Auntie Beth knows the holidays can be polarizing, and it’s not just because of voting habits.
It’s the cranberry sauce.
There will never be peace between the warring factions of jarred vs. whole berry.
For the record, Auntie Beth likes them both.
Grandma Kathy’s is a whole-berry house.
Let’s start there and examine the Thanksgiving staples:
Whole-berry cranberry sauce FTW.Also polarizing: green bean casserole. Auntie Beth is a fan.Not a fan of gravy, though.Mashed potatoes with the secret ingredient: cream cheese. Not great for the waistline, but worth it.Mac and cheese with about 27 different kinds of cheese.Dressing (NOT stuffing as it didn’t go in the turkey).Keep the carb fest going with rolls.Roasted carrots with sage and brown butter.A little salad so folks can pretend to be healthy.THE MAIN EVENTPumpkin pies: Libby’s regular on the left, fresh on the right.
For this Thanksgiving, we also had some different choices:
Brie and fig jam puffsDeviled eggsWhatever these are (delicious)
What are some dishes you can’t live without for Thanksgiving? Tell us all in the comments.
I’m so glad I have you. I know I ignore you sometimes. But Stella always gets her groove back.
I get sand in my shell, and my posts become my pearl. Well, they are pearls to me.
“Any writer worth his salt writes to please himself … It’s a self-exploratory operation that is endless. An exorcism of not necessarily his demon, but of his divine discontent.” –Harper Lee
What’s interesting to me is that what some readers find pearls are the exact posts that others find to be sand still.
For example, in election years, my posts seesaw between some kind of topical outrage and mundane daily life. Those who love the former also seem to like the latter.
But not all who like the latter also like the former.
I’m sure it depends on whether the person agrees with me or not.
However, if I don’t write, I might die.
“Words are a lens to focus one’s mind.” –Ayn Rand
It’s my chief creative outlet. It gives me a reason to get out of the house. (Sometimes it is the only reason.)
And through the magic of technology, I can schedule posts — a fact a former coworker (aka Mean Girl) didn’t understand. I’m convinced she friended me on Facebook just to spy on me. She complained about me to my boss, saying I was using work time to write. My boss told me. I was incredulous.
“Does she not understand how this works?” I asked him. He shrugged.
“A word after a word after a word is power.” –Margaret Atwood
Here I get to vent my spleen about her and others.
“I write to discover what I know.” –Flannery O’Connor
I also get an excuse to do research like I did when I was a full-time journalist.
“When you make music or write or create, it’s really your job to have mind-blowing, irresponsible, condomless sex with whatever idea it is you’re writing about at the time.” –Lady Gaga
Ultimately, this blog is for me. Maybe it’s for others too. It’s not for everyone. I’m OK with that.
Not a damn thing. Folks need to get over it. (Or stop doing stupid stuff to cause the face. 😄)
Here’s a handy decoder:
“Oh you think so, do you? FAFO.”“Let me get this straight.”“Bitch, please.”“I’m laughing at you, not with you.”“Come on, now.”“This MFer.”“Do tell.”“I’m just going to look down at my notes, because my face has nothing nice to say.”“Oh, honey. I actually feel sorry for you.”
Now let’s test your knowledge. What is my face saying to you?
A. This bar is great. B. The decor is unique. C. I found love in a hopeless place. D. I want to murder this man who sat four inches from me despite the fact that there were 10 empty seats at the bar.
If you said D, then winner, winner, chicken dinner!
Whatever you do, don’t be this guy:
It’s misogynistic and akin to “you should smile more.” Frank, how ’bout you train yourself to STFU.
If you need it, here’s a dude saying roughly the same thing:
It’s an extra layer of communication. Useful, I’d say.
I mean, just think about how moms operate. All you needed was THE LOOK from your mom, and you stopped your buffoonery immediately.
In retrospect, I should amend my first line. I do not “suffer” from FAFO Face. I actually celebrate it! I have the ability to communicate effectively without words.
You have everything I would expect in a county fair:
Rides assembled and operated by ex convicts Parking in a field Odd signs (“shave ice”) “Food” in the form of corn dogs and funnel cakes White people in overalls
You also have some things I didn’t expect:
Hats with fake Trump hairGoats with unusual peltsThe biggest trough of curly fries I’ve ever seenA rodeo (photo by Amy)Me as a chicken (photo by Amy)Inflatable cattleSleepy pigs
I’m a fan. That’s why I badgered my friend Jason into seeing you take on the Portland Thorns on the Wrex Coast Tour.
But it wasn’t the Thorns. It was the Thorns Academy. Like high schoolers.
Should have been an easy win, right.
Yeah, not so much.
When we left (early, because we are old and wanted to “avoid the crowds” as our dads used to say), you were down 4-0. One goal happened because your goalie was way out on the field.
You may not know this, but weird festivals are kind of my jam.
Anyway, I saw plenty while waiting for the parade to start.
People wearing protectionA reference for people of a certain ageOne of you ready to receive visitorsAnother reference for people of a certain age (POACA)Is it art BY you or ABOUT you?Prepared for the costume contestThey look fun!Photos with a Sleestak. Of course. For POACA. Happily, this child does not look as traumatized as she would have if she had seen the source material.I want to believe.
Things I never thought I’d hear:
“Watch out! Don’t hit people with your alien!” — a mom to her kid waving around an inflatable creature
“I don’t like aliens. They’re scary.” — an inflatable-free kid
Then it was time for the parade. I will tell you that I don’t much like parades. I was scarred for life by the boring St. Patrick’s Day parade in Savannah, which consists of politicians riding in convertibles and Irish families walking in a pack waving flags.
But this was my first year at your celebration, so I gave it a go.
Here are the highlights:
I love a band.I swear I thought she had a ball sack on her back. But it was just a flaccid alien replica.You aliens come in all shapes and sizes.And filled with life or … not.There were bad guys …… and good ones. That’s my friend Sarah!Van HALIEN, y’all!
Afterward, it was time for lunch.
Sitting around like it’s just a regular day.I had a crepe that was out of this world.
Then I went home to hang out with my own personal alien.
I have no idea what you real extraterrestrial beings think about all this. We must seem very primitive. There’s plenty of evidence for that.
My first week went well. Everyone has been very kind, very welcoming.
I’ve also been a bit overwhelmed at the scope of the work to do. I stayed late every night this week trying to get a handle on my role. But my instincts have proven to be sound, and I’ll be fine.
The view from my desk
I have discovered that Oregonians are a particular kind of nice.
They are lovely people, but don’t seem to go out of their way to help. High school friend Aileen, who lives in Salem, warned me about that.
You have to ask explicitly for what you want.
For example, I locked myself out of my house for the first time in my life the week before I started work. The doorknob of the door leading into the garage has a thumb lock you really have to work at to pop out. I thought I had done that.
When I returned from taking out the trash, I realized I had not.
I had only the clothes on my back. No phone. And I was filthy because I had been painting and unboxing and trying to get the place in order.
I didn’t even know where campus security was to get help. (I live on campus.) I walked to my soon-to-be office building to call campus security. One of my direct reports was working late. I materialized in her doorway. She and I were both horrified at the state of me. She barely recognized me.
Beth?!
Yeah.
She called security and handed me the phone.
Security officer: I don’t know that we even have keys to that place.
Me: If you don’t, do you know a locksmith?
Him: I’m not from here. I don’t know a locksmith.
Me: Could I use your phone to call one?
Him: Sure. I’ll meet you at your house in 10 minutes.
We arrive at the same time. He tried the keys. No luck. I use his phone to call a locksmith. The dude has to come from Salem, which is 45+minutes. He asks me what kind of lock it is. I tell him it’s heavy duty because it’s campus housing. He says he might have to drill it out. We hang up.
Me: I don’t think the facilities group is going to like that.
Security officer: No. I don’t think the campus locksmith will either.
Me (incredulous): THERE’S A CAMPUS LOCKSMITH?!
Him: Oh yes.
Me: Well, can we call him?
Him: Yes, I’ll call the facilities manager on call.
Me: THERE’S A FACILITIES MANAGER ON CALL?!?
Darrell the Campus Locksmith got there in five minutes and let me in.
See what I mean? Nice but not forthcoming.
It’s different from Southern nice, where people WILL go out of their way but talk smack about you when the screen door shuts.
And different from Midwest nice, where people will go out of their way with no expectation of return favors and no gossip.
So now I know. I can work with that.
I’ll keep you posted on the adventures I expect to have.
Observe and report 