Your Custom Text Here
I’ve had a few conversations with friends whose words really stuck with me. This morning, before you unload the dishwasher for the umpteenth time, take a moment to read their thoughts.
My walking friend let out this lament:
Read moreI remember the days when Thanksgiving meant, ‘Is someone going to put something in my mouth? Is someone going to make me a very special pie?’ I want to be the person waited on, not the person doing the waiting on. I miss those years and I want my mama back.
Gravy: the liquified essence of a bird's life. A good one has hints of sunshine, rain, corn mash, and even slaughter. Hyperbole, you think? Never!
My grandmother taught me how to make gravy. Hers was a basic recipe, nothing extra added in, other than the sheer effort it took to make a few gallons of the stuff. That's the catch, you see.
A three-gallon batch of gravy takes on a life of its own. But when the family swells the way that ours has, it is a necessity. So now, my job at Thanksgiving
Read more
I talked to my parents on the phone this morning and my mother had just returned from the grocery store where she had purchased a turkey for Thanksgiving. She is such a pro, she calls them ‘birds’. She usually roasts three birds, so why she came home with only one was a mystery to me. Evidently, the grocery store is running a turkey promotion limited to one turkey per customer per day. She will be going back tomorrow and the day after for two more birds. I said that was a lot of gas and time and trouble to save ten cents a pound.
I could hear her shrug over the phone. “What else do I have to do?” she joked.
Read more