Turkey Day

My parents are in town for Thanksgiving. I'm taking it day by day. I've already melted down once, but I'm sure I am not "done" yet. It's not them, it's everything. My Dad is this little old man. I have a clear memory of him running down the hill at our lake place, sprinting over the dock and diving into the water, coming up and floating me around on his chest while he did the backstroke. Now he does this slow waltz to move across a room: cane-foot-foot, cane-foot-foot. My kids started coughing the night before my Folks arrived but there was no talking them out of coming; damn the consequences! Well, the kids have RSV. "Has anyone at your house had pneumonia?" the doctor asked. Um, yeah, my 80-year-old Dad. My Mom seems happy to be here, she hasn't cried once that I know of! She cracks me up. She is the real-world Debbie Downer. She can take any conversation and just take the life right out of it. They told us they were bored. What they could do with two bad knees, two bad hips, a bad heart and numerous other ailments I have no idea, but we came up with what I thought was a lovely outing, easy on the joints and family-friendly. The town where I live has an old-fashioned downtown area that is seriously cute. In fact, if legend serves, it was the model for Disneyland's MainStreet USA. We've just had our first snowfall and the City has every tree on main street decorated (low wattage, high efficiency bulbs, natch). It's really pretty and festive and just my parent's thing. After dinner we bundled up and got in our "sleigh" and set off in the frosty night. My husband tuned in the radio to the all-Christmas-music station and the mood was set. "And now we hope you enjoy the mellow sound of Bing Crosby's White Christmas." We were all singing along and having a grand time when my Mom said, "I remember when Bing's kids wrote that terrible book about how he used to beat them. I've never heard his voice the same way."

Happy Turkey Day!

Halloween and the Perfect Woman

After that nasty incident last summer in which I fed peanut butter cookies to Type A+'s allergic daughter, I felt guilty for my "Perfect Woman" postings. I'm over that now and ready to continue singing her praises once more! How does my Perfect Woman celebrate Halloween? First, her yard is sprinkled with a perfect circle of fallen leaves. In the center are two reclaimed antique chairs that she has sanded and repainted to look really old and worn. In one of the chairs is a life sized scarecrow. He's a friendly guy, and not one bit scary. He's just flopping there in his chair, hay peeking perfectly from his OshKosh overalls. You ring the doorbell and have just shouted your "Trick-or-treat" when you are invited in, you must be cold. In you go and you are escorted to the crackling fire and given a mug of steamy hot chocolate. Maybe that isn't how she greeted every group of kids, but that's how she treated my daughter. Nice, huh? I know, she's a trip and a half. At my house I was the neighborhood grinch who didn't buy enough candy. "Just take one!" I'd say and slap their little hands out of the bowl. Okay, not really, but I did run so low on treats that I turned off the lights and made like no one was home at 8 o'clock!