How can it possibly be nearly 3 months since I've blogged?
Craziness
Disappointment
Disbelief
I don't play poker -- what's with the constant upping of the ante?
What's with this kharmic hazing?
UNCLE!

Now THIS is stress.
I do hate to complain, I really do -- I have autonomy, some close working relationships, people I can trust....
But I haven't had a normal heartrate in over a week -- that can't be good. I'm suddenly married to my job -- an elopement out of the blue! And it's not an entirely healthy relationship.
I intended to start with good boundaries, good habits, a system. Instead I have an unhealthy work/home balance, a 'wing it' system with frequent panicked calls to the agency lawyer and the habit of staying up too late worrying about work -- ME? worry? But I'm not a worrier!
Guilt, oh everpresent guilt! Catholic guilt, Christian guilt, patriarchial guilt, wifely guilt, guilt stemming from but-I'm-always-the-over-giver, NOT-the-frequent-slacker!
I'm not pulling my weight at home and that makes me very anxious!
My kids are giving me grief about never being home!
My parents came to see me at work today (after just coming back from wintering in FL for 6 or so months) and I had to blow them off because I had a work crisis -- how many crises can an HR administrator expect??
I expect I'll be fine, but oh, the secrecy in HR! Where to blow off steam?

Ill Will in the Midst of Hope

I'm shocked. I'm estatic, to be sure, but there is an alarming theme that wove its way in and out of the comments from Joe Public today.
Today is Inaugration Day -- Barack Obama took the oath of office and became the USA's 44th president. He did it with grace and dignity, the required pomp and circumstance, and with wife and children by his side.
Newscasters from every station were there, adding their commentaries on every move the president and others made. Bloggers clogged the internet with their opinions on everything from Michelle's shoes to whether or not Obama's speech was noteworthy enough.
Informally, social networking sites and email listserves captured the very thing that alarms me -- a vehement ill-will toward the outgoing administration. One man who I've never heard say a foul word against anyone sent an email to everyone in his address book -- a photo of Dick Cheney in his temporary wheelchair with a subject line of "this makes my day." Women friends posted their status with violent desires to throw shoes at outgoing President Bush, hopes that the helicopter would crash, etc.
Isn't that where terrorism comes from?
Righteous indignation -- sure, people have reason to be angry and even hate the outgoing administration, but their reign is over! Isn't the hope and inspiration this country is experiencing enough? Isn't the desire for revenge and violence exactly the opposite of what our new president is asking of us?
My favorite moments of the day: The Obamas greeted by the Bushes on the steps of the White House -- oh, the graciousness! The congeniality! Michelle brought a gift for the Bushes -- not common practice -- beautiful! The handshakes, the hugs, the genuine smiles all around -- wow.
The speech: Obama began his inaugration speech with a genuine thank you to President Bush for his service to this country and his cooperation to ensure a smooth transition. Nice. Yet he went on to say that the USA would be be this and that AGAIN -- clearly indicating that we'd fallen as a nation, yet not directly attributing that fall to President Bush. Direct and clear, yet still gracious.
It surprises me that Joe Public is not taking Obama's lead. Bush is out of power, retiring to Texas, and the Cheneys? Who knows? Here we have this new dawn, new era, new administration, new hope and revitilization, a positive energy unlike anything I've seen in my 37 years as an American. Can't we just be relieved and let the change begin? Why focus on wishing bad things on the Bushes and Cheneys??
This worries me.

flogging or blogging??

Why can't I just go to bed?
A little OCD, perhaps? Nah -- I don't have any true rituals that I have to engage in, ever. Not OCD, but a little 'out there' on the OCD spectrum, for sure.
A few posts ago, I asked the reader to remind me to tell another food transportation story from my first marriage.
Here it is:
December 1999, a few days after Christmas.
Mike (the first husband) and I had moved to Newport, VT (my hometown) from Colorado Springs in September, 10 days after I gave birth to our 3rd child. The timeframe wasn't ideal, but Mike had a job lined up in Newport and had to start work on a certain date, whether I gave birth late or early (it was late).
Not too long after moving to Newport, which was comparatively dark, depressed and depressing next to to Colorado Springs, Mike lost said job, which left us in quite a pickle -- there aren't all that many jobs in Newport, after all. A little church generosity, a little unemployment, some state aid and we made do -- the story of our marriage.
My family decided to have a several-day house party that year -- my brother James had just gotten married and built a house, and they offered to host the whole clan for a few nights, through New Year's Eve. What fun! What a lot of food to feed all those people!
I was tired of being the recipient of everyone's generosity. One thing I could do was cook -- with foodstamps, I could buy lots of ingredients and provide lots of the food it would take to feed 20 or so people for a few days. I clipped coupons, I shopped, I cooked for 2 days, I tended my 3 children aged 5, 2 and brand new...
On the appointed traveling day, I carefully packed my goods into a cooler. I packed so carefully -- with 3 kids, 2 adults and several days worth of gear, there wasn't much extra trunk room in the station wagon, so I packed everything edible to go on the roof rack -- eggnog, milk, eggs, cheese, fudge, dips, etc -- a feast in a box!
Mike and I had been experiencing marital problems -- after knowing the man for a decade, I was beginning to suspect that his stories added up to grandiose ideas rather than reality. I expected that a man with 3 kids and an evangelical christian belief system would step up to the plate and support his family whether he liked his job or not. What I got was a job hopper with poor performance who couldn't seem to stay employed for any length of time -- underemployment, unemployment, dissatisfaction with every job -- it wasn't pretty. Funny, I believed his cockamamy stories for a decade, and then once we moved to Newport and I was on familiar terrain and in an environment that I could trust because it felt like home, I began to see the light, and that led to some serious questions about my marriage.
As we were packing to leave for my brother's house, I made a decision: I was going to trust the man to be a man and do his job -- he said he'd pack the car, so I delivered the bags to the front door, including the cooler, and chose not to check his work. If the marriage was going to work, and oh, I wanted it to work, then I needed to stop treating Mike as another child and trust him to be the man.
We left, more or less on time, and began our journey quite comfortably -- 3 kids in the back, books, toys and snacks where they belonged, and I didn't give another thought to the packing -- I knew I had everything we needed.
Just outside of Troy, nearing Westfield, I heard a sickening sliding above my head -- I didn't immediately place the sound, but movement in the rearview mirror caught my eye -- it was the cooler, bouncing on the road behind us, leaving a trail of eggs, milk and fudge. I told Mike to stop the car -- we got out and I started to assess the damage. "2 gallons of milk. 3 dozen eggs. A double batch of fudge..."
"SHUTUP!" Mike screamed at me... Mike screamed at ME?
I was no angel, not the funnest person to live with, but I tried. I tried to be a reasonable wife, and this ridiculous situation was no exception -- Mike destroyed 2 days of my work and our standing with my family by not securing the cooler on the roof properly, and instead of screaming at him, I chose to take inventory of my losses, not casting blame, not questioning his bungee cord securing... just taking inventory. And he yelled at ME to shutup? That was it -- one of the last nails in the coffin of a miserable marriage. The cooler was broken, everything salvagable was covered in broken eggs, I packed it up in silence, got back in the car and pulled out a little notebook. For the first time in a decade, I admitted in writing that I hated that man.

Upon arrival, while everyone gushed over how big baby Aidan had gotten, I quietly told my mother what had happened (she doesn't like kids so baby gushing isn't her cup of tea). She, who is no fan of conflict (or babies), said, "Be nice, Julie! Be nice!" Seriously -- that's what she said. It would have been better had she said, "Julie, I hate conflict. I can see that you are spitting venom toward that bum of a husband of yours whom I hate, but hey, could you put a lid on it? 'Cause I can't handle you spitting venom in front of me and everyone would be more comfortable if you could pretend you're ok with Mike for a few days."
Christian guilt, mother guilt... how could I not question my reaction?
With some half-hearted passive-agression, I made it through that house party, wishing I could tell Mike not to come home with me. I wished I could have left him in no man's land between Troy and Westfield with the spilled cooler, the hard-shell cooler that he secured with 1 bungee cord over the top... nothing behind, nothing to protect against wind at 50 MPH... the cooler that any reasonable person would have secured with 3x more bungee cords than he did.
After we got back from the house party, Mike was quite ill with allergies - he'd been ill for weeks, actually. Coughing, hacking, sneezing loudly every time the baby got to sleep...
Our wedding anniversary was January 11. Even though I had a little nursling, I arranged for a babysitter, a surprise, and picked Mike up at work. For the first time ever, I hadn't mentioned our anniversary to him -- I wanted to see if he could get out of his own selfishness (fully focused on allergies) to remember his marriage. I had gone so far as to set up a little test -- I had plenty of time to think while nursing my baby, and I thought and thought about this test -- if Mike remembered our anniversary, then I'd salvage the marriage. If he forgot, meaning he couldn't get out of his own head long enough to remember that he had a family, then it was over.
When I arrived to pick him up, it appeared that he'd remembered... about 5 minutes earlier.... Did that count??? What should I do??? I almost cried while he spent a few minutes in the bathroom, but I thought better of it because I didn't want to look like a crazy in front of his boss.
I took him to the Eastside Restaurant, had a lovely meal and gave him some clear indications about how seriously our marriage was in trouble. He dismissed it, and instead of having dessert and using the full time that I had booked the babysitter for, he drove us home, complaining of nasal distress.
It took me another year and a half, but finally, I got the hell out. Amen.

Ah, Christmas, a new year, such a time for self-reflection, re-adjusting family dynamics, reforming bad habits, turning over new leaves...
2008 marked quite a change in my life -- I gave up my firstborn.
You know how it is? You have a baby, you're attached at the hip (and the breast), you'd throw yourself in front of a bus for that child. You love him/her desperately, there's nothing you wouldn't do for him, to make him happy, to meet his needs...
What a surprise, 14 years later, to find myself sending that beloved child to live... not with me. And not worrying incessantly, as I did when he was 3 or 5 with a babysitter, or 7 when he was in school and having trouble coping. What a surprise to have the absence of my firstborn be a relief.
So has it been for the past 6 months, raising 2 kids instead of 3. A relief, a welcome respite, a delightful absence of strife, free-flowing kid-love without ridicule from the eldest offspring. Pfew.

Tonight I decided, spur of the moment, to have a second annual Family Meeting -- a fancy dinner out with conversation about what we are proud of, what we fell short on and what we'd like to accomplish the coming year. The first annual Family Meeting was much more difficult with the eldest child present, a child fraught with negativity and pessimism. The second meeting, tonight, was mostly pleasant interjected with a few tense moments.

After dinner, I figured I'd better write up my meeting notes immediately or risk never doing them, like the library board meeting I volunteered to record a couple of weeks ago... Where are those raw notes??

The below is the compilation of those notes.


Mulroy-Evans Family Meeting
Eastside Restaurant
December 27, 2008


What did you do this year that you’re the most proud of?

· Tom: Didn’t smoke
· Julie: Kept all my balls in the air
· Marika: Stuck with playing the flute
· Aidan: Learned to play the trombone


What do you wish you’d done in 2008?

· T: Finished the library upstairs, jobs around house
· J: Read more, worked at home less
· M: Walked the dogs more and done less media
· A: Exercised more, played less video games


What do you want to do better in 2009?

· T: 3 x 30 (exercise 3 times/week, 30 minutes each time)
· J: Bowflex
· M: Elliptical
· A and All: Family game night (Sunday nights)


Where do you see yourself in 2-5 years?

· T: 24 Concord Avenue, 10 pounds lighter, as happy as I can be
· J: Working on or completing a Master’s degree
· M: Still playing the flute, getting good grades, preparing for college, driver’s license, car
· A: Still playing trombone


What are you willing to do this year to get healthier?

· T: Lose 10-12 pounds by June ’09
· J: Read more, spend less time on the computer
· M: Moderate food better, spend less time playing Wii, media
· A: Eat healthier, use elliptical 2-3 times/week

Where would you most like to go in the world and in the USA?

· T: Egypt, Grand Canyon, Las Vegas
· J: Quebec City, Grand Canyon
· M: Paris/London, Georgia
· A: Japan, Colorado Springs


What we can do better in 2009:

· Stop rolling eyes
· Allow that there is more than 1 way to do things
· Respect boundaries – “Be careful…”
· Improve communication during conflict
· Spend more quality time together


What we did well in 2008:

· Tom: Pitching in more and more, willingness to change
· Julie: Juggled many balls, kept family running smoothly
· Marika: Patient, kind and thoughtful
· Aidan: More patient, calm and tolerant than the years before

back to first

Wow, what a cliffhanger. I just read my last post for the first time since I wrote it. Here's the update:
Saturday night I went to bed immediately after finishing that post. I didn't sleep on the couch -- I got into bed and spooned Tom, which isn't as romantic as it sounds -- 2 dogs in the bed necessitate snuggling, as there are paws and dog breath seemingly everywhere except in our little corner that we carve out.
Sunday I woke up with quite a headache -- I just can't drink red wine anymore, unfortunately -- it's my absolute favorite drink and yet it's making me feel toxic -- I drink wine, I wake up red-faced with a headache and no brain and feeling like I'm overflowing with toxins. An ibuprofin or 2 and a few glasses of water set me on the right path, but I feel like I'm losing about 45% of my potential productivity -- not good.
Anyway, wine aside, we... worked it out? Came to a resolution? Understand the other's POV? There are no words that adequately capture it -- we talked, we got heated, we got calm, I didn't cry, we made love as a re-connection method, we communicated effectively, we watched 3 episodes of House while Tom rubbed my feet and then I rubbed his head. It was sweet. It was healing. It was restorative.
My worry? Nothing is ever fully restorative. Every chink in the relationship's armour is not fixed by resolving the matter. A dent, or weak spot, remains, even after banging out the ding. Enough dents and you're really in trouble. A friend of mine describes this relationship phenomenon as silt on the riverbed -- every disagreement or trouble spot deposits a little silt on the riverbed of the relationship. Making up breaks up some of the silt, but not all of it. After a time, the silt clogs the river, and sludge develops, and it gets harder and harder for clean, cold water to flow through.
I don't want that. It's so unlikely that long-term relationships can maintain clear flowing rivers and shiny armour... but I don't want silt, I don't want sludge, and I don't want chinks. I've been married this time for 2.5 years... I'm doing the best I can to keep the crap at bay, but it's inevitable -- there is silt, sludge, chinks. How to heal them? I'm looking, I'm looking....

second fiddle

I'm drowning my sorrows in a glass of merlot. I'm on my first one, so by the time I get a few hundred words down, I will have to disclaim responsibility for being too disclosive.

I adore my husband and he adores me. That works pretty well most of the time. There is, however, some competition that causes marital strife on a regular basis: poker. Texas Hold 'Em. I refer to it as Tom's mistress. There are plenty of times I don't mind sharing his attention, after all, I'm a very busy woman who needs time to not talk, to cook, to clean, to iron Tom's shirts, to work, to parent, to do laundry, to walk the dogs... and to drink merlot.

The best thing about having a first husband whom I share children with is that I get to share the children. As in, every other weekend, Tom and I have 2 whole nights to ourselves. Except Friday is poker night. And poker night isn't just 'Tom goes out and plays poker and comes home late.' Poker night is "Julie gets the house as spotless as possible in anticipation of 7-12 guests and plans the poker night menu in her head whenever she's at the grocery store to ensure that Bucky has stick pretzels and banana bread and PJ has artichoke dip and Mike has shrimp every now and then and Art has Michelob Light and PJ's kids have chips and dip and there has to be some healthy food options -- fruit salad or vegetable platter...' and on and on. I did mention that I am a person of excesses, yes? That extends to my hostessing, for sure. I even go so far as to think about what to wear on Friday that is both appropriate and sexy enough for both work and poker, and which pair of high heels are both comfortable AND quiet on the tile floor. And can I walk the dogs in that?

I thought it would be fun to host a weekly poker game for several reasons: There was a lot of mystery surrounding this poker business -- who does Tom play with? What kind of people are they? Would I like them? What do they talk about? Would they like me? Tom's incessant absences from home to play poker were a frequent source of arguments. Not because I didn't trust him or want him to have outside interests, but because I often felt that poker ranked higher than I did (do) -- Tom wanted to play poker more than he wanted to be with me. The last straw was one Saturday morning in bed -- the kids were at their dad's, we were fooling around, and somewhere along the process it became apparent that Tom was rushing me a little bit. I was ENRAGED when I discovered that he was rushing me because he wanted to get to a poker tournament -- it felt like his mistress was standing over the bed saying, "hurry up! Git 'r done and let's go," while Tom was thinking, as long as I meet her needs before I go, she'll be fine with me playing today... I wasn't fine, and it was one of many weekends wasted on arguing about poker and priorities and where do I fit in?

Hosting a game potentially solved a few problems: with a standing engagement, I would know what to expect. I'd get to see how Tom interacts with his mistress. It would meet my social needs -- I could play hostess, meet new people, entertain, and Tom would be home while engaging in his passion, with my blessing. Win, win, right? Well, mostly, except for a few things that cropped up: poker players aren't very social. They tend to be gun totin' Republicans. They don't listen when they're in the middle of a hand. They can sit and watch me bring in 49 loads of groceries from the car without ever offering to help. What started as a promising social engagement for me with motivation for keeping a cleaner house has evolved into a hostess-for-pay gig. I still wear high heels, put on a good spread, engage in conversation when the opportunity arises, but I know my place, and it is in the kitchen. And the next morning? Oh yeah, I'm in the kitchen 'till noon, doing dishes, putting away chairs, moving tables, mopping the filthy floor... while Tom sleeps in after playing 'till the wee hours of the morning.

I've been ridiculously busy for months with work, bringing work and stress home nightly and every weekend. Yesterday marked the first Friday in ages when I packed my briefcase with... nothing. Nothing urgent to accomplish over the weekend, no deadlines to meet, no grants to write. PFEW. I came home a little early, so glad that this monumental weekend coincided with a kid-free weekend. After a little down-time with Tom, who also got home early, setting up for poker seemed like a breeze. After the guests arrived and I was buzzing around, replenishing coffee, whisking away dishes, serving up fresh hot dishes hourly, I also evesdropped -- everyone was talking about a tournament in Westfield Saturday morning (today). Tom sounded... interested yet noncommittal.

I went to bed early-ish after everyone quit eating and continued their card playing. I'd stayed up late every night this week, cleaning, working, Facebooking... was more tired than I had been in recent memory, so I slept late -- it was well after 8 this morning before I became cognizant of the time. I asked Tom if he was planning to go to the Westfield tournament. He answered noncommitaly again, seeming open to the possibility of doing something with me, but only if it was something he wanted to do. I wanted to run, clean up the poker mess and get my house in order. None of those are on Tom's fun list. He went to Westfield, I went running.

I realized around 11:00 that I was going to have to go alone to the art gallery show I'd promised to attend. I wished I had friends to call up and ask to accompany me. I don't, so I got ready and went, alone. It wasn't particularly comfortable or well-attended (I was afraid of that), but I introduced myself to some people, tried to mingle, etc, and was rather surprised when my main mingler said, "Leaving already? But we need some local flavor here!" Huh. Then why didn't you make some eye contact and direct some conversation my way if you wanted to woo me into staying? Damn the Northeast Kingdom and its vague social cues.

After I got home I started wondering if I had spent a whole 45 minutes getting dressed, coiffed and made-up only to be seen by 8 or so art show people, me who seems to have this thing for being seen if I want to be seen... and I was prepared to be seen. Then Tom called and said he'd won the tournament (yay! money!) and wondered if I'd be okay with him bringing home a few guests to play poker for a few hours. Sure. Whatever.

I made coffee. Sliced cheese. Put out crackers. Cleared off the table. They arrived. I thought about the fact that Tom had remarked the day before that we had the weekend to ourselves and we should have a date night, which I interpreted as dinner out, and I was dressed and ready to go. I walked the dogs. Went upstairs to iron shirts while waiting for the poker people to leave. Thought about the fact that it was now 5:40 and Tom hadn't mentioned dinner, wasn't dressed or groomed, sorely needed a haircut and shave, and I didn't particularly want to be seen in public with him until those things were done. And I got mad.
Only every other weekend do we have time to just be together, and one of the 2 nights is consumed by poker. The next morning is consumed by poker cleanup. That leaves Saturday afternoon/evening to be together. Tom knows full well how important grooming, hair, shaving and wardrobe are to me. He slinked upstairs at 5:52, saying that the players would be leaving in 8 minutes, and would I like to go out for dinner (as if it were a new idea and wasn't the plan all along)?
I was already quite hungry and wasn't too keen on waiting for people to leave (as it surely wouldn't be 8 minutes only), hair to be cut (my job), bathing and shaving to happen.... I got mad.
People left, Tom groveled, I was uncharacteristically firm -- I didn't give in for once -- this happens so often -- Tom disappoints me by putting his mistress before me, I get pissed, it's too late to do what I wanted to do (go out), so we stay in, order take out and watch our favorite DVR shows (House). I couldn't do it tonite. We argued for a while, he was amply apologetic, but I could not give in this time. I'm sleeping on the couch. Why? We have 2 nights alone every other week. 1 of them is consumed by poker. This weekend? Poker took up 15 hours of Tom's time (and an ample portion of my time hostessing and cleaning, and yes, I do work fulltime) between Friday evening and Saturday evening... and he wanted to give me from 6-10 PM? Ungroomed? No thanks. 4 hours for me vs. 15 for the mistress? No thanks. I'll blog, I'll clean, I'll walk the dogs. But take the 4 hours as something acceptable? No. I'm sorry, I said, but no -- I can't do it this time. I've done it many times, but this time it feels like giving away a part of me that I can't afford to give.
I peeled a cukeumber. Ate some salad. Declined when Tom offered to order Chinese. Declined footrubs while watching House. Was uncommittal when asked if I would sleep in the same bed. I'm a practical person. I get addiction, I get passion, I get infidelity. But being second fiddle in this manner? Um, no. No more.

Creating a Stressful Thanksgiving

You're not going to believe what I just did!

I've been in Thanksgiving limbo for a week, unsure what my family plans would be due to my father-in-law's hospitalization in Delaware and my (local) sister-in-law's departure to go to Delaware and help with her dad. For a few days it looked like we would be making that pilgrimage, too, but then Dad Evans was released from the hospital into hospice care... and SURPRISE! The local sister-in-law, Louise, brought her dad home today.... to Brownington... as in, LOUISE's home. Full time care? By whom? What are the expectations of the other local siblings?

Late this afternoon my Thanksgiving plans congealed. Not only Louise and Dad Evans traveled to Vermont today, but also sister Martha from Philly and brother Richard from California who flew into Philly earlier this week. All these travelers? Travelers who have spent the last week and a half running between hospital and Philly, making life changing decisions, getting thoroughly exhausted, etc? The least I can do is give 'em a Thanksgiving dinner.

I'm hoping the turkey will be totally thawed tomorrow morning after spending the night in brine... but if it isn't, I can run to Shaw's and buy a fresh one, right?

After deciding to put on the dinner, soup to nuts, I sat down to hammer out a shopping list. I wish I could tell the world about my very effective method of not losing my shopping list because it works so darn well -- I make my list on a post-it note, stick it to my wallet, and when I get to the store, I stick it on the handle of the shopping cart. I am so proud of that!

I returned from the (expensive) shopping trip to find no people available to help carry in groceries. I hate putting away groceries. I don't mind making the list, organizing coupons, doing the shopping, lugging in the groceries, but finding a home for everything? Especially when the kitchen isn't pristine and there's already stuff collected on the counters where I need to pile the food so the dogs don't lick everything? Yuck.

That issue aside, I really like having a night to get my meal together before the day of the dinner -- rather than make do and get irritated cooking in a non-pristine kitchen because I don't have time to clean, I took time to clean. Hah. Counters decluttered and washed, everything out of the way, even polished the stove. A little silly, I'll admit, but I can't seem to help getting more and more anal as I move along my life, so why not just embrace it and enjoy a shiny cooktop?

Next, I freed the turkey from its plastic wrapper and coaxed the giblet bag out of the semi-frozen neck cavity, mixed up the brine solution and plopped that baby in a lobster pot and set it out of the way. Disinfect the sink, faucet and scissors? You betcha.

I decided to make a list of all my menu items so I don't forget to bring something to Louise's (did I mention that this dinner needs to be transported from Newport to Brownington? not quite sure yet how to time everything and incorporate a half hour 'in the trunk' lag time). That reminds me of a time more than a decade ago when I was a fine, upstanding church lady (this being the period of time when I learned to cook and clean like every fine god and husband fearing wife does)... My first husband and I were going to a potluck dinner. I made a delicious fish chowder -- a fabulous recipe that I created myself, I might add, and the soup was in a crockpot in the back of our new station wagon. First husband was not a great driver -- usually hesitant and prone to slowing down at green lights. Approaching a traffic light preparing for a left-hand turn, the light turned yellow... and he stepped on the gas for once as we turned the corner. The crockpot tipped. Not completely, but fish soup soaking into the carpet? Not a good scene. Remind me to tell another food transporting story another day -- that one was a significant marker of the end of that dreadful marriage.

Back to tonite's work: I made artichoke dip (appetizer) to serve with Rosemary Triscuits and/or french bread. I made the stuffing -- I've tried homemade stuffing recipes and all the store-bought brands -- absolutely nothing compares to Bell's stuffing! And did you know that you can only get Bell's in New England? When I lived in Colorado in the late 90's, I begged my family to send me some for Christmas.

I had made my famous fudge (easy recipe and so freakin delicious it's dangerous) before I went to the grocery store, so that was already in the refrigerator when I tried to stuff in the stuffing and artichoke dip... for a $3000 refrigerator, it really doesn't have that much room, disappointingly, but I did pay extra for a 'counter depth' fridge so it wouldn't protrude beyond the counter as much as a standard fridge does... I did mention in a previous post that I used to be a pauper, right? A 3k fridge is really ridiculous, I know.

I got the stuffing stuffed in the fridge and stacked the fudge on top of the artichoke dip. I'm currently making more room by drinking the beer that was taking up real estate, too. Tomato basil salad -- I went back and forth on this menu item. It's a summer dish... but I have some fresh mozzarella in the fridge that I need to use up... and it's such a tasty salad AND my indoor basil plant is on its last leg, so what the heck? I mixed up the basil-garlic-oil and only have to slice the tomatoes and cheese tomorrow and throw it all together.

My family had their annual Thanksgiving dinner last Sunday -- a wee bit early, but we never celebrate holidays on the date of the holiday because of work schedules, in-law obligations, etc. Usually I host Thanksgiving, but this year we congregated in a more central location -- my sister's boyfriend's house in Milton. I like cooking Thanksgiving dinner, I really do. It is stressful to try to get that turkey done at the right time, then make the gravy super fast while someone else carves the bird (ideally, but I have done it solo before), keep the potatoes hot, cram the oven full of all the hot dishes, etc. I was a little sorry to go to Milton, but also enjoyed the reduced stress of not hosting. I brought fudge and artichoke dip, but that's a piece of cake. However, I really regretted not hosting/cooking when we sat down to eat: no Bell's stuffing. The only stuffing was cooked in-the-bird (yuck -- I do not approve of stuffing the bird!) AND it had sausage in it! I hate that. Stuffing is my favorite part of the meal, so that was quite a disappointment. The gravy wasn't separated -- there was literally a half inch of fat floating on top of the gravy! Come on, sister -- you can get a gravy separator at the dollar store! Then there's my other favorite -- the bread. I won't name names, but the person who brought the rolls made them from scratch... and they were inedible! After taking one bite and finding my roll having no salt and tasting like raw dough, I set it aside and looked around the table -- most people had done the same and politely discarded their roll... I ended up not getting stuffed, which was a good thing.

I'm all about homemade when it's better than what you can buy, but let me tell ya, I like those brown-and-serve rolls. Tomorrow I'm defrosting shrimp. Setting Brie on a pretty plate. Slicing french bread. Making the most delicious sweet potato casserole on earth, recipe courtesy of those church people whose food I usually shun because those people are all fat for a reason. Special occasion sweet potato casserole with a ton of butter, sugar and pecans? Oh yeah.

Louise has a flock of turkeys that she feeds on her front porch, so she doesn't eat turkey. My youngest offspring loves ham more than any food on earth. A spiral sliced ham certainly jacked up my grocery bill tonite, but what fun to offer two main courses! I actually would have bought salmon instead of ham had the fish counter still been open when I was at the store. Oh well.

Help from the fam? Tom will peel the potatoes tomorrow. Maybe I'll ask him to open the pickle jar and pretend I can't get it myself -- I'm not immune to such tactics. Oh, and he does well with a whisk and gravy that hasn't yet thickened -- that'll be good.

Deciding to cook dinner for 12? 14? at 4 PM on the eve of Thanksgiving? Stressful? Yeah. Rewarding? I sure hope so!