Is the turkey gone yet?

The answer is no. And the reason the answer is no is that eating turkey everyday until it is completely gone puts massive, cumulative amounts of tryptophan (sp?)that make you deliriously sleepy (and unable to spell tryptophan, triptophan, triptofan...) so you are unable to eat more than a meal or two a day because you are in nonnyland so often. This means that you are now behind in your Christmas shopping, card writing, gift wrapping, mailing of gifts so they'll be on time to the recipients, egg-nogging (that could be another reason you're sleeping so often), and other festivities associated with the season. Christmas is exactly 30 days away, so you'd better get rid of Mr. Turkey immediately if you are to fulfill your obligations to the hordes of family and friends.

Aren't the holidays fun? You get to work hard, earn money, work hard to find "perfect" gifts, wrap them in the latest style and not in last year's paper, try to decide if you want to pay an arm or a leg to either UPS or the USPO to mail them to their destinations, sign, address, lick and seal each envelope of every card and spend the yearly budget of a small nation on postage stamps (at least if the stamps were bigger with each cost increase we all might feel we're getting something for our postage cash outlay), clean the house, cook a big meal for both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, clean up after cooking and feeding everyone, and check the latest issue of Martha Stewart's magazine to make sure you had the "Best Christmas Ever". If you didn't meet that expectation/goal, just eat some more turkey (probably still left from November's feast) and sleep until the feeling of holiday failure goes away. If the atheists are looking for converts to their "don't believe in anything" philosophy of whatever, they should approach all women who have entertained during the holidays. They'll all be instant unbelievers, at least until the next holiday comes around and they have renewed energy to make it the "Greatest, Best Memory-laden Holiday in World History"...

Not again until Christmas...

I am thankful that I'm done shopping, cleaning, cooking and cleaning up and that I don't have to take on that task again until Christmas Eve. I am currently planning only foods that can be purchased, opened, heated (or served cold) with perhaps a homemade dessert or appetizer for my Christmas Eve and Christmas Day celebrations. Since I'm pretty much it as the "committee" for family celebrations here in YC, I get to do it all or do nothing and then feel like the Grinch or Scrooge or both. Since when did I lose sight of having a day off and its purpose--to rest a little, change the routine, enjoy life, NOT CLEAN ANYTHING! I am obviously a slow learner in this day-off category and my learning curve is very steep. I need an emotional SUV with hyper four-wheel drive to get my thinking onto the right road--the road to relaxation and enjoyment. I hereby promise to repent and begin my slovenly lessons...just as soon as I wash the last dish and sweep the kitchen!

Turkeys must die!

In four days, many Americans will be stuffing the turkey and then stuffing themselves. We who feast will all need to be wearing sans-a-belt pants or ones with very forgiving elastic waistbands. Once more, we slaughter an innocent turkey (if there is such a thing) for our dining table, add gravy from the fat drippings, potatoes with butter, stuffing, sweet potatoes with marshmallows, Jello salads made with fruit and cream cheese, cranberry sauce, rolls and butter, green beans with weird little onion rings on top and creamy mushroom soup all around, pumpkin, mincemeat (who invented that nasty-tasting stuff?),pecan and other pies with whipped cream, egg nog to toast the holiday and then we all pass out on the couch, in a chair, on a bed, in the kitchen, etc. and let our arteries do their work. I can hear the clog, clog, clog sound as it echoes through the house of sleeping, lethargic, "I overate" humans. Even the dog is experiencing a food coma from his overindulgence of Alpo with gravy. We wait all year for this event. We eat until we can't put a sliver of anything more into our gullet and then we all smile with gratitude for all the bounty we have in our lives and which we have tried to inhale in one sitting! The groaning begins. The coma sets in. And feeling like a boa constrictor who has swallowed a goat, we sleep. When we finally wake up, we begin discussing what more we can do culinary-wise at next year's feast and then we return home, find the next size up in our stretchy pants and prepare for the Christmas repast. Ho, ho, ho! and pass the gravy!!

And you are from what planet?

We are approximately one year and a lot of yank-your-hair-out ads from the presidential election. Only people living in a cave, under a rock, duct-taped to a steam pipe in some seedy basement, or under the "you're grounded for life" edict from a parent in 1949 don't know what lies ahead in the next 360 days. We will all be subjected to tedious, name-calling, bizarre, embarrassing political advertisements. We will see grown men and women saying and doing very stupid things and the best part is, these politcos are paying a lot of money to do this. Hey, if you want to say and do stupid things--you can do it for free. I've been doing it for free for many years. It has cost me a few friends, family members with long memories, acceptance as certain places of business, etc., but, I still did it all for free and it was not done so that millions of Americans could watch me in disbelief wondering if I had bent over and my brains fell out or whether there was anyone worth voting for in a November election.

There will be bunches of ads to get us through the holidays--there'll be no Merry Anything or Happy Whatever this election year, and by the time we all get our heavy-laden credit card bills in late January or early February, there will be bunches of primaries to confuse the election process even more. Ho, ho, ho! Personally, I think I'll vote for the fat guy in the red suit who gives funny names to reindeer. He's starting to make appearances in October now, so why not have him out and about all year long. At least he's cheerful, he works well with people, especially little people, he's giving, he doesn't ask much--just a couple of cookies and a glass of milk, he's used to running a business a.k.a. North Pole R Us, he can delegate--"On Dasher, On Dancer...", people are happy when he's around, no one in Congress will dare veto his bills or give him a hard time unless he or she wants a stocking full of coal and his or her name on a list of "naughty" people. So, there you go, the perfect candidate and he won't need to spend a lot of time explaining his program, because every kid understands it--be good, get a gift; be bad, nada. He won't have to expend hours trying to figure out what he believes, or what his constituents believe and he won't have to spend hours in the gym or try to hold his stomach in when he's out in public or to be fashionable at all hours. He's happy to be roly-poly and to wear the same outfit all the time. So let's hear it for Santa for President and let's get cracking on getting his name on the ballot. "Now dash away all..."

There I was minding my own business...

when a mosquito decided it needed a feast and I was the main dish. I was actually not minding my own business because I was reading my daughter's blog--brinni27.blogspot.com--and enjoying everyone's comments for her postings. I felt a little "itch" spot on my neck and then it grew into a "scratch-me-or-else" spot and my right hand couldn't help itself; it responded with maniacal scratching. Then I felt another little "itch" spot on my ankle and soon after one on my foot. I guess I had become the moveable feast for the winged beastie. Now I have three big, itchy welts on my body and somewhere in my house there's a bloated mosquito passed out after his repast. I'd go searching, but I know he is hiding away somewhere until his body absorbs all my AB positive blood and he's ready for a little dessert. Perhaps I'll just spritz a little whipped cream on my other ankle and wait patiently...and mind my own business.

Carol Burnett and other funny thoughts

I watched a special on PBS last night about Carol Burnett. She was a very funny lady and she looked at the world in a way that most other human beings do not. She was not afraid to make fun of herself or anyone else, but she never did it in a mean way. She just found all the little funny bones in a person's behavior or mannerisms and built around that little comedic skeleton.

Who can ever forget her as Scarlett O'Hara with curtain rod shoulders? Or Norma Desmond, who was the poster girl for silicone implants gone wrong? Or Eunice, whose curls seemed to be twisted a little too tight? The other members of her cast were superb and their chemistry as an ensemble was perfect. The formula had no blanks, no not-quite-there elements. It was such a treat to see Mrs. Ha-Wiggins busily filing her nails again while ineptly operating the intercom or primping. Watching all the cast members trying to stifle laughs because they were enjoying the skit as much as the audience was such a treat. I think everyone who enjoys a good laugh watched Carol Burnett's show thinking about how wonderful it would be to have been on that stage with Carol or Vicky Lawrence or Harvey Korman or Tim Conway. Those people had the best job in America, probably in the world. And many of us who were and are their fans were "so glad we had this time together" once again.

She made me laugh. She still does.

What's a girl to do?

It's 10:37PM on a Sunday night and I should be going to bed so I can pretend that I'll get a good night's sleep--an elusive event in my life. I sometimes imagine that, if I stay up until I'm deliriously sleepy, I might fall asleep and stay in that mode for the duration of the night. The only thing delirious about that thought is the thought itself. I can't remember when I've slept through the night. I'm like a newborn that needs sustenance or my diaper changed in the middle of the night, except I don't have a Mommy or Daddy to come take care of those needs.

I've thought about taking major medication to keep me asleep, but then I'd have the dream about swimming in a pool or other body of water and I'd wake up wishing I'd been wearing a Depends... I'm not very good when I wake up in the wee (no pun intended) hours of the morning to make a trip to the bathroom. I stagger a lot and occasionally crash into the doorway, career off the vanity and grab the window sill hoping to stay upright (and dry). I used to be a solid, sleep-through-the-night kind of girl, but old age and a bladder that thinks it's Silly Putty have changed all of that. I wake up in the morning looking as if I'd just gone 10 rounds with Cassius Clay (Muhammed Ali to anyone under the age of 55) and with the knowledge that those under eye creams with all their glorious promises about making my eye wrinkles invisible are some Madison Avenue guy's version of a knock-knock joke--"Knock, knock." "Who's there?" The response is silence as in "no one is there" because the eye creams work no magic and the only thing that is invisible is the money I spent securing that empty promise. At least I can elicit pity from passers-by. If I just had a cup with a sign on it, I might make back some of that money I spent on Eye Creams R Us.

Well, now it's 10:50 and I'm beginning to feel dozy, so I'm off to bed with hopes of sweet dreams...ones that don't include swimming pools, lakes, rivers or any other large collectives of water or vacant promises about what will happen to my eyes while I sleep. I already know what will happen. The wrinkles will cozy down just a tad bit more in the skin underneath my eyes and tomorrow I'll be ready for Round 2 with the Killa from Manila.