A No-Sense Thanksgiving

I have much to be grateful for this year.  Husband.  Family.  Friends.

What I don’t have is the ability to speak.  I woke up with my throat even more sore and raspy than yesterday.

Most annoying is the I’m-ever-so-thankful-for-husband?  Keeps forgetting and yelling questions to me two rooms away.

I also can’t smell, and therefore cannot taste, so cooking was a bit underwhelming.

But cook I did.  I’d chosen several fun, nutritious side dishes (roasted butternut squash and kale salad with lentils & roasted brussel sprouts with quinoa, pecans, and dried cranberries) and I figured whether or not I could taste it, it would be good for me.

The kale salad called for microplaned ginger in the dressing.  So at least I had some ginger on hand to boil into tea, with lemon and honey.

Whoo!  Something to drink!

Yeah, let’s ignore the five bottles of wine I got dirt cheap that are resting, unopened.

Despite the lack of yelling power, I don’t think I’m actually worse today.  Just not better.  And a little out of my senses.

Happy Thanksgiving, Y’all.

A Soupçon of Decongestant

My employer is extremely generous with my schedule.  Not so generous that I am paid for time I do not actually work, but that’s a tall order in the part-time world.  I worked the past two days but yesterday the guys were in the office a lot more and noticed plague-like sounds coming from my desk.

I had already been given the option that I could work or not work on Friday as I saw fit.  Since I plan to go in at least an hour or so to keep on top of the mail and not cry over this payday, I figured I could go ahead and mention the idea of my not coming in Wednesday (today).

They were quite fine with not having someone hacking up lung all over the copier.  Nicer still, I was given the go ahead to bill a few hours if I wanted to work from home on some design stuff.

I brought home printouts and forwarded a few things but in the light of today…not so much.  Cold medicine turns me a bit fuzzy and unimaginative.  I’ve spent the day mostly watching old YouTube videos.

That’s not true.  This morning after I decided three cups of tea did NOT equal a cup of coffee and brewed my fix, I had a spurt of productivity where I wrote a bit about Thanksgiving meals (not done yet…see: cold medicine vs. coffee), roasted some butternut squash to go in a salad tomorrow (SPOILER:  my Thanksgiving includes butternut squash.  And kale.) (I just took out and put back in that period SIX TIMES.  THERE IS A COMMA HERE BUT ONCE THERE IS ONE PERIOD IN A PARENTHETICAL I THINK IT LOOKS WEIRD WITHOUT.  PERIOD.), and then I sorted the six million pounds of laundry that have piled up.

We got off our laundry schedule because my Mom was nice enough to do some laundry for us but it was right after we’d done a bunch a laundry so we sort of tried to ride the wave of her niceness and fabric softener a little too long.

But I still wouldn’t let Tom do laundry today.  Partly because I know there are some work clothes I hung up that technically should be washed but I’m too fuzzy to figure out that particular closet conundrum.

Partly because Tom said he wanted to do some black Friday shopping (??) and I said OK then afterwards you could do laundry at the laundromat by my work while I catch up on the mail and he said OK.

And this type of conversation and miscommunication is extremely typical of us.  We have a conversation about how a particular day or timeline or procession of tasks might be achieved.  I walk away from it thinking that it is set in stone.  He walks away from it remembering that tasks need to get done.  And quite often he will offer to do said tasks in a manner other than discussed that are 1) accomplished sooner than planned and 2) require less input/commitment from myself.  And yet I refuse his suggestions because I have now worked out a thousand other tasks in my mind around the original discussion and cannot fathom how the world will work different.

Even if his new way is actually more convenient and would mean I had clean Penguin Pants.

(And if Tom read my blog, he could gloat at how in my medicine haze I just admitted sometimes I am an idiot and stubborn and quite possibly not the easiest of lifetime companions.  But he doesn’t.  So at least I still have that.)

Still Sick So Another Quick Conversation To Call A Post

Me:  Do you want enchiladas for dinner?

Tom:  Sure.

Me:  That’s a lot of work.  How about not?

Tom:  I don’t really care what we eat as long as we eat.

Me:  Challenge accepted!

(It’s going to be enchiladas with all the leftover veggies we didn’t get to last week including spaghetti squash, onion, 1/2 a carton of mushrooms, and some grape tomatoes.  Prepare for awesomeness!  Or, at the very least, food.  Let’s hope we can call it food by the time I’m done.)

DYI

Me: isn’t it very obvious right now (gesturing to Tom’s state of hair- both facial and head) that I married my father?

Mom: …Yes…but they had very different personalities.

Me: I know. When Tom gets drunk he doesn’t sing in French.

Mom: I was thinking more about Tom’s ability with home improvement.

Me: That’s true. Dad focused very much on the ‘Yourself’ aspect of DYI. Regardless of how many corners he cut ‘Doing It’.

Sorry Dad, but it’s true. You rocked the full beard better, if that’s worth anything.

Might Want to See A Specialist

It might appear to you that I get very few comments.  And, if you are turned off by verification/approval process to the point you yourself don’t comment, I get it.  I do.

But I have that process because I do indeed get a lot of comments.  Even with Askminet (a spam blockers add-on to WordPress), which automatically throws lots of things away, I can get a lot in my “spam” folder.

Every once and a while, a comment from a real live person who wants to communicate with me gets in there.  And every once and a while, I don’t catch it and hit delete all.  Sorry!

Every once and a while, although a comment is truly spam, it’s really really good spam.  I’m almost tempted to hit publish on those.  Instead, I cut and paste a few of them here.

As well as interesting, You’re an very specialist writer. I have signed up with the feed and show off forward so that you can interested in added of your respective amazing article. Furthermore, I have got discussed your site within my myspace.”

This reminds me of when a friend in high school tried to get me to submit an article to her underground magazine.  She (tried to) compliment me by saying, “You’re just so…verbose!  We really want to publish you!”  It made me wonder 1) why someone who clearly didn’t know the definition of verbose was publishing a magazine and 2) If I would ever win the “Most Wordy” Nobel Prize.

At least that is the theory.

This one was almost passes for real.  You’d have to pay attention to the junk email addresses and extra ad links to know whatever theory is out there, in reality it’s spam.

I think he laid out an elaborate method of scheming and discussed the distress that awaited us.”

AHH!  A spammer writing a captivating sentence!  I want to know more!  About him and the awaiting distress.  Not online pill ordering.

I am bookmarking your feeds also It was a quite nice theme! Just wanna say thank you for the information you have apportioned. Just keep on composing this sort of put up. I will be your accurate reader. Thanks yet again….

Aww.  Sadly, I will also be YOUR accurate reader and note the fakey fake from a mile away.

This is truly great to know. I hope it will be effective in the long term. Excellent occupation on this and keep up the very good function….

Some outsourced work-from-home commenter/ad generator needs to be paid in dictionaries.

Working on Real Words

I went to that evening yoga class again tonight. Great class.

Worse weather though. I did not lose control of the car. Mostly because my top speed on the back roads was 10 mph.

But going so slow had its benefits. I saw a red fox! First time I can remember seeing one up here since 2003.

Now along with putting seed out for the birds and squirrels, we will have to coat branches with molasses in order to keep birds and squirrels around for the fox.

Sandwiched

If you enjoy writing but don’t have an ongoing project, there are many places where you can find writing prompts in order to flex your creative muscles. In signing up for BlogHer, I agreed to receive emails including a daily idea on what to write about.

Last week, one of the prompts was: What is Your Favorite Hour of the Day?

I have two favorite hours right now.

The first has always been a favorite. 6:30-7:30am.

I am a morning person. Waking up later than 6am on a week day is akin to stealing from the collection plate; it feels sinfully good at the moment but I will pay and pay later.

By 6:30 I have had a cup of coffee. I’m ready for a second cup, some breakfast, and to start to prepare for the day. Since I wake early, this hour of chores and preparation can be done leisurely with room for add-ons, waylays, and wardrobe malfunctions.

Although this thoughtful time is my practical circadian rhythm at work, it feels decadent that I am never rushing out the door, hair unbrushed and lunch to be purchased at the diner. (Although sometimes my taste buds wish otherwise – DJ’s makes a great turkey Rueben.)

On the opposite end of the spectrum, a new favorite hour of mine is 8-9 at night.

I am slowly adapting to Wisconsin winter. (Oh, you don’t think I should use the “W” word before December? It’s snowing, 27 degrees, with a wind chill factor making it feel like 14. Call it what you want. I’m calling it winter. Might even capitalize it if I’m feeling frisky/frostbitten.)

Whether I moved to Wisconsin or Alabama (Let’s discuss which would be more culture shock!) worse than the temperature change for me is the time change. I should feel more centrally located but I don’t. I still call friends in FL thinking they are on the same schedule as me. And I should be more centered, what with this being a life dream and all. But instead I’m very thrown off that dark ‘o thirty occurs here before PBS switches from Sesame street to Sixty Minutes.

I am, however, slowly adapting. It’s a great asset that I only work until 2pm so I drive home in daylight with still an hour or two to spare. And last week I really enjoyed taking an evening exercise class. It got me out of the house at an odd hour and reminded me life can occur after dark.

But the best adapting I’m doing is to enjoy a winding down time in the evening. From 8pm on, I feel like it’s extra hours in the day. The clocking striking 8 reminds me of evening chores I’ve slacked off on. It’s still early; I still have time before I turn into a pumpkin.

Better yet, if I am all dish-washed and laundry-sorted, this is my time to completely vegetate. I can surf blogs, watch YouTube, play sill games on my phone. And even if I indulge for an entire hour, it’s still a quite decent early-to-bed time.

Even better yet, if I all caught up and have no interest in entertainment, once the little hand is on the eight and the big hand is on the twelve I have decided it is completely reasonable to slip off to bed.

Goodnight.

Do You Hear What I Hear

Tom scrubbing dishes. Clink. Drip. Scrape.

Lady chewing her feet. The worst slurping chew ever. When done, she lets out a woofley sigh and sinks her head between her front legs.

The wind. A constant wave with no ebb. Wanting more. Wanting in.

People Don’t Say Quince Enough These Days

Look! My dog came to visit!

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Oh yeah, my Mom came along too.

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Not sure how daily blogging will occur with a guest staying the week. Stay tuned.

Today is rainy in the north woods so we jumped on an indoor project my mother wanted to accomplish.

At the farm, there is a quince tree. I’m not sure how to describe quince except weird apple. My father used to make quince jelly and this year when the tree fruited much to my mother’s surprise she went through the juice process and froze it to bring to Wisconsin. As you do.

Actually, I think this may be a pre-requisite to visit now. Bring local produce to can so I don’t have to tend a garden.

Nothing too exciting about this jelly. Quince is high enough in pectin that you just boil juice, add sugar, reach gel stage, can.

Mom likes it for the color.

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There was a cup or so of juice left. I made a quince margarita. Because of course.