Notes to Self

      

  

 Dear friends, family, and frenemies,

The directions read: "Take out the neck and giblets from the two body cavities of the thawed turkey." Sounds simple, doesn't it?  It doesn't sound like that process will involve knives, tongs, multiple trips to the sink to warm up my hands, a wrestler's arm muscles, gritty determination, ice chunks flung on the floor, and vocabulary that would not pass the tiztalk censors. Yet I fall for this ritual every year.  What is my problem?  Last year I told myself to put a turkey breast in the Crock-pot instead.   Why didn't I follow my own advice?  That's what I'm trying to figure out.

    A few years back I started writing notes after each Thanksgiving to make the next year's get-together better.  They can be very helpful.  For example in 2017 I noted that my son-in-law Cody likes IPA (indie pale ale).  That one is simple.  In 2024, I note that "Cody likes wine and doesn't need beer."  Okay, that's even easier.  Other notes seem to remind me of past fiascos:  no bowls of M & Ms for the kids, absolutely no stickers.  This year I'm reminded to "buy more ice cream for Declan."  How tragic to run out of ice cream at Grandma's house! I don't want that to happen again.  So, I have bought a few extra tubs this year.  The only problem is that my husband has discovered them, and there may yet be an ice cream shortage.  A girl can only do so much.

    In 2019, I advised myself to offer only one pie, one cake, and one kind of cookie.  Then in 2024, I said, "Forget pie and cake; everyone only eats grab-and-go items." Hmmm.  I'm okay with forgetting the cake, but no pie on Thanksgiving? So, I've compromised and bought a Mrs. Smith's apple pie just in case. And won't the kids be disappointed if I don't make chocolate chip cookies AND lemon squares.  All are in the freezer, as well as brownies and oatmeal cookies. I advised myself to forget the fresh vegetables; they are too much trouble.  That one I can do.  I've also eliminated vegetable soup for the day before Thanksgiving.  We now go to Shakespeare's Pizza instead.  And, in case you are interested, my notes claim that five large pizzas will feed us all and provide supper for another night.  Smart plan.  I am learning.

    I told myself to buy store-bought potatoes, gravy, dressing, and green bean casserole.  Would anyone really notice?  I don't think so. But I have already prepared the green bean casserole and dressing.  What is wrong with me? I will attempt to make gravy, but I have two tall jars of it, just in case my efforts fail.  Nancy has agreed to mash the potatoes.

    The hardest one to cross of the 2024 list is the red Jell-0 with bananas and whipped cream.  No on seemed to want it last year.  I grew up eating this before sitting down for Thanksgiving.  It was our appetizer.  Ask my siblings.  I loved putting a dollop of whipped cream on each guest's serving and sprinkling it with colored sugar.  My kids have enjoyed that task, too.  While my childhood pre-Thanksgiving cocktail of apricot nectar and ice cream (my sister will confirm, this, too) has gone by the wayside, the red Jell-O appetizer has remained.   The Jell-O does take up a lot of room in the fridge, and no one seems to care about it....Can I do it?  Can I cast aside my family tradition  to get with the times that don't recommend added sugar, artificial red food coloring. empty calories, and high fat content?

    Well, I could go on, but it is the day before Thanksgiving, and I do have a few things to do.  Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours, and don't forget to take notes.

Gabbing before gobbling,

I remain

Tizzie/Tiz/Liz/Elizabeth/Tizmom/Grandma

There's more...

Tizhap:

You have to keep this one to yourself, okay?  My husband doesn't know about this one.

A while back I lost my car keys.  However, my daughter had attached an Apple Air Tag to them, for just such an instance.  I was in luck. Once I figured out how to search for them using my phone -- I won't say how long that took - I began my quest.  The phone beeps showing you where the keys are.  Remember playing Hide and Seek and being told when you are getting "hotter" or "colder"?  It works something like that. It's not an exact science, but at least I knew the keys were at my address.  My beeping phone took me through most rooms of my house, up the stairs, down the stairs, into the garage, into every crevice of my car, back to the house,  back into the garage.  Of course, I was trying to do this without anyone noticing my actions.  Who knows what other  dumb things I had done that day?  I hate to make myself look too bad.   Anyway, I finally determined that the keys must be in the garage.  Holding my phone like Sherlock's magnifying glass I was directed around the garage.  Finally, I landed at the one place I did not want to investigate: the garbage can.  I took out the first bag, rifled through it, and there they were.   Had I waited one more  day to search for the key, my trusty Air Tag would have led me to the city dump.  Now that would have been a good blog.    

Walkers and Stalkers

 

Dear friends, family, and frenemies,

    "Watch out when you walk by the tavern.  Men will beckon you in to have a drink.  Don't fall for it," my mother warned me and my siblings when we walked to and from school each day.  While this never happened to any of us as far as I know, I always imagined that it might as I peered into the dark smoky bar.  I was also warned not to interact with the old men who sat all day on the low concrete fence that surrounded the courthouse.  Perhaps they were harmless, but they seemed scary to me. I can still picture one of them: a very tall man with a bum leg who had longish hair and wore dirty overalls.  He would wander around downtown and sit and smoke as we walked by.

    At the end of the school day, the principal would announce "north line" or "south line." I have never been able to tell directions, but I knew I had to get into the "south line." The patrol boy in a white belt would lead us single file for a few blocks, helping us cross the street.  After that, we were on our own. 

    A lot could happen on that daily two-mile trek that my two older brothers and older sister and I traveled each day.  As the youngest, I had to work hard to keep up with the rest, lest I be left to the old men sitting around the square.  I remember window shopping at Woolworth's and stopping at the gas station for a paper cone full of water.  When my brother got into junior high, he would hand me or my sister his lunch and tell us to wait until he had walked the long block past the high school by himself.  He didn't want to be seen walking with his little sisters or carrying his paper lunch bag.

    My husband told me a tale of what happened to him when he was seven or eight. I think my grandkids and their parents would flip if such an experience happened to them.  So, here goes.

    This story takes place in New Jersey circa 1957.  Bobby was eight or nine.  One day the Varone brothers, identical twins who were a few years older, blocked his path.  While Michael and Robert Varone had the same face, one's face was very long, while the other's was very wide.  Can't you just picture it? They told him that he was in trouble and that they had orders to take him back to their leader at the school yard.  Bobby didn't know what they were talking about, but he went with them.  He was scared. When they got to the school yard, their "boss" was furious with the Varones.  He said that he needed them to bring him Jimmy O'Connor, not Bobby O'Connell. They had nabbed the wrong guy.  Bobby went home and told his mother.  She was furious.  She called Mrs. Varone and let her have it.  How dare her boys mistreat Bobby?  Who did they think they were? She was tempted to call the authorities. It turns out that Mrs. Varone had just gotten home from the hospital when Bobby's mother called her.

    Flash forward a few days.  The Varone Brothers - one with a long face and one with a wide one -- caught up with Bobby at the baseball field with nary an adult in sight.  He was standing beside his bicycle.  They were very mad that Bobby's mother had called and upset their mother.  They said that he had to pay for what his mother had done to their mother.  One of them said, "Just let me punch you one time in the face, and we'll call it even."  Bobby reluctantly agreed.  As the big Varone brother pulled back his fist to land his punch, Bobby stepped back at the last minute.  The brother fell over Bobby's bike, knocked it over, fell flat on his face, and began to wail.  Bobby's friends laughed as the crying twin and his brother ran off.  I'm not sure if Bobby told his mother this part of the story, but I hope he did.

    The culture of walking to and from school is mostly gone now.  Kids are dropped off and picked up from school by parents or day care vans.  In the U.S., about 11% of kids walk to and from school. Unlike past generations, they haven't lived through the varied, rich, and sometimes scary experiences that fending for oneself at a young age can provide.

Walking and talking,

I remain

Tizzie/Tiz/Mom/Tizmom/Grandma/Liz

\

How You Look at It

Dear friends, family, and frenemies,

    Kids often remind us that life is more fun and interesting than we think it is.  Recently, my six-year-old grandson Finn announced that the three happiest days of his life were these:

1.  The day he found Papa's wallet

2.  The day he was born

3.  The day he married his first-grade classmate Nadine

I hadn't been invited to the wedding, so I had no comment on number three.  I agree that number two was quite remarkable.  But I burst out laughing when I heard number one.  I remember that day very well.  Finn and I were in our swimsuits waiting for Papa Bob to come home from his workout at the recreation center so that the three of us could go back there and swim.  Bob drove in the driveway and announced that he couldn't find his wallet.  As we say in our family, here comes "ye olde wallet search."  He had already checked to see if it had been turned in at the recreation center, but it hadn't.  He wondered if he had left it elsewhere.  I did my part: I called Starbucks.  Meanwhile Bob and Finn searched the car.  You haven't searched for something until you've searched with my husband.  He would make a zealous posse of cops with a search warrant look like slackers.  He can turn over and disrupt more space in no time flat than a toddler let loose with a shelf of books.  Flashlights were engaged.  Car rugs were overturned, shaken, and thrown on to the driveway.   The console was emptied.  The seats were moved and inspected.  Debris was removed and tossed from underneath the seats.  The plastic bag of garbage was perused.  The trunk was scrutinized.

Next it was time to search Pap's briefcase.  The contents were dumped on the table and carefully inspected.  No wallet.  Things were getting serious.  The next step was to go back to campus and retrace Bob's steps from the parking garage to Starbuck's.  At this point, I suggested that Finn and I just go swim while Bob continued  his search.  But Finn wasn't having it.  He wanted to go with Papa.  They walked carefully through the parking garage and along the sidewalks, looking behind pillars and underneath bushes.  When they arrived at Starbucks, they questioned a potential witness -- the manager -- regarding the billfold's whereabouts.  He had no information.  They went to the booth where Bob had sat and thoroughly examined the seats and floor, before heading to the bathroom.  No luck.  They trekked slowly back to the parking garage with eagle eyes.

Bob decided they should go back to the recreation center and check again.  They went in and scoured the dressing room, gym, and everywhere in between.  Still no luck.  Finally, Bob decided to ask another person behind the desk at the recreation center if his billfold had been turned in.  Guess what?  It had.  It had been found in the parking lot.  It was minus $30, but is was otherwise intact.

Various theories were put forth about how the wallet had landed in the parking lot.   Had Bob dropped it it as it he had gotten out of the car?  Had he left it in the dressing room and the thief had taken the money and then dropped it in the parking lot?  Had someone at the desk taken the money?  All are intriguing questions that gave us plenty to discuss.  Finn? he didn't mind that he never got to go swimming.  He had been on a quest.  And the quest had ended successfully.  Who needs to play Zelda or read Lord of the Rings when you can go on a real live expedition with your grandfather?  And that, my friends, is why Finn considers the day they found Papa's wallet to be the happiest day of his life.

Tizhap

I went to the recreation center yesterday as I usually do.  When I was leaving I got to yakking with a friend.  I picked up my keys and left.  Usually, I go right home, but Bob had gone with me, so I needed to kill time until he was done.  I chatted with a few more people and walked three laps before we went to the parking lot.  It was then that I discovered that the keys I had were not my own.  I ran back in the the rec center to discover a very distraught fellow exerciser with a friend who was offering her a ride home.  They were very glad to see me. My actions had only kept her in a complete panic for about twenty-five minutes.  One of these days I will pay attention to what I'm doing  Really.  I promise.  Until then Tiz will just keep "hap" -ing I guess. .

Questing and jesting,

I remain

Tizzie/Tiz/Liz/Elizabeth/Mom/Tizmom/Grandma

Twice-Told Tales

Twice-Told Tales

Dear friends, family, and frenemies,

                    "Why do you tell people that story?  It makes you sound ridiculous," remarked my husband.  Why, indeed?  I guess I am just unable to resist telling a good story, even if it does make me look bad.  And if I must sacrifice my pride to get a good laugh, a shocked expression, or a look of incredulity, I'm happy to do that.

                    I'll start with the story that garnered my husband's comment.  If you've known me for long, you already know both of these tales but maybe I can add a few new details.  It was March of 1986.  I had a five-year-old and a nine-month-old.  I was working part-time for a publishing company.  I was scheduled to go from St. Louis, MO, to New Orleans for an educational conference to work at the booth.  I was excited to get away for a few days.  I had received Garrison Keillor's Prairie Home Companion for Christmas, but I hadn't managed to read a word of it in three months.  I was looking forward to a nice long plane ride to read and relax.  And I did get a nice long plane ride and plenty of time to read, just not in the way I expected.

                    I arrived at the gate in St. Louis early and settled in to read my book.  No one enjoys peace and quiet quite as much as a young mother suddenly set free from her duties.  I may have even laughed aloud a few times, but I'm not sure.  I waited for my flight to be announced.  When those around me got up to board, I joined them.  I found my seat, sat down, and continued reading.  A man appeared and claimed that I was in his seat.  I showed him my boarding pass, and he showed me his. These things happen.  He disappeared.  I kept reading.  In those long-ago days when flying was less routine, I generally introduced myself to my seat mates.  However, on that day, I wasn't in the mood; I just kept reading.  I leaned back as the plane taxied.  The captain greeted us and announced, " We will be arriving in Washington, D. C. in ..." I turned to my seat mate and asked, "Is he joking?" The person looked at me strangely and said no he wasn't joking.  I stood up, raised my ticket, and exclaimed, "But I'm flying to New Orleans."  People turned and stared.  Perhaps you remember the E.F. Hutton commercial with two passengers on a plane discussing their financial advisor.  When one man says, "My broker is E.F. Hutton," everyone  stand ups and stares at the speaker.  My situation was something like that.  I wasn't exactly a celebrity, but I did get a lot of attention.  The flight attendant rushed back.  I felt sure that once the error was realized that I would be taken back to the gate.  That was not to be the case.  Did I mention that there was a Door A and a Door B at the gate?  It turns out that I had gone through Door A when I should have gone through Door B.

                    Now I was in a pickle.  I was supposed to be in New Orleans to cover the booth that afternoon.  I wondered if I would have to pay for the extra flight.  Not only was I not going to earn a day's pay, I was also going to have to buy a ticket.  Well, what could I do?  I sat back and read my book.  When we arrived in Washington, I got off the plane, bought a postcard, and mailed it to my friend whose boyfriend lived in D.C.  "Guess where I am? " I scribbled. Lucky for me, the plane and crew went directly back to St. Louis.  Not only did I not have to pay for the flight, but I was entitled to free alcohol.  What a deal.  I ordered a Bloody Mary.  The flight attendant said that I was the best-natured person that this had ever happened to.  That made me feel good.  I leaned back, sipped my Bloody Mary, and kept reading.  I arrived at the same gate in St. Louis where I had begun six hours earlier.  Eventually, I got to New Orleans.  Our most famous author was at the booth.  He was a quiet and serious man.  When he heard my story, he laughed until he cried.  It was a good day.

                    You did notice how I was able to read through anything in the story above?  This next story shows my strong powers of concentration once again.  I just don't seem to be concentrating on the world around me.  This story took place in the summer of 1975 in Champaign, IL.  Some friends and I went to McDonald's.  Rantoul Air Force Base was nearby.  There was a display of replica airplanes in the glass case across from the order counter.  While my friends ordered, I turned my back to the order counter and looked in the display case. The case was mirrored. Instead of looking at the model planes, I was taken by my own hair.  I turned my head a few times admiring what a good hair day I was having. When I turned around, the place was empty and completely silent.  I was taken aback.  My friends eventually appeared.  They were quite worked up.  "Why didn't you take cover?" they asked.  "Cover from what?" I inquired. They told me that a masked and armed gunman had come in and robbed the place.  Had I been looking at something other than my own hair,  I might have seen him in the mirror... I used to have the newspaper clipping to prove that the robbery occurred.  I wasn't called to be an eyewitness.

Titivating and tizivating,

I remain

Tizzie/Tiz/Liz/Elizabeth/Tizmom/Mom/Grandma