SATURDAY THOUGHTS: TALES AFTER THANKSGIVING

I don't know what it is about gumbo, that causes it to taste progressively better each day.

 

Yesterday, I had the obligatory turkey sandwich, but today, the gumbo made it's first appearance since Thanksgiving. 

My daughter added the crab meat, we'd decided against, on Wednesday night. 

I honestly don't know why I don't prepare gumbo more often. It was nice to have my mother's recipe, and my big sister (whose gumbo is fantastic) only a phone call away. 

Yeah, it's an expensive dish, but it's the kind of thing you don't tire of eating. My big sister was right. Just a few hot sausages in addition to the smoked and andouille sausage, were perfect.

On another foodie note, when a friend announced her college bound daughter's fundraiser, I didn't hesitate to order. I figured it would take care of Thanksgiving Day dessert. 

When the products came, I gladly accepted a Joe Corbi Brownie Bottom French Vanilla Cream Pie, as a substitute for the brownies that, for whatever reason, didn't make it. 

If you order one, don't think you're going to dig into an actual brownie of substance. When they say "bottom", that's just what the heck they mean--a very thin, barely detectable layer of brownie crumbs. 

The rest is some pudding-y kind of stuff and whipped cream, piled high. It's really pretty, but you may as well buy a couple of cans of Cool Whip. 

Now, that Joe Corbi New York cheesecake? 

Yes, Lawd. 

Now that's a winner...

THURSDAY THOUGHTS: WE GOT COMPANY!

I hate being annoyed, especially by someone who is being deliberately annoying.

 

When people don't respect boundaries, and feel entitled to do whatever they want, in spite of the impact, it only compounds your disapproval of them. They don't care how you feel, so you wonder why you should care about what you say to them concerning their inconsideration, and intrusiveness.

Sometimes, it's hard when you've been taught to be a polite Christian. The lesson works it's way into your DNA and sends a signal that arrests your entire throat, silences you, and prevents you from exercising free speech. 

If people only knew what was forming in your brain that the Lord won't allow you convert into audible sentences, they would think long and hard before they decided to try your patience, or take a chance on finding out whether your niceness has a limit. 

If they only knew what you knew, their conversation wouldn't be so deliberately informative. 

They wouldn't keep trying to push your buttons. 

Just because you've been diligently projecting sweet-meek-and-mild baby Jesus all your life, doesn't mean you haven't cultivated whip-wielding-turning-over-tables-in-the-temple Jesus, too.

Some people spend far too much time trying to convince you that they are a welcomed member of your family. You know, however, that your mother did not birth them, and their presence is merely tolerated. I suppose instead of being annoyed, you should be amused by their behavior. 

They really don't want to know what you know.

When it's not your house, you have no say about who is welcome on ANY day, still you wonder about an individual who would leave their wife and children on Thanksgiving day and show up at someone else's home, sit around, and ask personal questions, and gossip about everybody from the pulpit to the door. You wonder why it's allowed to go on. 

Did it ever occur to some people that MAYBE, just MAYBE, on Thanksgiving Day, people might want to spend some time with their own family members? Even when you're an adult, you remember the rules established in your parent's house. 

"Be considerate of others"; 

"Think before you speak"; 

"Don't embarrass yourself"; 

"Always conduct yourself properly"; 

"Don't ever allow an ignorant person to cause you to stoop to their level"; 

"Ignore a fool".

If I had said something; if I had unleashed what I wanted to say, I would have been wrong, the conversation and visit would have abruptly ended, and Thanksgiving would have been officially over. 

It may very well be home, but it's not my house. Still, I was livid that once again, we had a Thanksgiving crasher.

 

I promptly took out my frustration on the pots and pans. That really wasn't fair to them. They did nothing except be conduits for a great meal. 

Now, they're sparkling clean, and my hands are wrinkled, and as white as a sheet. 

I tried to make as much noise as I could, run as much water as I could, and occasionally turn on the garbage disposal to avoid hearing the gossip-filled conversation. 

Anything to keep from blurting out what was trying its best to spill out of my mouth. 

"Excuse me, you messy, inconsiderate jerk, WHERE IS YOUR FAMILY, AND WHY AREN'T YOU WITH THEM? IT'S THANKSGIVING DAY, YOU CREEPY, STRIFE-LOVING, TALE-BEARING MORON! "

But that wouldn't have been nice.

I hate the devil.

I really hate to think I lost the battle today, but when that car pulled up, my whole attitude plummeted. Sometimes you don't WANT to be mature or play nice. 

Nothing I would have said to the individual would have been good, so I clammed up after "Hello" and got to scrubbing. 

Did he just stop by to talk about people and eat? 

Why? 

My grandmother always said, "A dog that will bring a bone will carry one." 

I have come to believe that conversations with some people should be restricted to subjects like time of day and the weather--period.

When he left, it was as if an evil, contrary spirit left with him. It was like a dark cloud was lifted, and the sunshine returned. 

Thanksgiving got some of it's happy back, but it was tarnished. 

Darn. 

Fact is, that friendship with your parent(s) doesn't not necessarily guarantee friendship with you, and some folk try way, waaaay too hard.
They're up to no good, and they know that you know it. 

They know that you have no intention to entertain them, or even pretend that you approve of their presence, words, or actions. 

They try to engage you, and make it seem as if you're the one with the problem--and you ARE. 

You have to figure out how to forget about what you know about them, and endure being in the same room with a lewd, too familiar, sneaky, opportunistic, inconsiderate, gossip, and, for the sake of the occasion, and out of respect for your host(s), keep your mouth shut.

I hope he got a good laugh at my expense, because there simply was no hiding my displeasure. 

I need to figure this out before Christmas. 

I don't know how long I'm going to be able to keep quiet.

TUESDAY THOUGHTS: GUMBO

I spent part of the day looking at photos from Thanksgivings past. 

My Mom was the holiday bunny, and I really miss her, especially on days like today. 

It was helpful to look at the photos from Upsal Street, and read the recipes she'd written. 

Right now she'd be cleaning greens, or making dressing, or macaroni and cheese, or peeling sweet potatoes---or all of the above. 

Special pots and plates and platters would be out. She was so organized, and clean about it all, too. 

"If you clean as you go, you'll have less to do when you're done."

Thanksgiving Day was a two-parter. 

Start with gumbo, then end with the turkey dinner. 

It just wouldn't be Thanksgiving without gumbo, and we're going to make some.

I had a great conversation with my big sister this morning. She shared her gumbo tips, and I listened attentively, writing down everything she said. 

"Don't burn the rue.", 

"Use the powders--onion, garlic."; 

"A whole cut up chicken will do."; 

"Add a hot, smoked sausage--not the red hot kind."

This is going to be good.
Thanks, Mommy.

UH...OKAY. THANKS?

You could be a lot more grateful if you didn't know that the supposed gift/act was a part of a grand scheme borne out of guilt and/or a critical, demeaning spirit. Saying, "Thank you" would only make you complicit in the scheme, and confirm that you, too, feel better believing that you are inept, lacking, irresponsible, inattentive or incompetent. How do you respond when what others do isn't truly designed to help, or make things easier for everyone involved, but to add feathers to their own caps?
A self-centered individual's actions reek of control freakiness. Whether close up or from afar, their hands have to be in and over everything. Their intent is easy to discern. Some people don't think to ask, they just DO. They singularly decide what's best for others, thereby demonstrating not only a lack of respect, but a need to manipulate. God forbid that others have minds of their own. God forbid, someone else does something with excellence, let alone satisfactorily. A selfish individual strives to make sure the opportunity to demonstrate it never comes--especially in an arena they sincerely feel is theirs.
Their brand of generosity is flawed. Even when they're nowhere to be found, their giving still demands immediate credit, praise and attention. The kindness of their hearts is blanketed by their need to broadcast what they do, how much trouble it was to carry out in addition to everything else on their plates, and especially, how much it cost. There's always a catch involved in their sudden spirit of giving, as if what they do is supposed to scramble your opinion of their real motive. They need to make sure things are done to THEIR satisfaction, and according to their wishes, as if others simply aren't capable, have no preferences, can't, or won't devise a plan of their own.
Your response? Don't argue, complain, or try to make them see the grandeur of their selfishness. They won't. They can't. They're too busy reveling in the notion that they've done a great thing. Remember now, you TOO are supposed to be grateful for the fantastic, helpful thing they did in an effort to bring attention to themselves. Just nod and smile and proceed with YOUR plan. You need not pat them on the back, besides, there's no room for your hand. They've managed to get their own hand back there to do it themselves. Relax. Let them think they've saved the day--especially if it means less work for you, and proceed to enjoy your day--the way YOU planned.

SEASONED ARTISTS

Ever since our first meeting in September, I've looked forward to working with the delightful artists at Congress Heights Senior Wellness Center. I admit it. I missed teaching, and was happy for the opportunity even though it was presented as a temporary one.

There's a certain satisfaction in teaching people who actually want to learn, and are respectful and polite. It certainly helps not having to stop every ten minutes to address a behavioral problem, threaten to phone a parent, or take a trip to the principal's office! 

The seniors so attentive, and eager to try new materials. They're awfully wise, gracious, and witty, too. I learn so much from them. There was something special about being in a place that is just a little more than a city block from the house where I grew up. It's nice to have some way to give back in your own neighborhood. It's also nice to be referred to as "just a kid", or "still a baby". That really cracks me up as I see my shiny new AARP card that arrived the other day, and near my 51st birthday.

It's great that the seniors have a place to go that is uniquely theirs--a place that caters to their physical, spiritual, mental, educational, and social well being. Listening them speak with pride about their youth, former vocations, their children and grandchildren, and their current plans, is like experiencing a live documentary. These are the stories that young people should hear. The stories of people whose beliefs and values are part of the reason they're still here today.
I always lose track of time when I work with them. It's good to watch them as they create. They share, and compliment each other. They laugh, reminisce, and even sing. They have the capacity to see beauty all around them. They're honest and refreshing. They don't think there's an age limit on expressing themselves artistically. I love that. They definitely epitomize the challenge to never put down one's crayons.
None of them had ever used oil pastels before. I couldn't tell.
They've told me how much they appreciate me for coming to work with them. 

I honestly think I'm the fortunate one...: )

THURSDAY THOUGHTS: FAMILY TIME

The scene was beautiful, and diverse. There was an evergreen tree, dying, reddish-gold leaves, sunshine, and icy dew on the ground. It was so peaceful, too. 

I'm glad I decided to go on the impromptu weekend road trip to Williamsburg. 

I still didn't finish reading "The Help", like I'd planned, but I spent some quality time with my little nephew, whom I adore. 

For some reason he thinks I'm a good playmate. Bless his little heart. 

He thinks I'm fast and agile. "Nessa! Let's play baseball!" So we played baseball, using a neck roll pillow and a some tightly balled up paper towels. 

He enjoyed running around the room to the imaginary bases, and I always called "Safe!" when he slid into the imaginary home plate. 

He knows his shapes, colors and numbers. He can read and spell a little, too. He pointed out geometric shapes and colors around the room, and challenged me to do the same. 

We watched umteen episodes of "Thomas the Tank Engine" on Youtube, drew pictures, danced, and sang (and he can really sing!). 

Yeah. I was exhausted, but it was worth every minute of hearing his infectious, hearty laugh. 

It had been a long time since I heard my name being yelled, first thing in the morning, by a wee voice. When he was up, it just meant one thing. Get up, too. It's time to play. 

He has so much energy!

It's nice when a little kid wants to be bothered with you. They grow up so quickly. 

Let the children in your life know they're loved, keep them safe, and take advantage of teachable moments. Learning doesn't have to wait until they cross the threshold of a classroom..: )

TOO HOT TO HANDLE

First thing that Monday morning, I told myself, "That's it. No more late night Tostitos...or black beans doused with hot sauce...mixed with dirty rice." I didn't realize how violently I had been awakened from my sleep, until I went back into my room. The covers were practically on the floor. My spicy choices of food apparently didn't like the living arrangements in my stomach as I slept. They assaulted my poor little esophagus, and caused me to bolt out of bed a lot faster than even I thought I could move. I'm grateful that my body is working the way it's supposed to. It showed me just who is in charge, and reminded me that I am no longer in 5th grade. I totally enjoyed the hint of lime Tostitos that I chased down with Rock Creek ginger ale. Problem was, I enjoyed way too many of them at THE wrong time of day. Gonna make changes. Gotta make changes-- including cutting back on the atomic fireballs and red hot jawbreakers that I love so much. Fact is, that you can scare yourself to death while brushing your teeth when you see the bright red spit coming out of your mouth as a result of eating too many fireballs. I know. I'll tell myself. Grow up. I love my Frito-Lay, occasional shakes of hot sauce, and my old school candies, (Lemonheads, Hot Tamales), but do they love ME any longer? Sure they do. Just like anything else--in moderation...: )