Quote of the Day


The annual Thanksgiving Checklist: 10 people, my house

Time for the annual Thanksgiving post.  I print it an put it on my cupboard door and then, when my brain freezes over, I just do the next thing.

because proper preparation and planning prevents poor performance!

at least 1 week before
1. purchase free-range turkey
2. finalize menu

  • pumpkin soup - Jamie & I
  • green salad of some sort - Jamie and I 
  • marshmallow salad - mom
  • green bean casserole - mom
  • mashed potatoes - Jamie & I
  • Roast Butternut Squash  - mil
  • turkey - Jamie & I
  • dressing - Jamie & I
  • gravy - Jamie & I
  • bread/rolls - Jamie & I
  • dessert: pecan pie, pumpkin pie, apple dumplings - Jamie & I
  • beverages - brother
  • Trader Joe's cranberry sauce - brother
2. make up grocery list
3. make and freeze pie crusts
4. timeline food prep
5. confirm that the food thermometer works

1. grocery shop

1. make mashed potatoes
2. roast pumpkins
3. make pumpkin soup
4. mix up brine

1. pick up turkey
2. brine big turkey
3. mix up turkey rub
4. make dressing
5. prep sweet potatoes
6. mix up pecan pie filling
7. stage apple dumplings

1. remove potatoes from fridge
2. rub down turkey if you didn't brine
3. make bread rolls
4. run & empty dishwasher
5. confirm garbage can is empty
6. sweep front porch and walk
7. stage tea station

1. make a thermos of coffee & prep coffee maker for next round
2. make sure you have eaten something sustaining
3. check your clothes: are you bespattered?

1. confirm small lamps and candles are on/lit
2. confirm dishwasher is empty
3. turn on coffee pot

1. dine

1. rest whilst others clean up.

1. set out desserts
2. receive second wave of guests.
3. listen to bluegrass jam session and chatter in a happy daze.


warts and all

And I don't mean this figuratively.

Fifteen years ago I took a warty-looking mark on my foot to my (former) doctor who told me it was a pressure point. So I ignored it.  Then about five years ago my "pressure point" sprouted numerous warty-looking babies.  My new (and obviously superior) doctor confirmed that they were in fact warts, all off-spring from the now very well-established Mother of All Warts.

We froze.  We Compound-W-ed. We injected bug venom. We froze and Compound-W-ed some more.  Last spring, we cut them all out. I had FIVE huge wounds in my foot, which I will not describe in detail. Just use your imagination and then some.

They came back and brought some babies with them.  Apparently all that fresh tissue is the perfect thing in which to grow new warts.

You are wondering, about now, why I am sharing this obnoxious information with you.  I'm wondering this too.  But since we got this far . . .

Last week I saw a dermatologist who prescribed Fluorouracil -- a topical chemotherapy -- and duct tape.  Weird huh?

Guess who has 3 fewer warts this week? 

And I suppose that is why I am sharing it.  If you are anyone you know is suffering from persistent reoccurring warts and you are not afraid of a tube of chemotherapy and a roll of duct tape, this post is for you!

But you will want to know that you won't be able to walk properly, as instead of getting better each day, the pain gets worse, as the treatment is basically to put on your body some goopus that eats holes in whatever it touches.


Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird
By Wallace Stevens
Among twenty snowy mountains,   
The only moving thing   
Was the eye of the blackbird.   

I was of three minds,   
Like a tree   
In which there are three blackbirds.   

The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.   
It was a small part of the pantomime.   

A man and a woman   
Are one.   
A man and a woman and a blackbird   
Are one.   

I do not know which to prefer,   
The beauty of inflections   
Or the beauty of innuendoes,   
The blackbird whistling   
Or just after.   

Icicles filled the long window   
With barbaric glass.   
The shadow of the blackbird   
Crossed it, to and fro.   
The mood   
Traced in the shadow   
An indecipherable cause.   

O thin men of Haddam,   
Why do you imagine golden birds?   
Do you not see how the blackbird   
Walks around the feet   
Of the women about you?   

I know noble accents   
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;   
But I know, too,   
That the blackbird is involved   
In what I know.   

When the blackbird flew out of sight,   
It marked the edge   
Of one of many circles.   

At the sight of blackbirds   
Flying in a green light,   
Even the bawds of euphony   
Would cry out sharply.   

He rode over Connecticut   
In a glass coach.   
Once, a fear pierced him,   
In that he mistook   
The shadow of his equipage   
For blackbirds.   

The river is moving.   
The blackbird must be flying.   

It was evening all afternoon.   
It was snowing   
And it was going to snow.   
The blackbird sat   
In the cedar-limbs.

Wallace Stevens, “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird” from The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens.