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.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Friday, December 30, 2011
Belize dat. This might be my first novel.
The first big trip I took as an adult – my first voyage to California, actually – took me 5 months to plan. The trip Mack and I just took to Belize? We spent all of 30 minutes on it.
Basically we decided we needed someplace warm, someplace where we could get by with English, someplace cheapish, and someplace we could fly to LA and Kentucky from that wouldn't take either of us a day and a half. Belize fit that criteria the best and won the honors of a visit from us. Belize is so lucky.
We decided to rent a car and drive inland for the first leg. I'd read about a cave where Mayans used to do human sacrifice and desperately wanted to check it out, and Mack wanted to lay on a beach and pretend he wasn't a med student for a week. I won... at first.
We hopped in our little Suzuki Sidekick and headed to San Ignacio. The highway was great and it was only a couple hours drive from Belize City. As I happen to do, I got hungry and decided we needed to stop and get some local snacks, so about an hour in, we pulled over at a little roadside market. I bought fried plantains and Mack was offered a special green juice from a toothless guy on the steps that guaranteed his penis would be bigger and harder, and probably faster and stronger too.
We got to San Ignacio just as it was getting dark. I always get a little nervous when it gets dark and I don't know where I'm going because, well, I'm blind. Mack started to cross a bridge to head into town AND THEN WE REALIZED IT WAS ONE WAY.
See, how lucky is Belize?
Some locals helped us save a little bit of dignity, and we eventually made our way to the Midas Resort, a little complex of huts in the middle of the jungle along a river. The place was adorable, but the best part of it was the breakfast, which is where we met Marie Sharp and her boyfriend the Fry Jack.
Marie Sharp's habanero hot sauce is HOT, and the Fry Jack is like a puff of unadorned doughnut, but when you put them together and sop up your black beans and eggs with them, commence addiction.
With full bellies we headed out to do some exploring. The side roads were a little rougher than the highway, but we figured we'd be alright with our trusty Sidekick. We took our time heading down Belize's backroads, and that is when we spotted them.
The Amish. On a horse drawn buggy. Just a riding down the road. Like it's Minnesota or something.
Apparently a group of Mennonites from the Netherlands went wandering around in the late 1700s and eventually decided Belize was awesome. It's probably a good thing too, because their little colonies feed a lot of the country with their farms and without them, there'd be no dairy. How anyone lives without cheese is beyond me.
We saw a sign for 1,000 Foot Falls and headed off the main side road like true adventurers. Mack was at the wheel and getting pretty good at dodging the major potholes and navigating through mud, so I just sat in the passenger seat like a happy idiot on vacation.
The thing about Belize and driving is this: everything is 4 times longer than it says it is. The 1,000 Foot Falls were supposed to be 7 miles off the main road, but I swear we drove 15 and... nothing. I knew we must be getting close when we saw another car of tourists on the road. Mack scooted the Suzuki to the far right to dodge the mud, and then this happened.
If you've never had the privilege of getting stuck in the mud with other tourists, let me just tell you about it. It's actually pretty wonderful. You don't have to feel like a total moron all by yourself. You don't lose your shit on your spouse because there's an audience. And there's a real sense of camaraderie that comes from trying to push a car out of the mud and getting splattered in the face.
After about an hour of feeling worthless physically, we started using our brains and paired our cell phone with their fancy resort to call for help.
Once we were rescued, the only thing we wanted to do was drink a beer. We dropped the car at a car wash, popped open a couple of Belikins, made buddies with the car wash owner and his family, and literally washed down the dust.
At the end of that day, Mack was pretty fed up with my inland adventure and wanted to get to a beach. I managed to talk him into one more day to go on the cave hike human sacrifice adventure, and even though he started off mad, I know he absolutely loved it because he smiled ALL DAY LONG. This does not happen. See above.
The hike to Actun Tunuchil Muknal, which they kindly refer to as ATM since no one can say those other words, involved traversing three rivers with water up to your waist, skating down a mud trail, and learning how not to kill a whiny woman named Mary who insisted her husband John hold her hand ALL THE TIME. I'm not gonna lie, I kind of wanted her to drown.
Once we got to the cave, we discovered we'd have to swim in. Like can't touch the ground swim in. It was absolutely one of the most awesome things I've ever done and one of the most mysterious places I've ever been.
We wandered through the cave for about an hour, and I showed off my amazing butt climbing skills. Eventually we came to a "cathedral," a giant dry part of the cave that's like an enormous room just asking for human sacrifice. We looked at some tumped over pots and learned that they were only used once and then even they were "killed"by breaking them or putting holes in them and arranging them a really special way. Then we saw bones. Then we saw skulls. Then we had to climb a ladder, Mary whined about it, I sacrificed her, and we saw an entire skeleton of a teenage girl who was like a princess who was sacrificed because, clearly, the Mayans were getting desperate and the convicts and children they'd been sacrificing were not making the gods very happy.
There are no words decent enough for this experience, no photos that really do it justice, but my god I am glad I got to do this in my life.
Feeling sufficiently satisfied by my inland adventure time, Mack and I headed to the cayes the next day. We hopped a ferry to Caye Caulker, a little strip of land with two dirt roads, no cars, and plenty of restaurants. It was a little touristy, but Mary and John were nowhere to be seen and that's all that mattered. Well, that and access to a hammock.
We managed to snag a room at Da Real Macaw for the night and sat on the porch looking out at the ocean while Mack won some kitty love from a little guy who'd been in so many fights his ears were round. There was a bar right next to our hotel that had swings, and that's when I discovered that the pace of life on Caye Caulker is equal to that of a swing blowing in the wind, preferably a wind scented by mojitos.
Having mastered the art of absolute relaxation, it was time for another adventure. We booked a snorkeling tour to the Hol Chan Marine Reserve. Not only did we get to tickle the belly of nurse sharks, pet green moray eels, snorkel with giant sting rays and sea turtles, and wander around a coral garden, we also ate fresh-from-the-ocean conch ceviche and finished 2 gallons of rum punch before the day was done. It was incredible.
Basically we decided we needed someplace warm, someplace where we could get by with English, someplace cheapish, and someplace we could fly to LA and Kentucky from that wouldn't take either of us a day and a half. Belize fit that criteria the best and won the honors of a visit from us. Belize is so lucky.
We decided to rent a car and drive inland for the first leg. I'd read about a cave where Mayans used to do human sacrifice and desperately wanted to check it out, and Mack wanted to lay on a beach and pretend he wasn't a med student for a week. I won... at first.
We hopped in our little Suzuki Sidekick and headed to San Ignacio. The highway was great and it was only a couple hours drive from Belize City. As I happen to do, I got hungry and decided we needed to stop and get some local snacks, so about an hour in, we pulled over at a little roadside market. I bought fried plantains and Mack was offered a special green juice from a toothless guy on the steps that guaranteed his penis would be bigger and harder, and probably faster and stronger too.
We got to San Ignacio just as it was getting dark. I always get a little nervous when it gets dark and I don't know where I'm going because, well, I'm blind. Mack started to cross a bridge to head into town AND THEN WE REALIZED IT WAS ONE WAY.
See, how lucky is Belize?
Some locals helped us save a little bit of dignity, and we eventually made our way to the Midas Resort, a little complex of huts in the middle of the jungle along a river. The place was adorable, but the best part of it was the breakfast, which is where we met Marie Sharp and her boyfriend the Fry Jack.
Marie Sharp's habanero hot sauce is HOT, and the Fry Jack is like a puff of unadorned doughnut, but when you put them together and sop up your black beans and eggs with them, commence addiction.
With full bellies we headed out to do some exploring. The side roads were a little rougher than the highway, but we figured we'd be alright with our trusty Sidekick. We took our time heading down Belize's backroads, and that is when we spotted them.
The Amish. On a horse drawn buggy. Just a riding down the road. Like it's Minnesota or something.
Apparently a group of Mennonites from the Netherlands went wandering around in the late 1700s and eventually decided Belize was awesome. It's probably a good thing too, because their little colonies feed a lot of the country with their farms and without them, there'd be no dairy. How anyone lives without cheese is beyond me.
We saw a sign for 1,000 Foot Falls and headed off the main side road like true adventurers. Mack was at the wheel and getting pretty good at dodging the major potholes and navigating through mud, so I just sat in the passenger seat like a happy idiot on vacation.
The thing about Belize and driving is this: everything is 4 times longer than it says it is. The 1,000 Foot Falls were supposed to be 7 miles off the main road, but I swear we drove 15 and... nothing. I knew we must be getting close when we saw another car of tourists on the road. Mack scooted the Suzuki to the far right to dodge the mud, and then this happened.
If you've never had the privilege of getting stuck in the mud with other tourists, let me just tell you about it. It's actually pretty wonderful. You don't have to feel like a total moron all by yourself. You don't lose your shit on your spouse because there's an audience. And there's a real sense of camaraderie that comes from trying to push a car out of the mud and getting splattered in the face.
After about an hour of feeling worthless physically, we started using our brains and paired our cell phone with their fancy resort to call for help.
Once we were rescued, the only thing we wanted to do was drink a beer. We dropped the car at a car wash, popped open a couple of Belikins, made buddies with the car wash owner and his family, and literally washed down the dust.
At the end of that day, Mack was pretty fed up with my inland adventure and wanted to get to a beach. I managed to talk him into one more day to go on the cave hike human sacrifice adventure, and even though he started off mad, I know he absolutely loved it because he smiled ALL DAY LONG. This does not happen. See above.
The hike to Actun Tunuchil Muknal, which they kindly refer to as ATM since no one can say those other words, involved traversing three rivers with water up to your waist, skating down a mud trail, and learning how not to kill a whiny woman named Mary who insisted her husband John hold her hand ALL THE TIME. I'm not gonna lie, I kind of wanted her to drown.
Once we got to the cave, we discovered we'd have to swim in. Like can't touch the ground swim in. It was absolutely one of the most awesome things I've ever done and one of the most mysterious places I've ever been.
We wandered through the cave for about an hour, and I showed off my amazing butt climbing skills. Eventually we came to a "cathedral," a giant dry part of the cave that's like an enormous room just asking for human sacrifice. We looked at some tumped over pots and learned that they were only used once and then even they were "killed"by breaking them or putting holes in them and arranging them a really special way. Then we saw bones. Then we saw skulls. Then we had to climb a ladder, Mary whined about it, I sacrificed her, and we saw an entire skeleton of a teenage girl who was like a princess who was sacrificed because, clearly, the Mayans were getting desperate and the convicts and children they'd been sacrificing were not making the gods very happy.
There are no words decent enough for this experience, no photos that really do it justice, but my god I am glad I got to do this in my life.
Feeling sufficiently satisfied by my inland adventure time, Mack and I headed to the cayes the next day. We hopped a ferry to Caye Caulker, a little strip of land with two dirt roads, no cars, and plenty of restaurants. It was a little touristy, but Mary and John were nowhere to be seen and that's all that mattered. Well, that and access to a hammock.
We managed to snag a room at Da Real Macaw for the night and sat on the porch looking out at the ocean while Mack won some kitty love from a little guy who'd been in so many fights his ears were round. There was a bar right next to our hotel that had swings, and that's when I discovered that the pace of life on Caye Caulker is equal to that of a swing blowing in the wind, preferably a wind scented by mojitos.
Having mastered the art of absolute relaxation, it was time for another adventure. We booked a snorkeling tour to the Hol Chan Marine Reserve. Not only did we get to tickle the belly of nurse sharks, pet green moray eels, snorkel with giant sting rays and sea turtles, and wander around a coral garden, we also ate fresh-from-the-ocean conch ceviche and finished 2 gallons of rum punch before the day was done. It was incredible.
Belize taught me that breakfast really is the most important meal of the day, getting your heart beat paced by the waves is pure therapy, and any time you can get a man in a snorkel to give you the "blue steel" look, do it. But most importantly, it taught me that 30 minutes of planning leaves you plenty of time to find the most extraordinary surprises. Belize Navidad!
Monday, December 26, 2011
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
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!!" |
Sunday, December 18, 2011
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.
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.
Luckily, they sell gingerbread house kits with everything you need to look like you baked.
 |
| Laila "helping." |
 |
| Success! |
 |
| What they call "Sweet Success"! |
Tuesday, December 06, 2011
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...
Luckily, my delirium usually manifests itself in something to eat, and this time that something was pie.
Or, pies rather.
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...
Friday, December 02, 2011
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Monday, November 28, 2011
Traditionalists
True to form, my family spent this Thanksgiving doing what we do best -- cooking and laying around. My mom busted her ass getting all the food prepped, my dad accumulated so many grocery lists we probably ended up with more sticks of butter than any family needs, and my sisters and I soaked in the spoiling that comes with having the most awesome parents in the world.
Shout out to Mom & Dad: Me? Grateful for yous. ;)
Renee had a really bad cough, one that sent me back in time to when I was five and would get a cough so awful I had to sleep sitting up, one that plagued me into my 10th year of my life when my mom was so exasperated at trying to contain it she finally taught me how to do a shot of Bourbon, one that followed me into my 20s that would wake Shannon up from sleeping in the next room and compel her to fix me some tea just to shut me up.
Renee did what I used to do when a coughing fit steals your breath -- cried. And it broke my heart. So I scooped up the little petri dish, rubbed her back, kissed her head, and tried my luck.
Lilly also had some disease, but hers involved faucet nostrils and chronic diarrhea. I hate snot, which is probably why her face is raw today. I was pretty diligent about washing my hands since 1) I already contracted the Vomit Disease of October from that little petri dish, and 2) I was playing soux chef for my mom.
Alas, those little contaminants got the best of me.
I managed to eat the Thanksgiving feast, complete with four pieces of pie (yeah, I came down with pie madness), and got to watch three episodes of Dexter before I was bombarded with Children Afflictions. When I say bombarded, that is no exaggeration. It was a sweaty-toilet-trash-can-combo kind of purging. It was so bad I cried.
On the bright side, I'm not feeling so guilty about those four pieces of pie now. I'd prefer not to have nature's bulimia, but if it's got to happen, Thanksgiving is a good one to bulim.
Thankfully, it only lasted a day, a day that I spent in a Phenergan-induced coma that made consciousness feel like swimming in sausage. By Saturday I was good as new, so Mack and I took his new remote control airplane to Jacobson Park to do loop de loops and soak up what was probably the last bit of sun we'll see until March.
Shout out to Mom & Dad: Me? Grateful for yous. ;)
 |
| Charles made his famous stuffed pumpkins! |
 |
| Mom's Leek Stuffing beat out her Pumpkin Stuffing this year. |
 |
| Yes, we managed to eat all of that. |
 | ||
| Matty G. is officially a part of the Thanksgiving tradition. |
 |
| Ben & Renee got to choose decorations for their table. A bear with a tiara, Sherriff Woody, and a light up Snoopy. Obviously. |
 |
| Lots of Black Friday ambition, but guess how many of them actually went shopping? |
 | |
| Betsy managing to fall asleep in the middle of the living room floor? Another Thanksgiving tradition. |
Renee had a really bad cough, one that sent me back in time to when I was five and would get a cough so awful I had to sleep sitting up, one that plagued me into my 10th year of my life when my mom was so exasperated at trying to contain it she finally taught me how to do a shot of Bourbon, one that followed me into my 20s that would wake Shannon up from sleeping in the next room and compel her to fix me some tea just to shut me up.
Renee did what I used to do when a coughing fit steals your breath -- cried. And it broke my heart. So I scooped up the little petri dish, rubbed her back, kissed her head, and tried my luck.
Lilly also had some disease, but hers involved faucet nostrils and chronic diarrhea. I hate snot, which is probably why her face is raw today. I was pretty diligent about washing my hands since 1) I already contracted the Vomit Disease of October from that little petri dish, and 2) I was playing soux chef for my mom.
Alas, those little contaminants got the best of me.
I managed to eat the Thanksgiving feast, complete with four pieces of pie (yeah, I came down with pie madness), and got to watch three episodes of Dexter before I was bombarded with Children Afflictions. When I say bombarded, that is no exaggeration. It was a sweaty-toilet-trash-can-combo kind of purging. It was so bad I cried.
On the bright side, I'm not feeling so guilty about those four pieces of pie now. I'd prefer not to have nature's bulimia, but if it's got to happen, Thanksgiving is a good one to bulim.
Thankfully, it only lasted a day, a day that I spent in a Phenergan-induced coma that made consciousness feel like swimming in sausage. By Saturday I was good as new, so Mack and I took his new remote control airplane to Jacobson Park to do loop de loops and soak up what was probably the last bit of sun we'll see until March.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
