Endings and Beginnings

My dad's oldest brother, Uncle Bobby, passed away just before Thanksgiving. I don't have too many memories about him, but I adore my cousins Magnolia and Shannon and once pretended I was Scarlett O'Hara at his sprawling country house in Simpsonville.

Bobby's was the second funeral for me in November, the first being Sarah's sweet, wonderful mom Sally. In the weird twists of life, I actually knew Sally better than my Uncle Bobby. She brought me a set of screwdrivers for a housewarming gift when I bought my first home on Picadome, and I brought her a cake for her 43rd wedding anniversary. I know she thought I was the reason Sarah always smelled like smoke in high school, but despite my bad reputation, she trusted me to flush her IV and thus was my first patient that I nursed without supervision. I barely recognized my Uncle Bobby at the family reunion/Pa's 100th birthday party in April.

Family is immensely important to me, and not just my immediate family. I have Scotts that I am bound to, Hensleys that I have adopted, Bachmans that I grew up with, and friends who are so close they feel like family. I'm not always as good to them as I should be, but when it really counts, I try to be there. So when Uncle Bobby died, when that loss left my dad with an oozing sadness, I headed to Louisville with chicken noodle soup, crusty bread, pumpkin cookies, and my camera.

I sat with my Aunt Cindy, my dad, and my cousins and poured over pictures of Uncle Bobby. I listened to stories of limo rides in New York City, laughed at all the what-were-we-thinking hairstyles, stared in disbelief at how much he looked like James Caan, and got to know the man who sent all of us those sweatshirts with the Manhattan skyline when I was in elementary school.

This year has been saturated with endings -- Uncle Bobby, Sally, the Onheiser's dad, Jess's dad. But it's also been one filled with beginnings -- Lilly, Kieron, Elly Gail, Charlotte, Anna, Hanley. I don't know what 2012 holds, but if 2011 taught me anything, it's to live every day like the end of the world is on its way.

Tacky/FABULOUS

I recently met a fella named Michael at a gal named Seana's sweet potato-inspired birthday party. Leigh introduced us, telling me that Michael was the one who'd had that awesome Martha Stewarty Halloween party that we missed because we met the Terminator that night (and maybe did one too many of a shot called Treehouse). I was already feeling like a kindred spirit, and then he sealed the deal when he said he said he was planning a Tacky Sweater Christmas party.

You guys, I was at a party devoted to sweet potatoes! I was talking to a Halloweenster! There were plans for a Tacky Sweater Christmas Party!

In anticipation of this spirited affair, Leigh and I spent weeks scouring the thrift stores. I knew I wanted a knit sweater and not some crap with reindeer in a hot tub on it, so I ended up buying pretty much every knit Christmas sweater I uncovered. I also got the one with the reindeer in a hot tub on it, just in case.

None of them were maximum tacky, so I decided to enhance two of the finest with lights and jingle bells to really bring home the kitsch. Then I decided to add some flair to the other ones, and before you knew it, I had a full on collection... a perfect addition to the Hensley Family Christmas Traditions. 

Leigh and I got to the party early, and thank god we did.

Tacky sweaters just scream for awkward family photos.

I have never met a gay man who doesn't know how to make punch. Michael had built an ice cave, had anchored snowflakes to the ceiling, had a train track on his mantle, had a Christmas tree so beautiful it could have been in a magazine, but the poor guy thought you could make hummus with a cake mixer. What he lacks in cooking skills, though, he more than makes up for in hunting down extraordinary kitchy oddities, so after we got the food figured out, we toured his home museum.

This man has collections that make me want to collect, but where mine would look like a hoarder's paradise, his look like, well, like a gay man's decor. Snooping through his house (I actually asked for permission!) was fabulous, as was his sweater with names of some stranger's family members ironed-on in Scrabble fashion. There was also a Liz Wear sweater with quilt-like squares that had things like reindeer and sleighs and ALIENS?!! on it that was pretty amazing. That party was a blast.

And so was revealing our new tradition to my wonderful, and no doubt grateful, family.

Letters to Santa

These are just too freaking awesome not to immortalize here. This is why I leave warm, sunny Cali and head to where the babies are for Christmas.

Renee's, as dictated to my dad, says: "Dear Santa & Ms. Santa, We have a present for you from Gigi & Dude. I love you Santa. Please bring me babies that go on people's backpack. I have been a good girl. I want to ride on your sleigh sometime. That's all. I love your reindeer Santa Claus. Will you meet me at the beach sometime and at the zoo sometime to feed carrots to your reindeer?"

Ben's, as written by the kid himself, says: "Dear Santa, Thank you for the good work!!"

And so it continues...

Laila and I once again set out to do some baking this Christmas.

This time we tried making cake pops. I'd never made cake pops, but I knew they involved icing and cake being rolled into a ball and dipped into a coating.

I also knew they were delicious because Laila and I wolfed down a couple at Shahin's Christmas party a couple days ago. I may or may not have also become addicted to the Craps table there.

Anyway, since icing is full of trans fats and I couldn't in good conscience give people heart attacks, I bought organic frosting mix from Whole Foods to use for our cake pops. Let's just say things didn't exactly work out, and it could be the organic frosting's fault or it could be the improv coconut flavoring we added, or it could be that we dipped them in chocolate instead of candy melts, or it might even be an internal aversion to making good cake pops that I wouldn't be able to stop devouring that's to blame.

Luckily, they sell gingerbread house kits with everything you need to look like you baked.

Laila "helping."

Success!

What they call "Sweet Success"!

Diagnosis: Pie Madness

Between an exam on cardio that almost scrambled my brain and Thanksgiving weekend, I lost my mind.

Luckily, my delirium usually manifests itself in something to eat, and this time that something was pie.

Or, pies rather.

It all started when I got an issue of Better Homes & Gardens that featured a pie cart in a Thanksgiving article. That pie cart had pies on it, of course, but it had pies of varying sizes. Which is to say it had MINIATURE pies.

Commence the madness.

All the pre-made pie dough you can buy usually has trans fat galore, so pie madness got started by making pie crust. I use trans fat free shortening from Whole Foods and follow any pie crust recipe for my crust, but even though my method is the same and the recipes are generally identical, my pie crust is all over the map. There's some recommendation that people have that involves ice and not overworking the dough, and I try every time to follow that recommendation. The pie crust turns out fine... not perfect or award winning, but just fine. And then I get to fill it!

This year I made Paula Deen's Pumpkin Pie, Pioneer Woman's Pecan Pie That'll Make You Cry, an improvised Cherry Berry Pie inspired by blending this recipe with this one (mine used cherries, strawberries, blueberries AND raspberries), and Judy's Run for the Roses pie. I kept ending up with extra filling, so I kept making extra pies, and by the time the 2-day fit was finished, I had 20 pies of various sizes.

The verdict? Fruit pies usually do it for me, especially cherry, but this time, I think the pumpkin may have been the best surprise. Ginger, half and half and cream cheese will do that to a pumpkin pie.

I'm giving a close second place to that Pecan Pie. I usually don't LOVE nut pies, but that nut pie literally left me licking the bowl and on the verge of tears from a blend of happiness and shame. I hate to say this, but the cup of corn syrup I almost got a seizure pouring into the mix may deserve some credit for how delicious that pie was.

The Cherry Berry earned third place, a very delicious third place. There was an issue with soggy crust at the bottom (cook's error, I'm sure), but the flavors were still delicious and tart and everything you want from a fruit pie.

Last place goes to the Run for the Roses pie. It was soooo good and chocolatey and nutty, but the way it settled out when it was baking made it more like a cookie bar than a gooey, irresistible chocolate pie. I was wanting a not-Derby pie like that one Mack and I devoured at Ramsey's with a side of vanilla ice cream one cold night last fall, but this recipe was not it. Maybe if I had heated it up before wolfing it down I would feel differently.

I have no restraint.

The little baby pies were great for the kids. Thank goodness I had two little Run for the Roses pies because Ben and Renee each called dibs on those. Renee was a little sick and had crashed in Leiah's bed after dinner, and when Charles went to wake her up and tell her it was time to go home, the first words out of her mouth were, "But I didn't get to have any pie." So she got to curl up on the couch with her personal pie and finish her Thanksgiving the right way.

The mid-sized pies were great to have to send home with people. Betsy took a cherry berry with her for a road trip that night, and we were able to send Matty G. home with a pumpkin one. I ended up regretting giving away that pumpkin one...

Chinese food knows me so well.