Leftover Thanksgiving Memories……

Trudging over a rocky path of painful childhood memories, I forget the occasions where hurt didn’t prevail in some manner.  We all do that.  I think.

Don’t we?

A week ago saw me rushing around in my usual frenzy right before Thanksgiving.  My oldest daughter and her two beautiful little boys were visiting from Florida, my home was a pleasant combination of playful noises and organized chaos with my grandchildren running around, anticipating all that turkey day would bring.

                                                                                                                                                     

Cooking preparations started last Wednesday as I busily worked in my kitchen grilling bacon and sausage; next to the indoor grill, in a large saute pan, vegetables simmered away in sage, ginger, rosemary, marjoram and other spices all tucked inside a little Bell’s Seasoning box.  This mixture, along with the meat, would soon marry with cubed seasoned bread to become fragrant, and delicious, turkey stuffing.   Except for music softly drifting in from the living room, things were quiet until I heard a familiar voice from behind asking “Did you put apples in the stuffing?”.  No one was there but the voice was undeniably my Mom’s.  Before Alzheimer’s took charge, those words were part of her yearly Thanksgiving repertoire and, once again, they started playing in my head.  Silently, I answered Mom, telling her “yes, of course I put Apples in, don’t I always?” and heard her give her usual sigh of annoyance with me. 

End of conversation.

She was never what could be defined as a creative, or adventurous, cook.  Mom made just the basics each week, mostly to suit my father’s feeding demands and I was never allowed in the kitchen to watch, or learn, what she did; when I married, it was a mad scramble to purchase and read every cookbook I could get my hands on just to get beyond the ability to boil water.  Over the last 40 years I’ve amassed quite an admirable library of written culinary treasures.

                                              

That’s one positive thing I can thank my mother for.


She enjoyed Thanksgiving more for the leftovers than the actual dinner each year, making sure to remind me about what food items she wanted to take home at the end of the day.  Shopping bags would be packed with containers of Turkey, Stuffing, Sweet Potatoes and more plus carefully wrapped plates of all the desserts that were served.  For the next week, or so, I would get a call each night from her telling me that “it was like Thanksgiving all over again” after she re-heated all the holiday food booty, stashed in her refrigerator, for dinner.  Probably one of the few honest statements Mom ever made remains embedded still in my mind….”I don’t know where you learned to cook, it sure wasn’t from me!”

No Mom, like so many things, I did it on my own but I’m glad you enjoyed all my hard work.  And, by the way, thanks for not throwing away all that Tupperware when Alzheimer’s started helping you clean house years ago.

 

Tonight, it will be Thanksgiving all over again, at my house. 


Signature

The Good, Bad, Sometimes Horrible Dog…Tonka’s Story

Bull-headed, arrogant and unpredictable…that was our Tonka. 

He was the product of a naughty kennel romance that took place at a dog breeder facility located in Hyde Park, New York; the breeder’s prize Rotty managed an illicit evening out with a black Lab that was being boarded there one week-end.  The result was a litter of five pups, two black and three chocolate mixtures, which the breeder promptly sold to willing buyers.  Our late friend, Danny, snapped up the prize of that litter and named him….Tonka. 

At his best, the dog would come to weigh around 152 pounds but as a dog-toddler, he quickly became too much to manage as his new owner’s battle with Congestive Heart Failure worsened.  In January of 2000, Danny had to be hospitalized and underwent surgery for an ICD (implantable cardioverter defibrillator); after that he was unable to properly care for his pet.

We immediately embarked on the adventure of becoming Tonka’s new family and what a trip it was….

That was eleven years ago when I went to Danny’s house to take, then one year old, Tonka to live in our home, released him from his crate, grabbed his leash and he bounded out of the door, pulling me down the steps with him.  He was excited, as if he was anticipating his new living arrangements with acres of land to explore or just happy to be taking a ride in the car.  As we drove down the road he sat like a prince in the back seat with his big head stuck out the window and his lips flapping in the breeze; pure dog joy was spread on his face.

He quickly became the Great Protector of his new kingdom although our Dalmatian, Missy, had already established herself as Queen and dominant dog member of the house.  Missy became Tonka’s woman; she ate first, he waited; if he didn’t, she would quickly remind him to back off.  Wait he did, sitting impatiently while drooling like a leaky faucet. 
They were…inseparable. 

Our Granddaughter Emma, not quite age one, became Tonka’s top priority and the dog became her floor cushion, step stool and window-gazing buddy.  Once, a family friend stopped by and reached out to pat Emma’s head as she stood near Grandpa; in a flash, Tonka was down the stairs and grabbed the man’s arm.  No skin was broken, it was more of a forceful but gentle reminder by the dog NOT to touch!  As more Grandkids came into the family, Tonka’s mission in keeping them safe increased and he enjoyed every minute of his duties.

                                         

By virtue of his breeding, there certainly was an element of aggressiveness; the Rottweiler side showed itself quite often as Tonka always managed to murder any toy he was given, even those labeled “indestructible”, in about five minutes.  He would turn and give off a snarl in an attempt to intimidate or when he was caught raiding the kitchen garbage can and we were awakened to pitiful crying one night when he managed to get his head stuck in the can’s lid after his midnight snacking adventure.

We much preferred the goofy Labrador side that didn’t give a hoot about much, like playing or getting wet and muddy in our brook…except… when he left big, dirty footprints on the carpet.

                                               

Tonka loved sitting on our front lawn, sometimes for hours, much like a sentinel on his watch.  One day, Airborne Express (now DHL) attempted to deliver a large envelope but when the driver headed up our driveway and his eyes met Tonka’s, said delivery came flying through the air and landed on the grass; the driver quickly sped away. 

On another afternoon a nasty dog, belonging to a former moron of a neighbor, came on our property; there sat the Tonk, stubby nub of a tail wagging, as if to say “Hi, welcome to my yard!”; the mongrel intruder promptly attacked Tonka, ripping his ear in the process.  From that point, Tonka’s personality developed an unwelcome edge; he started mistrusting anyone and anything unfamiliar, sometimes, even those of us closest to him but, never, ever, the children.  He remained loyal and loving, always, where they were concerned.

Tonka never forgot his first Master and when Danny would come to our house, the dog sensed his arrival long before Danny’s truck pulled up our driveway.  We lost our close family friend in 2004 and inherited his Chevy Blazer.  Each time Tonka saw that truck approaching, he would eagerly run to see if Danny was behind its wheel; once the door opened and he didn’t emerge, the dog would keep poking his head into the vehicle in search of a person who would never return. 

Cancer struck well over one year ago; for a short time, medication eased Tonka’s discomfort but the disease, all too quickly, worsened.  Getting the dog to take his pills became a losing battle; disguising them was a lost cause, he would easily spit out the capsules or any other form of treatment.  He started to fail, rapidly.  On his last day on this earth, he looked at me as if to say, “I’ve had enough, it’s time to let me go.” 

We gathered around him and held him, each of us hoping that he knew how hard it was for us to say good-bye that sad night of November 20, 2009.

Tonka is at rest in our animal cemetery along with his best friend Missy and Felix the cat; both died a few short months after Tonka.  Under a big Willow Tree lie three friends, buried with their favorite blankets, toys and… many wonderful memories.

Signature

Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and…not enough time

Sad, shriveled Pumpkins, that resemble the late Leona Helmsley, sit on steps and by the doorways of homes; Halloween was just here and, already, Satellite Radio is broadcasting various channels of holiday music.  Stores started putting up their Christmas displays and Lay-a-Way programs weeks ago in an effort to start capitalizing on revenue from early shoppers.

I’m not ready, not by any means.

It has been a difficult year, economy-wise, for everyone and mustering up any seasonal spirit (beyond a decent Cabernet Sauvignon) will take tremendous patience.

Now, now, I’m not being a Grinch; I enjoy Christmas and have a tendency to completely over-do the whole red & green thing each year.  It’s just the matter of never having enough time to do everything and be able to sit back and enjoy my holiday binges of insanity.

That’s why I so look forward to Thanksgiving; a day spent with close family;  my Granchildren’s anticipation of “the feast” ahead,  wonderful smells drifting throughout the house, crackling fireplace (electric), scented Yankee candles burning everywhere as my husband walks around sneezing and complaining about them.
                                                              
Ahhhhh, yes, I much prefer Turkey Day!
  

Right now, I’m in a manic rush to get my house in order; my Florida family arrives Saturday morning and all four of my Grandchildren will soon be sending the ice maker into cardiac arrest, running in and out, up and down the stairs, slamming doors and asking to be fed about every five minutes.  Of course, I’ll yield to all demands, especially from the two and a half year old who will insist on “olubs” for Breakfast.  He wants olives, he gets olives!  One will be stuck on each of his ten little fingers and he will sit, giggling, as he gently bites each shiny black little fruit from his two hands. 
                                                                     
I’ll also ignore any looks of disapproval from his mother while reminding her that she’s on my turf and I’m the food and…. entire house boss!
  
Early Thanksgiving morning, yawning Grandpa will be herding our three older Grandchildren into the car for a trip into Manhattan and….the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade, proud that he’s procured grandstand seats by Central Park for comfortable viewing of the annual spectacle.  Like last year, the children will be lectured not to consume any liquids in order to avoid bathroom stops and will undoubtedly be in a state of dehydration before the parade ends.  The trip last year involved a train ride into the city which Gramps thought would be a treat for the kids; ten minutes into that trip, the reports came over the phone about who was touching, or looking, or bothering who; who was hungry, who was bored and, of course…”are we there yet?” 
                                                                                
This year’s drive should be even more interesting….
  
Back at home, one huge Turkey will roast away on the outside grill, drenched in a Serrano Chile Apple Glaze while resting on a bed of carrots, onions and celery.  Inside, another large Tom will slowly bake, having been massaged with traditional seasonings, and stuffed with a Sausage, Mushroom and Apple Stuffing.  It will send out a savory aroma that will welcome the weary parade-goers home.  My best china platters and serving bowls will overflow with Mashed Potatoes, Sweet Potatoes, Stuffed Mushrooms, Stuffing, Corn, Cauliflower, Brussels Sprouts, Cranberry Sauces, Cheese Sauce, Giblet Gravy, Monkey Bread, Finocchio, Celery and….everyone’s favorite (or not) traditional Green Bean Casserole.
  
Hmmm….seems like I left a few things out…
  
I over-do this holiday, too…..food-wise.  Don’t criticize me, I’m a cook; this is one of the things I do best.  It gives me pleasure to see people enjoy a great meal and not be in a hurry to leave my table.  Thanksgiving is a relatively stress-free day, one of sharing, laughter and memories.  It’s a day where families sit down in one place, for an extended period of time, stuff their faces, fall asleep watching some football game and then….want to know what’s for Dessert!
 
I over-do that part as well..
 
Tutti a tavola a mangiare!
  
  
 
 Flicker of Inspiration Prompt #23: Time of the Season

 
Sharing a post from last November that I felt would be an appropriate response to the holiday madness heading our way!
 
                                 

Your prompt this week: 700 words or less, give us something seasonally appropriate; that is, after Halloween but before Thanksgiving.

Signature