REPRIEVE?

You know that little sigh of relief you sometimes get when you find that an event or appointment or social gathering---especially company coming--- has been cancelled or postponed, even though you were REALLY looking forward to it?   You know how it feels to simply have the time back, and the evening or day or week to do normal stuff and just let down and not wax the floors this week, or get all those boxes out of the guest room just yet, or not have to wear those Spanx and can take off those uncomfortable shoes in favor of comfy old slippers, and go what-the-heck and plunder the fridge for supper?

That letting go, that leaving off of preparation, that escape from the scurry to get things done in time---that REPRIEVE.   I think I’m in one of those---for our Thanksgiving group had to postpone their trip until after Christmas.   And so, we’ve had the days to put up one of the trees, plus we’re SIMPLIFYING everything this year---especially the décor (less is less and MORE is banished to the storage room).   We’ll have lots of lively young folks filling up the rooms, so we want to clear away all the geegaws and tabletops and sofa-cushions---just to fill the space with good times and plenty of room for the fun stuff.

And I didn’t in ANY way need a reprieve from THEM---I could just scoop up their cheery presences with a SPOON---it’s the fact that I haven’t yet had to move THAT chair to vacuum behind for the stray Poppycock, or run all the clean bankies through a lovely warm freshening cycle, readying all the beds for all the storytimes and sweet sleeps.

Or get this pickup load of stocking-stuffers and bags of books and camping stuff out of the kids’ bedroom.  

So, instead of taking a leisurely pace at the readying, we decided to have a tea-party this coming Sunday.  I’m perfuming the house with Old English and Windex and Pine Sol and Scott’s Liquid Gold, and blessing those little Mr. Clean sponge-thingies, a mighty step-stool for fridge-tops, some big ole pink gloves and an endless coffeepot.

If I don’t faint from the fumes, I’ll see you at the Tea-Table.   One lump or two?

Endive with chevre, dried cherries, and walnuts candied in Port.

BOSOM BUDDIES

The rainy patch on the weather map stretches from the Coast to the Great Lakes, and apparently the GREEN is going to cover us for several days.   And so for all of us who need a little sunshine, a smile, and a little BRIGHT---

Here are  two of the brightest spots in the Show-Biz Firm-a-Ment:  Angela and Bea.

CHECKIN' IT TWICE

A little girl came out of school into the bright wind, running into the breeze, delighted with the freedom and the prospects of meeting her Mommy for lunch at her favorite restaurant---the one with the big playroom with all its colorful slides and stairs and big windows and fun things to do.

She got into the car with her grandparents, and they all met at the restaurant, ordered, and ate their lunch.   As they sat, they saw several children go in and out of the doors to the playroom, and once, a beautiful little girl in a black leotard and tutu came out, her face streaked with tears, and ran toward her Mother.    She pointed back at the doors, was comforted, and stayed with the others at her table.

Our own little girl finished her lunch, and asked to go inside and play.   Her Grandmother got out the washcloth, washed her face and hands, and they went into the playroom, at that time filled with a loud tangle of little boys and girls.    Grandmother sat, and little one went into the staircase-tube to climb up; she reached the little balcony, and began to turn the big bright cogs of the wheel on the window.

“Listen to my MUSIC!” she said, the words muffled a bit by the plastic shield.   Her Grandmother nodded and smiled, as our little girl’s Mommy came in the door.   “Please go finish your lunch,” she said, and Grandmother responded, “In a moment; I’m enjoying this.” 

They sat for a few moments, as Mommies called their children out for Time to Go, and other kids wandered in and out.    In just a bit, the Grandmother noticed that our Little Girl was still up HIGH on the balcony, along with a couple other children---two little silvery-haired boys, perhaps four and five.    Another minute and there was a wail from Our Girl, then a full-out CRY, as Mommy and Grandmother jumped up from their bench.

Mommy called out, asking what was wrong---answered by more and more loud crying.  

Mommy shouted at the biggest boy to let Our Girl get by onto the stairs, and at the other one to stop blocking the slide so she could come down.   It took quite some time, and quite a few loud words from Mommy, but they finally moved and Our Girl finally came down the slide, tears dripping and her cheeks pink with the crying, and was taken gently out the door by Mommy.

Grandmother remained behind, placidly sitting on the bench, as the two little boys slid down and halted at the bottom of the slide, turning their backs to her.    “Oh, My,” she said, in her soft, kind voice, with its southern accent still apparent despite her long years in the North.   “Do you not know who that IS?”

She pointed out through the glass at the Little Girl, sitting on the lap of a round, jolly fellow, with kind eyes and twinkly glasses and rosy cheeks and his red shirt setting off his snowy hair and beard, as he wiped away Our Girl’s tears.  

The little boys peeped,  then looked at Grandmother with WIDE eyes.    “He’s her GRANDDADDY,” said the round lady softly, her own rosy cheeks and small gold glasses twinkling beneath her little bun of  pale hair.    

The boys took another look, eyes big as plums, and did not move as the Grandmother turned and left the room, gently closing the door behind her. 

THE THROWS OF CHRISTMAS

My dear online friend Kat just said on her blog that she had boxes and decorations and glitter in every room of the house and was in the “throw” of decorating (quotes hers) for Christmas.  

That one brought a smile---for first I thought of her lovely home, always perfection, always beautiful and neat, with all those cardboards and cartons and spills of sparkly stuff---probably the only clutter allowed to grace that well-ordered space all year.

THEN came the remembrance:   My first SIL and the ICICLES!   We used to buy those little flat packs of the thin-thin shredded aluminum/lead foil, to be draped onto the limbs of the tree to represent silvery, quivery shards of ice.   They came in a slim flat box, were thinner than tissue, with a dull gleam, and, since they were probably a foot-and-a-half long and folded in half around a little shirt-cardboard for convenience---they fell apart at a whisper, leaving you with a little mingy half-drape across the limb.

We’d separate carefully, taking them out one at a time---sometimes one person taking out and holding out, and the other gently removing the strand and laying it over the limb.   There were several camps on the decorating front:   Ours had careful one-string placement amongst the green, like this:

photo from jillsbooks

 

There were the ones who believed in decking the limb-tips only; the lavish grab of several, with the centers welded together by the pressure, placed around amongst the ornaments, and the one person I ever saw who loved the forest primeval look, and so grabbed them by the very end and squeezed an inch or so around the branch, so that they trailed down long and smooth.

And then there was SIL’s Method.  She believed in making it “look natural”---as natural as a lead-encrusted evergreen could look, with big handfuls tossed upward toward the tree, so that they fell as nature would have intended, had the skies showered great Pern-clumps of metal strings.

Whatever hit, wherever it hit---that was the intended spot.   And whatever landed on the floor was picked up, gathered into another, messier handful, and given another shot at it.  The whole thing looked like droves of drunken spiders had been spinning droopy, disconnected webs all up and down the tree.  Great bare spots were flanked by big ole crinkly wads of the things, and whole sections dropped their unbalanced little burdens onto the carpet, the tree-skirt, and all the presents below.  

And family lore still has it that you could set the Christmas Day clock by SIL’s front yard---the minute she licked the last scrape of Sweet-Tater Pie off her fork, she’d head home, and in a bit there would be a green mound out by the garbage pickup site, winking silver twinkles in the sunshine before the rest of us could finish the Dinner Dishes.

Did you ever use these?  What was your application method?

And someday----SOMEDAY---when I get to know you better, I’ll tell the story of our very first Christmas here, and the very interesting decorations on the perfectly-good little tree we pulled out of the Dumpster the week before Christmas.

A HAPPY DECEMBER TO EVERYONE!!

YOU'RE MY FAMILY

Thanksgiving was a quiet, homey day, with two slow, gentle days of getting-ready, of getting out the cloths and the goblets and which-bowl-for-what, knowing full well that the snap beans would go into Mother’s silver-rimmed little Harmony House bowl, as always, and the chocolate chess pie into Mammaw’s old chipped Homer Laughlin pieplate, brought out just for the honor, once a year, like an old faithful servant still asked to fumble a dish or two onto the table, because of their splendid service of the past.

Somehow, when I took out the two tablecloths, a sorta pinkish tan, with deep shades of fruit and flowers, bought at a yard sale several years ago for two dollars apiece, I just automatically reached for the heavy old pink goblets.   After all, they would GO, and I DO have five of them, and there WERE five adults.   Besides, the dozen bigger, older Mammaw goblets we usually use were snugged WAY in the back of the shelf, with a little sherbet dish nestled into each, to make space.

And so, Our Pink Thanksgiving table came to be---even a last-minute prink by our Sweetpea, who gently re-arranged the silverware and made sure the tea things were ALREADY set and waiting---well, those matched just dandy, too.

The plates were heavy burgundy crockery, handed round hot into our napkins after we sang the Blessing, and we had most of the old favorites from Mammaw’s and Mother’s tables.

The fresh-snapped beans, “canned” the day before by my first Mother-in-Law’s recipe of vinegar and sugar brine, then drained and cooked down low with onion and bacon:

The cornbread dressing, rich with Caro’s homemade chicken stock, studded with tiny mince of onion and celery, with the Mammaw's Kitchen scents of sage and black pepper. Two kinds of gravy peeking over the top.

 The sweet potatoes---not our usual custard with marshmallows, but the tiny “patties” usually only available this time of year in the “meat” aisle.  They were layered into a buttered dish and a thick-reduced simple syrup of brown/white sugar and vanilla poured on before baking.   They were still bubbling heartily when they were set down on the table, and were one of the favorite dishes of the day. 

A simple plate of steamed broccoli and cauliflower, with a little dish of cheese sauce beside, and Sweetpea’s Mac and Cheese.

Of course, the devilled eggs, the two kinds of cranberry---one homemade, the other the standard Ocean Spray, with the little can-pleats still showing, and a dish of DDIL’s famous (and that is literal---people call and want that recipe every year, and Sis says it’s become “her” family tradition in Texas, as well) broccoli/cauliflower salad, with bacon and cheese.

And that gorgeous Turkey---brined and then cooked in the just-so-regulated grill for hours that morning, to come out with the burnished mahogany sheen of a well-loved Camaro.

Shining and magnificent---the drumsticks just woggled around in the crisp skin, and came out warm and juicy: 

Sweetpea finished early, of course, and named off people around the table---"You’re my family, and YOU’RE my Family, and YOU’RE my Family."    Then she went around giving hugs all around, because “You’re my FAMILY!”

There was cheesecake with cherry sauce, and a Chocolate Chess pie, and we finger-ate all the big ole grapes out of the centerpiece.  After most of the dessert things were cleared, Sweetpea started handing round all sorts of percussion instruments:   A tomtom, a small drum, a tambourine, plus the two sets of drumsticks and odd items for striking:  She gave Caro a drumstick and a small pastry-brush from the drawer, and my big ole melmac cup “drum” was presented with a wooden spoon, so I licked my pie-fork clean and we started up the Rhythm Band.

We sang and tapped and bammed, and perhaps it was because I was getting so tired and turkey-lethargic just sitting there at the table for so long, but I started the TAP TAP KNOCK!  TAP TAP KNOCK! with all of us adults joining in and then coming in right on cue:   "WEEEE WILLLL, WEEEE WILLLL ROCK YOU!!" to Sweetpea’s bewildered, then delighted face. 

Oh, my.   Don't know the words, and never much cared for a rappy style, but nothin' like some seventies Queen to set the tone for nice genteel people, after a lovely repast, rockin’ out and banging on the crockery.  

After we wound down with THAT, she wanted the “Kitchen song” which I quickly realized was that twangy version of “You are my Sunshine” on the O Brother soundtrack---I sometimes play the CD on the Bose. 

When we all got up from the table, it was like my dream of Holidays---like the scene in The Big Chill after the big dinner, when they’re all rockin’ to music and dancing in the kitchen as they clear away the dishes and put away the food.

I hope yours was wonderful, as well.   I'm moving SLOW, but after this good family time, and yesterday's long hike, I think I'm back.