It Came Back Around on the Geetar

Another splendid Thanksgiving has come and gone, leaving a trail of leftovers in its wake. Yesterday was wonderfully un-stressful. The weather was nice, the turkey took exactly as long to grill as expected (this is unusual) and was so juicy it induced culinary orgasm. In addition to a bevy of sides I made a lot of dessert. I don't know, I just felt like baking.






In addition to Margie, Chris and Sonya visiting, we have Jake and Veronica. Jake is thrilled Veronica has someone new to play with, and Monkey and Veronica are in love. We don't have any Jake photos, because he thinks the camera will steal his soul. Some of these photos were taken by Kate.

Kate Makes Plans

Kate and Sarah are very excited about the impending visit from Grammy Margie, Uncle Chris and Aunt Sonya. They've decided a trip to Krispy Kreme should be involved. Kate created this work of art in anticipation. That's the Krispy Kreme factory, see all the doughnuts on the conveyor belt? The unlabeled person is Sonya. I'm not there because I can't eat wheat, and I don't know why Grammy Margie isn't pictured. Maybe she was in the bathroom.

Leaf Pile

I wrote this post, published it, and went on my merry way, only to discover Blogger simply saved it at the photos only stage and now that I'm writing, everything is bold and underlined. WTF, Blogger? Happily, the HTML for underline is "underline", so I could easily find that and turn it off, because you don't get an option to do that in the GUI. Free blogs, I tell ya.

Anyway, it's officially autumn! The girls dived in headfirst on Friday afternoon over at Aunt Jo Jo's house. Later, they got even more leaf refuse crumpled in their socks and hair at the S'mores-making gathering at the community garden. I think we might have pictures, but I put Jeremiah in charge of that, and he was a little gripey about it, then just quit entirely. Free photographer, I tell ya.

Meat Lovers

We often buy eggs from the poultry farmer at the East Lake Farmers Market, the Little Red Hen. We've ordered a Thanksgiving turkey from her, and the other day we purchased a little hen, whose original colors I never knew. At the Morningside Farmers Market on Saturday I picked up some sweet potatoes. It was cold this weekend, so I wanted foods we could roast, possibly while wearing our matching Snuggies embroidered with the family seal. (Note to self: find out if we can get Snuggies embroidered with our family seal, also, dog-sized...?)

Jeremiah rubbed that chicken all over with herbs I grew in my garden, then stuffed her into the oven like she was the witch from Hansel and Gretel, and it smelled the house up something wonderful. Usually, I prefer the dark meat from a bird because all too often, I feel, the white meat is a bit dry. When Jeremiah cut into the roasted chicken, and we sampled a bit of its breast, I remembered what chicken tastes like. I think the last time I had real chicken was when I was in, oh, maybe, 4th grade, and I spent the night at Jennifer Baker's house and her dad killed a chicken for that night's dinner. We got to watch as he literally gave it the axe and sure enough, the beheaded fowl leapt up and began running all over the yard and I thought "ooooh, so that's what they're talking about". Since then, it's been these huge-breasted chickens. No wonder the meat seemed dry. They're fake boobs. Chicken starlets. Chicklets. Tastes like a lot of stuff, but not chicken.

Kate rejected the roasted sweet potatoes out of hand and, when we insisted she eat a bite of potato, she declared "when I grow up, I'm going to become a carnivore". I later walked into the kitchen, where the remnants of the bird lay, awaiting our attendance, to find this scene:


Usually it's the pets caught doing this.

Weary and Annoyed

On the ride home from school on Tuesday, the topic of conversation was toast. Kate wanted some. Specifically, with cinnamon. Not just "the brown stuff" but also "the white stuff you put in there, too." Sugar. Anyway, she was explaining to me exactly how she wants her perfect cinnamon toast and I was right there with her, some warm cinnamon toast was sounding like just the thing. She continued "...and please cut the crusts off. I don't like the crusts, Mom" she said. "Are you kidding me? I think the crusts are the best part of good bread!" I said, wishing I could eat a baguette fresh from the oven. Kate made an "iiiiccck" sound and said "we're different on that." Then she paused contemplatively and continued, "but we can still be friends."

Awwwhhhh!

It was Election Day, though, and in the spirit of the campaign and, indeed, the previous 2 years, I vowed to take her down. "Removing the crusts from your bread is bad for America! Why do you hate our troops?!?" I demanded, already seeing myself picketing her first grade classroom with my persuasive sign -

Ah yes, she's young now, all full of the spirit of compromise and tolerance, but we'll get that worked out and make her a Real American soon enough.

Before Halloween, Oakhurst

The day before Halloween the neighborhood of Oakhurst (across the street from us, we're East Lake residents), celebrated its 100th birthday. They had a little festival in Harmony Park with bouncy things, munchies and horses to ride. There was live music, and the weather was very obliging.

Halloween 2010

Time for a montage.







Of course, I couldn't leave out the best one. The one of Henry In Throes: