Maura's Illuminated Manuscript

Staying off Twitter & FB helped with the sleep, but last night's problem? Too warm. I shouldn't be able to see clouds of flies in November in Seattle, people. Goddamn global warming.

Talked to Good Sister on the bus this morning as I do about every other week. Quote from her: "Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?" She & Mom are in agreement that no member of my immediate family did the wrong thing, and neither did any of our current or former spouses. I take comfort in that.

Thanksgiving peeps: I have ordered a 6-10 lb. turkey. It's on like TRON, and you're in like Flynn.

November is upon us, and in the "U"S of A that means Thanksgiving isn't far away. Ever since I moved back to Seattle, I've greatly enjoyed the annual ritual of Goth orphans' Thanksgiving. The trouble is, all of the usual hosts & hostesses have had Lots Of Stuff Going On lately, so their silence is completely understandable.

In the grand Burner tradition, though, I'm going to attempt to make something happen. The trouble is, I don't have a whole lot of resources for this: a one-bedroom apartment, my vintage 1950s electric oven & four-element range in my galley kitchen, and seating at, you know, tables for eight*. I'm pretty sure my son won't be in attendance because a) his mother, who takes justifiable pride in her cooking, would consider it a personal affront, and b) the teenage eye rolling at Goth preoccupations would be distractingly audible.

Good: Two supermarkets and Phinney Ridge within walking distance, possible parking, mass transit access, and a hostess who's thrilled to finally have people over and who will make you eat your vegetables.
Bad: LIMITLESS COSMIC POWER in an itty, bitty living space.

Who's with me?



*Eight if I hit IKEA again. Five if I don't.

For the first time since maybe before I was married I made cornbread stuffing, this time for the Goth Orphans' Thanksgiving at chez theda. Two other people brought stuffing, so mine was forgotten. Ah well, I don't have any other food in my apartment at the moment anyway, and it turned out well if I say so myself. Next year? Salad or a veggie side dish.

Hanging out with my Peeps in Black reminds me pointedly of what a pop culture Philistine I am. I mean, I've hardly even watched any Buffy. For the most part I don't regret it: watching the tube makes me feel dirty, as if I should have been doing something else with that time. I blame (?) my father, who believed that to such a degree that between the ages of about three and eight, my family had no TV in the house. But now, an awful lot of the time I have no idea what people around me are talking about.

This is not to say, however, that I didn't enjoy hanging out with my PiBs hugely. I did, so much so that I closed the joint. And only at Goth Thanksgiving am I dressed up to the median.

I still want to rub stroppy_baggage's head.

For many years I would hear of the annual Goth orphans' potluck, and a few days later I'd sigh as I listened my in-laws drone on over yet another dinner at the Abbey. Well, this year I made it to the Goths - Nibs decided to do her big feast on Friday - and it did not disappoint! Many peeps whom I hadn't seen in too long. Favorite edible? m_cobweb's cornbread stuffing. Southern food FTW.

Last night at the Abbey was perfectly tasty and blissfully free of in-laws. It was marred for me, though, by family friend H being prudish about Burning Man stories. This sort of thing never happens with chosen family.

This morning I went to Bartell's and munched down the list of things my surgeon said to buy before surgery. ( Gory details here. )

A couple of new (to me) recipes selected & prepared by Nibs, of course, kicked a lot of butt:

1. meringued pecans - Cracklike. I suspect that this would be a prime PMS food.
2. apple & quince tart

I almost took for granted the celery root slaw, roasted sunchokes, mashed spuds with shallots, and cranberry sauce with o.j. & sherry.