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10:54 a.m. - 2011-11-24
A Buffet of Random

How odd not to be cooking. I'm smiling a little thinking about all the goings on over at SIL's right now. Though she and her husband are tag team chefs and share the kitchen really well so the work is spread out a little. Even if Mick could cook I'm not sure I could do as SIL does, I am the Empress of the Kitchen. It is MY domain. One I don't share willingly or well with anyone else. At least not on a day like today when it's all about the food. I've been teaching Wolf to do more cooking but it's a casual thing done when both of us are in the mood. Mick can stir. I let him stir sometimes, but mostly he's the best scullery maid ever. Between rounds of cooking while I hang out in here Mick dashes into the kitchen and makes all the mess disappear. When I come out to do the next round my pots are clean, the counters are shiny and the sinks are empty. So while I get all the praise for putting a feast on the table, it's really Mick who does all the yucky stuff.

Why are we going to SIL's instead of ladling up dinner for vets over at the VA hospice? Because…because…well, it's family. SIL specifically asked to cook Thanksgiving this year and our staying away might be taken wrong. I can't hurt her feelings just because her mother is a twerp. I'll keep a civil tongue in my head and if it gets tough there's always chardonnay to help smooth out the rougher edges. I'm just sad Mick's nephew Jon is still down in Peru. His being there would have made it all kinds of easier, he'd have kept everyone enthralled with stories from his travels. Plus I really like him for his own self. Jon has a fine questing mind.

I twitted Mick while we were at Sam's the other day. There was a rack of the cutest little holiday dresses complete with matching ruffled panties and mad with longing I told Mick the least he could have done was to provide me with a niece. I had scads of nephews already. I have sons. What I didn't have was a girlchild to spoil. And a niece by marriage would have been terrific. Mick stuck up for himself and pointed out that SIL's husband has a daughter from his first marriage so she's sort of a niece. Right. Alana is 24 years old. Not someone who'd appreciate getting a floofy party dress in size 3-Toddler. *snerk* Just got a giggle imagining if they did make dresses like that in adult sizes and how great a plaid taffeta party frock would look with Alana's many, many piercings and tattoos. Hope she'll be at dinner today. Curious to see what her coif is like this year, last I saw her she sported a buzz cut in robin's egg blue.

My own mop is still shaggy and unbleached. The way the week was going there was no way I was letting anyone near my head with pointy scissors or 40% peroxide. I had quite enough disasters going on and didn't need to add fried frizz and some scalp wounds to the festivities. Speaking of wounds, my gouge is healing up nicely. Still tender and last night the dented muscles beneath were aching like a sumbitch but the skin is mostly okay again. Cool beans. My shoulder is better too. I can use my arm again, thank goodness. Having my smart hand out of commission was really hard. Even though my shoulder was screaming I kept forgetting to use my left hand, I'm just too right handed. Leading with my right is reflexive. It's been a frustrating few days. To say the least.

Not doing any shopping tomorrow. I refuse to bow to the slimy scams of Black Friday 'bargains'. I'm not sitting outside a store in the freezing cold all night like a kid in line for concert tickets. There's nothing I want or need to buy that'll make me give up my dignity and jump through retailers' hoops like a trained poodle. Anyway, aside from Wolf's gifts- very few artisan-made video games out there, everything on my list is from local craftspeople, farmers, and artists. I know shopping small is fashionable right now anyhow, but I've always tried to do my holiday buying near to home. Seemed only fair.

Mick just left on a bike ride. This way he can hog out later and not feel guilty. Too many years of competitive bodybuilding to ever be comfortable with the idea of eating pie without punishing exercise before and after. It's ironic that those things where the human body is held up as a paragon of shape and health and beauty require severely disordered eating to look that way. Models starve and bodybuilders live on dry protein and diuretics. Coaxing Mick to eat veggies and carbs was an interesting challenge. It was only once he realized he actually rode better with me feeding him that he relented and gave into the charms of sautéed string beans and twice-baked potatoes. Of course his bod doesn't look like it did when he was competing, but I don't look like a model anymore either. And both of us are happier for it. When everything you do is bent around maintaining a certain body weight and 'look' it makes you boring and cranky. Of course I'm still boring and cranky but that's another story.


Happy Thanksgiving, y'all. ~LA

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