I enjoy reading recipes in magazines and cookbooks, and there is no better time to do that than right after a traditional Thanksgiving meal. I particularly enjoy a good dessert recipe, especially if brown sugar is one of the main ingredients. Cream cheese blended with powdered sugar forms a good basis for a dessert recipe, too. Such recipes always get a second reading.
Pasta recipes intrigue me. Those that begin with “sauté green peppers and onion together” always catch my eye. Sometimes I read them twice.
Occasionally, while at a friend’s house, I actually ask for the recipe of an exceptional dish, usually sour cream and bacon bits are involved. Once after reading such a recipe I was tempted to go to the store for ingredients.
While I have over the years eaten a couple of good dishes containing peas, I’ve never voluntarily read a recipe containing peas as an ingredient.
Given my interest in recipes, it is sad most of the meals I prepare involve boxes of dry ingredients, bags of something frozen, and/or a can opener.
What? It’s dinner time? Sorry, got to go, I’m picking up pizza for dinner tonight….
“Pass the chicken and noodles.”
“I’ll have some roast beef and ham, too. Please.”
Turkey wasn’t served at Grandma’s Thanksgiving dinner. Grandpa and she served what they produced on their farm—chicken, beef, and ham. There was homemade bread with plum jelly, potatoes, green beans, pickled beets, and baked squash from their garden. The pumpkin pies were made with pumpkins from their patch. The whipped cream was courtesy of Grandpa’s milk cow.
Dinner was not served in a formal dining room, just a room furnished with a table which with a leaf, seated the adults. A pot-bellied woodstove heated the room. Two wooden rockers flanked the stove, and a lumpy, upholstered sofa hugged one wall. We children ate in the kitchen on a table I now use for my desk. (I think my grandparents would like that.)
After the womenfolk cleaned the kitchen, they joined the men in the larger, but somewhat colder living room. The men talked politics, farm prices, and weather between naps. The women caught up on neighborhood happenings. We children explored Grandma’s much colder upstairs.
There was no television, so no parade or football…certainly no Black Friday shopping to plan. I’m thankful for memories of my early Thanksgivings.
If I changed out of my work-out clothes into my office clothes at the gym, I would have time for coffee with the ladies at the gym before work. So…I hurriedly stuffed my winter boots into my gym bag. The weatherman promised temperatures in the 50’s with rain all day. It sounded like a good day for boots.
My coffee cooled while I zipped up my last boot. Oddly, the second boot wasn’t as tight as the first boot…nor as well polished…nor was the heel the same height as the first boot. Looking down, I determined my boots were not a “pair.”
Hmmm…coffee with friends, or a mad dash home to change boots? Well, I do enjoy a good cup of coffee with friends, and surely walking unevenly for one day wouldn’t permanently harm my back.
I’m not proud of it, but over the forty years I worked, I wore mismatched shoes at least a half dozen times. I also wore clothes wrong-side out or backwards the first few hours of the workday more than once. Turned out, bosses and co-workers paid no attention to my feet or clothing.
Now I wonder what my four children wore to school during my working years….
I was 21 and very excited! I had my Certificate of Registration. I could vote—and I have voted and voted and voted. My husband and children have voted, sometimes by absentee ballots while living out-of-state or out of the country. Over the years, I have knocked on many doors for candidates, left political door-hangers, and planted political signs in yards. I know how to check election results on the Secretary of State’s website.
This year I’ve spent my television viewing hours channel surfing as I listened to the many, many different views of the candidates. I consider both the biased and unbiased political commentators as possible friends. Last week, I even took part in a telephone political poll.
While I enjoy a good political conversation, I have learned to be careful with whom I have such discussions. (I do value my friends and wish to keep them.)
American men and women have died so I could vote, and so yes, this year I will again vote. Voting is important–and a privilege.