Frolic
Behold, the Pi plate.
Most of my frolic was in the days leading up to Thanksgiving, dancing like a doofus around my kitchen while baking. The soundtrack included, but was not limited to: They Might Be Giants, The Beatles, Elvis Costello (which rapidly became too depressing), and The Dead Milkmen. George Carlin had a bit about how no one gets laid on Thanksgiving (among other impediments, the coats are on the bed), and after all of that pie… well, we do what we can.
Food
By 1:30 on Thanksgiving, all the food was prepped and ready to go in the oven, the house and the people were clean, and I had even gotten in a two hour morning yoga class (taught by Baltimore’s own burlesque superhero, Trixie Little). Oh yes, we’re very good at this. It was the usual menu: Tofurky, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, stuffing (compliments of my mom), cranberry sauce, and gravy, plus a late addition, home made cole slaw. Last year, the omnivores brought turkey with them to have with all of the sides, but not this year. I consider that high praise.
The Lemontrees
So, look, here we are about to have as civilized a meal as is possible with my mom’s family. There is a rhythm to it, which is nice to recognize after all of those years of not having family dinners. We start passing the food, then Pete makes a production of giving everyone cash. Once we’re all eating, Pete complains about the price of something, then the conversation continues with my uncle trying to convince him to do something (move, buy a TV, sell a car, etc.) while I sit and riff on Pete’s initial complaint, at a volume only Scott and my mom can hear. This year it was the price of clams at Cross Street Market. Then Pete and Charles dismiss each other, and finish the meal making identical disgusting noises. Periodically, other conversations will start, which are always abruptly terminated by Pete cutting in with a story about the price of clams, importing zebras during the war, or Something That Has Been Ruined by Black People.
Then the ladies wash the dishes. The dogs bark. My cousin and my mom marvel at the organization of my kitchen. (“The lid to that container is on the top shelf in the second basket from the left. And that container? First basket on the right.”) And we have dessert: pumpkin pie and chocolate chip pumpkin cake, plus cookies, just in case.
Footwear
Pinky pinky.
Sadly, the shoes that I fussed over ordering for two weeks turned out to be both silly looking and leather. So, they have been returned, and in their place, I’m expecting the arrival of two pairs of fuzzy lined flats in the next few days. Happily, it was sixty-four degrees here today, but the weather is supposed to change this week, and it appears that my newly extended sandal wearing season may be cut short by a few days. But, I did enjoy the warmth today, and even changed over from my usual red polish to shiny pink, in honor of… something or other. Feet. November. Pie.
Fiction
My grad school application is DONE and submitted, and it is weird. As my writing sample was coming off the printer last week, I realized that it is one really odd set of work, and other than a few common themes (infidelity, shoes, cars) most of the pieces don’t even sound like they were written by the same person, which is great if they’re good, but lousy if they suck. The cool thing is that after spending four solid months getting my writerly shit together for a portfolio, now that it is done, I am absolutely fine with the idea that I may not be accepted. It turns out that in the process of getting everything together, I found most of what I was looking for in a grad program, anyway. It will be marvelous if I get in, and a neutral event if I do not. In a way, I am just as curious to see what happens to my writing if I don’t get in, as if I do.
Other Fixations: Scrabble
It is both fancy AND schmancy.
I have been jonesing for a good game of Scrabble for weeks. It is one of my things. I don’t think I have played since we moved here, and I miss it. Last night I received an early Hannukah present of the fancy new portable, deluxe edition, and Scott and I had a nice game. Games with him are pleasant, but Scrabble really isn’t his thing, and I need to find some one who is slightly more ridiculous about it than I am. I am good (highlight of the evening was dropping one letter for 38 points. Lowlight was having “Quinoa” with no place to put it.), but it’s time to find some one I will be hard pressed to beat until I have memorized the two-letter word list again. So: crazy Scrabble partner. Add it to the list of people I am inviting in to festoon my life with nerd garland and mirth.
