you are of the praying sort, get to it, please. They need it.

I have been asked to speak to the genealogy society here. I reckon it's because I'm so old they figure I can remember way back yonder. Unfortunately, I'm so old I can't remember way back yonder, so I'll read some of a book or two of mine and we can laugh and talk about it.

I can still talk real good.

And, speaking of books, mine are still selling pretty well. If you've missed one or two, you need to contact me. Also, Christmas is coming up and I have a book for just about every age.

Oh, and please raise your hand if you know my password for my e-mail.

Eh, me neither.

Later.

Alone

I usually don't blog on Sunday.

I am never alone on Sunday, but today I am, so there you are. I thought I'd blog.

Husband and Daughter are at church. I am missing Husband's - what I'm sure will be stellar - performance in the Christmas play. He is a "middle-aged farmer" and if that ain't stretching the truth, I don't know what is.

I started feeling sick night before last, but I thought I was having an allergic reaction to the dust on the tree we had brought up to decorate. I'm allergic  to household dust, which usually just comes in handy for an excuse not to be able to dust.  If it isn't stirred up, it doesn't bother me.

But then, as the day drew longer yesterday, I got sicker and sicker. Ran a fever last night.

I think I have a raging sinus infection.

Yay, me.

No problem that we have a Sunday School Christmas party right here at the house this afternoon.

Thus far, I have missed the Thanksgiving service at church, which included a meal and communion. I have missed several church services and Bible studies lately. I  missed a play we had tickets for. I missed the WMU Christmas dinner.

There are probably other things to add to the list, but I stopped keeping track.

At this afternoon's party, I shall just be quiet and good and smile a lot.

This, too, shall pass and I'll be well again.

But for now, I'm alone.

On Sunday morning.

Food, Glorious Food

Thursday was a wonderful day, and the food was exceptionally good.

I ate a lot. A little too much. (shut up)

Yesterday was leftovers heaven. Made for a good dinner.

Today...we cooked at dinner, with no leftovers from the day before.

But supper has been a different story.

Daughter is saving one piece of dressing and her aunt's special corn for her supper when she gets out of the tub.

There's enough turkey for one more sammich.

A few green peas, a spoonful of cranberry sauce, that's about it.

There was a little bit of giblet gravy left, which I put on top of the little bit of mashed potatoes left and that was my supper. It's the best giblet gravy I've ever had, and I have told my sister-in-law that. She  made it, she gets the credit.

In the morning there will be little or no signs of the Thanksgiving feast we had, which is probably true for most homes. Surely on day four it's history for almost everyone.

Most of us are ready to move on to roast beef, hot dogs or a nice juicy steak by Sunday.

Let's just hope all the pastors out there recognize who's who in the congregation as they waddle in tomorrow.

A few pounds can change a person's looks, you know.

Short Story

The short story:

I am stove up, bad.

Yesterday, for the first time in my life, even just before emergency back surgery to keep from being paralyzed (cause who would want that?), I couldn't climb the stairs.

It still hurts today, but not as bad - I stayed zonked on muscle relaxants yesterday, and a little today.

I am about to climb the stairs - carefully! - get ready for bed, and take a muscle relaxant.

We all better hope I am fit as a fiddle by Wednesday, because that is make a wash tub full of dressing under the eagle eye of my mother day, as well as a bunch of other doings to prepare for the big Thursday.

Later, dude.

Is It Tacky Yet?

When does it become tacky to still have your Christmas decorations up?

Let me clarify by saying: I ain't asking ya'll what keep 'em up year round. That pretty much goes without saying.

I've fantasized about having a secret room to roll the tree into, with a few extra, easily accessible bags of garlands and whatnot, but I don't have the means to do such.

Besides, knowing my family, we'd have it so full of other junk it would be a major chore to get to the Christmas stuff by the time Thanksgiving rolled around.

My rule of thumb on decorating is this: The day after Thanksgiving until no later than January fifteenth.

I usually have everything down by the seventh or eighth because I'm suddenly extremely tired of looking at it.

Today, I still am enjoying everything. It's getting colder and colder outside, we  might have snow this weekend, and, well, I want to have a fire, turn on the tree lights and enjoy it.

I don't care if it is the first week of January.

I have friends who barely get the gifts unwrapped before they start ripping the tree apart. (These are the same friends who make up the bed in the middle of the night if their husbands get up to go pee).

Then I have friends who consider leaving all the red ornaments up and calling it a Valentine's tree. (These are the same friends who haven't made up their bed since 1978).

And, not to criticize anyone: I don't care. If you want your stuff left up all year, go for it.

You know everyone will secretly envy you right after Thanksgiving.

Once Upon a Time, Long, Long Ago...

When I was a very small child, before my great-grandmother got 'the breast cancer', the family had Thanksgiving at her house.

She and my great-grandfather lived pretty much like they had always lived - except they had electric lights in each room.

Memories are vague, because I was so young, but this is what I do remember:

We ate later because the men were killing a hog. By Thanksgiving, it was always cold enough to do this.

The dining room had lots of  natural light, and the double french doors were always open to allow the heat from the wood heater that sat in the middle of the living room floor, to heat this room too.

The table was long and full of my mother's aunts and uncles and their children.

I was the only great-grandchild, the Princess.

My seat was an old, green high chair, whose tray had been removed so it could be scooted right up to the table.

There was about a million vegetables that had been canned or stored in the cellar for a bountiful meal.

We had baked hens instead of turkey.

All of it was cooked on a giant wood cook stove, with lard, real butter (that she churned herself), cream from the cow, and eggs from their chickens.

Mama Hill, my great-grandmother, always made me pop taties. They were called this because she sliced potatoes very thin and fried them until they were so crisp they popped when you chewed them.

And she made them just for me, the Princess.

After dinner, Papa Hill would get out his fiddle and stand in front of the stove in the front room. I would sit in the floor, looking straight up at his pale blue eyes and snow white hair. His overalls were pressed, as was the white shirt he wore underneath them.

He always had a little stick or a pipe protruding from his mouth.

All the adults sat around in whatever they had drug into the room, and enjoyed the music.

I was carried to the car for the long ride home back to town, sleepy, then asleep.

Happy Thanksgiving to each of  you, and here's hoping you have a precious memory to see you through when holidays may not be so great.

If you don't, you are welcome to mine.

Because they couldn't be any better than these.

Coming to a Table Near You

You can feel it in the air.

The frenzied pace of millions of women trying to get their act together at the last minute because everyone expects the Thanksgiving meal extravaganza right on time.

The trick for my family is the dressing. See, my mother doesn't have a recipe for dressing. She has just "made it" in the past.

I think her Aunt maybe taught her how.

Last year, Daughter and I stood by like drones and did exactly like she said to do, as she can no longer do it all by herself.

You'd think after doing it with supervision, one could do it alone, but it's far more complicated than that.

Dressing is one of those things that tastes different with every person. It's a lot like biscuits or cole slaw. There is just something in the individual's make up that makes the food.

My goal is to come close to Mother's. I don't anticipate surpassing it, because I love her dressing better than anyone's on the planet, and I've  had lots.

So, tomorrow Daughter and I will journey down to Mother's and begin.

Pray for us all.

Happy Thanksgiving, in advance, just in case I don't make it through.

The Cry of: Revenge! Saith the Turkeys, at Last!

Have you read that wild turkeys are taking over Boston? It seems to be true. They are attacking people left and right.

 Folks are having to cross the street to keep from crossing the turkeys.

A cop is assigned to a street crossing to ward off the testy turkeys and keep them from jumping the children trying to get to school.

Turkeys have been causing traffic jams during rush hour (what else is new?) by congregating in large numbers  in the middle of busy intersections.

Folks are afraid to go out into their backyards, because the turkeys are there, too.

Maybe they're tired of all the stupid turkey jokes.

Maybe they still resent people laughing at Ben Franklin when he wanted the turkey as the bird to represent America. (I mean, really?)

Maybe they're tired of their fellow turkeys being eaten by the millions on a certain holiday that just happened to have occurred yesterday...

And we thought elephants were the only animals with long memories.

Perhaps we should change the saying to "A turkey never forgets."

Food for thought.