Thanksgiving Stew

Here is the Little Blind Girl’s recipe for Thanksgiving Stew:

Ingredients:

• Eighteen relatives from four generations
• A kitchen that can only hold three people
• A turkey that’s been cooking since before dawn
• Seven different desserts
• Small children in dress clothes who’ve had too much sugar and not enough sleep
• Half a dozen cars trying to share a driveway
• Ten family stories that have been aged for at least five years
• Assorted pets, dietary restrictions, conflicting commitments, & long-running grudges

Directions:  Put the turkey in a home that hasn’t been this clean since last Thanksgiving.  Add the four generations of relatives gradually.  Sprinkle in the small children, the desserts, and the overcrowded driveway.  Let simmer, then add the kitchen that can only hold three people (beware of elbows) and the family stories (use liberally and without discretion).  Garnish with assorted pets, dietary restrictions, and conflicting commitments.  Add the long-running grudges to the after-dinner drinks.  Serve warm and eat until you fall asleep in your chair while watching football.  Serves:  a small nation.  Leftovers should last for approximately two weeks, depending on the strength of the grudges.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!  I’m grateful for each and every one of you.  Thank you for reading my blog, and being kind enough to let me know when you like it.

This is how people end up jumping out of planes

Two friends (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I was talking with some friends the other day.  We hadn’t spoken in a while, and we were comparing all the exciting developments in our lives.  Friend #1, a gorgeous blonde who compounds the offense by being both smart and nice, says “I just gave birth to my third child!”  This after posting a picture of herself on Facebook with said child while wearing a sheath dress and sporting a perfect tan.  Hate her.  No, I don’t.

Friend #2, a sexy dark-eyed brunette with lips people go through multiple painful surgeries to emulate, says “I just got promoted!  I’m now running the company I started working for when we graduated from school!”  I have her Christmas card in my apartment.  It has a picture of her with her huge, loving, crazy, amazing family all mugging cheerfully for the camera while seated around a truly fantastic-looking dinner table.  Hate her.  No, I don’t.  She sends me cookies.

Friend #3, another brunette with incredible light eyes that show up like stars against her dark skin, confides “It’s been four years since I was widowed.  I thought I would never love again, but I’ve found someone wonderful, and we’re getting married this fall!  It’s been a kind of miracle, the kids love him just as much as I do.  I’m so glad they’ll have a father-figure they really care about.”  Can’t hate her.  Really happy for her.

So then they all ask me what’s been going on in my life.  And there’s just nothing.  I’ve been scrounging around in my brain during the entire conversation, trying to come up with something, and I’ve got nothing.  What do I do?  Make something up?  Tell them about how I read the Hunger Games trilogy in one day?  I’m on the spot, and having a bad hair day to boot, and I blurt out “My blog got Freshly Pressed!”  Crickets.  Well-meaning, supportive crickets, but crickets nevertheless.  Finally, Friend #1 (and this is why I can’t hate her) says “That’s great that you’re still keeping a blog, honey!  I’ve always thought that’s so brave.”

And I thought:  That’s it, I’m going skydiving!

My Sainted Mother: The Vacation Chronicles

Image via Wikipedia

My mother controls the weather.  Not in a mad-scientist-underground-laboratory-with-hunchbacked-assistant kind of way, and not even in a Gaia-Demeter-Mother-Earth kind of way.  No, my Sainted Mother is simply a magnet for natural disasters.  If she boards a flight, a thunderstorm will form unexpectedly around the plane.  If she visits a foreign country, a tsunami will overwhelm the hotel she was staying at about a week after she leaves.  After she retired and started spending more time at home, she caused an earthquake, a tornado, and a hurricane all within a one week period.  I’m not kidding or exaggerating about any of this.

She’s currently in Hawaii.  The last time she went there, she caused torrential rain and mudslides, and I think that was the time that the plane behind hers got struck by lightning and had to make an emergency landing.  So it was no surprise to me to get a call from her informing me that she wasn’t sure she was going to be able to make the next leg of her journey because weather conditions had gotten so bad out there that the governor had declared her island a disaster area!  Her power is only getting more potent with time.

Image via Wikipedia

My Sainted Mother likes to send her daughters the itinerary of her trips before she goes so that we’ll be able to get in touch with her at every stage of the journey.  I’ve explained the concept of cell phones to her, but what can you do.  I’ve come to value these itineraries, though, as a sort of warning for what places to avoid and when.  I’m thinking of posting them on this blog as a public service, so that the areas she’s traveling to can take proper precautions and lay in supplies.  Sainted Mother, I beg of you, use your powers for good!  Until then, if you see black helicopters circling overhead as you take your next cruise, you have only yourself to blame.  Also, for anyone traveling with my mother, remember to pack your umbrella.  And your first aid kit.  And an inflatable life vest.  Just in case.

Now you’re speaking my language!

Image via Wikipedia

I wasn’t going to post today because I’m a little nervous about how my last post has taken on a life of its own in the comments section and, apparently, real life (read the comments to that post, it’s a weird old world out there), but I just had to post about this.

There’s a convenience store across the street from my apartment and, as I’m inordinately fond of both Red Bull and strawberry soda and have cravings for both at odd hours, the store plays a fairly regular part in my life.  It’s run by a family, not just a bunch of random clerks, and they’ve gotten to know me somewhat over the years.  They like to guess what I’m going to buy each time–is it Fanta?  Is it Doritos?  Why do I not weigh 300 pounds?  Yeah, my doctor would like to know that one as well.

I went in there tonight pretty late, actually expecting that they might be closed at that point, but they were open.  When I went in, two of the family were working and they were having what I’ll describe as an animated discussion–affectionate, but certainly lively.  I don’t know what it was about, exactly, because it was in a different language.  But as I walked in, they switched their argument into English for my benefit!  Now that’s what I call customer service.  You just don’t get that at 7-11.  Well, actually, the clerks at 7-11 know me as well, but that’s a whole different story.

They start young these days

Image via Wikipedia

Melissa the Ragamuffin held her beloved niece close in her arms.  ”Time to go to bed, Peanut,” she said softly.  Peanut frowned.  ”Don’t want to go to bed,” she informed her aunt.

Melissa laughed.  ”But if you don’t go to bed,” she told her niece, “you’ll never get your beauty sleep.”  ”Don’t want to be beautiful,” insisted Peanut.  Melissa ruffled her niece’s hair and asked, “What do you want?”

Peanut’s tiny forehead wrinkled.  She looked around her room, and pointed to a globe on a shelf.  ”Want ball!” she exclaimed.  Melissa smiled and said, “That’s not a ball, sweetheart, that’s a globe.”

Peanut looked puzzled.  ”Globe?” she asked.  Melissa nodded.  ”It’s like a picture of the world.”  Peanut looked triumphant.  Proudly, she announced, “Want world!”

Oh, sweetie, don’t we all!

A most alarming tale

Image via Wikipedia

Back when it was warmer, some friends and I were sitting in the outdoor seating area at a restaurant.  It was a pleasant evening, the wine and the conversation both flowed smoothly, and I was beginning to relax.  A full work day in four inch heels is no joke, and it takes a while to (sorry about the pun) come down from it (sorry again).

Through the calm, warm air cut the screech screech screech of a car alarm.  My friends and I looked over at the parking lot beside the restaurant and saw a very harassed set of parents, the mother trying to shepherd their kids into a minivan while the father pointed his keys at the van and pressed a button over and over, to no avail.  The alarm just kept on going.   Conversation became nearly impossible, so the entire outdoor seating area watched the increasingly frantic attempts by the father to get the car alarm to shut off while the mother tried to keep the kids from running off despite the ear-splitting racket.  We were all rooting for the kids.

Image via Wikipedia

Finally, the father got the car alarm turned off.  We all sighed with relief and returned to our conversations.  I’m sure we were having discussions of great weight and moment about world peace and the crisis in the Middle East, but alas, they had been irremediably disrupted.  So we fell back on discussions of Britney Spears and the crisis in Los Angeles, which to be honest is probably what we had been talking about in the first place.

Just when we were getting to the heart of the problem, that same car alarm started up again.  Apparantly, one of the children had tried to make a break for it and, after the parents had finally gotten the child back in the car, they set off the car alarm again when the parents tried to get in.  Another ten minutes of incessant clamor, another set of Mom’s daily exercises of chasing the kids and trying to get them to sit still.  Eventually, blessedly, at last, Dad managed to turn off the car alarm for his own vehicle and everyone got in to drive away–but not before the entire audience in outdoor seating broke into applause, led by the table at which sat yours truly, proposing a toast.  I love dinner theater.

It wasn’t until some fifteen minutes later that it occurred to us that they might have been breaking into someone else’s car and that that’s why they had so much trouble disabling the alarm.  You don’t think, do you?  It was awfully dark, and it really did take a surprisingly long time.  Imagine if they were a family of criminals, albeit fairly inept criminals, and we just gave them a rousing cheer when they finally finished committing their crime!  Oh, well, I suppose we all need a pat on the back sometime.

Happy Holidays from the Hamster

Image via Wikipedia

My Sainted Mother came this weekend for a visit.  I don’t have a spare bed, so she stays in a hotel when she visits, and over the years she has gotten rather attached to one hotel in particular.  It’s to the point where the concierge knows her and greets her fondly when she walks through the automatic doors, and the girl behind the desk gets her a free upgrade to a better room, and the waiter at the restaurant will tell her about the latest installment in his ongoing health saga–of which she remembers all the details.  One of these days I’m going to find out she came to town, visited the people in the hotel, and left without bothering to see me!  Actually, I’m not 100% sure that hasn’t already happened.

This time we were admiring the Christmas decorations in the lobby.  Well, Sainted Mother was admiring the decorations.  I, having had a very long day, was yawning discreetly and thinking about what on earth to post to my blog when I got home.  We had the following conversation:

Sainted Mother:  Isn’t that a beautiful Christmas display?

Little Blind Girl:  (glancing covertly at the game on the television) Absolutely.

SM:  Last year, So-and-so decorated the lobby, and he always uses a more traditional style.

LBG:  (tries to see score without squinting) Does he?

SM:  But Other Person decorated this year.  I’m really not sure what’s on the top of that tree.  It looks like an African tribal mask.

LBG:  (thinking about blog) That’s nice.

SM:  No it isn’t!

LBG:  (without missing a beat) That’s terrible!

Thank goodness Sainted Mother has a sense of humor!  So much so that she got me a little Happy Hamster button for Christmas, in honor of the picture of a hamster that I posted not too long ago.  It’s just a big button with a picture of a manically grinning hamster on it, and if you press it, it says things like “A happiness train just left the station, and it’s coming right at you!  Choo choo happy train!”  It was actually my favorite gift.

I threw the bag I put it in on the floor of the car and that was enough to trigger the hamster button, and I got this vivid mental picture of my Sainted Mother on her way here, in the car for several hours, with that hamster button packed away in the back and pushing up against something every time she made a turn or stopped suddenly.  ”You deserve to be happy–you’re turning left!”  ”It’s so happy to have to brake suddenly because the a**hole in front of you doesn’t know how to drive!  Happy happy happy!” All I can say is, to listen to that for hours and still smile, she must really love me.  Either that or she finally lost the rest of her marbles and went to her…happy place?

So here’s to family during the holidays, still glad to see you even after the holiday preparations have driven them out of their minds.  Because that’s how you can tell who really loves you, isn’t it?

Oh, my sainted mother!

Image via Wikipedia

One Christmas, my sister and I were playing Trivial Pursuit with our mother.  Our sainted mother is many things:  intelligent, talented, brave, funny.  But even she would admit that she’s not hip.  She’s not with it, street-wise, down with the kids.  She got all the science and literature questions, but the pop culture questions were proving to be her undoing.

So when she came to the question, “What East Coast rapper was killed as a result of a drive-by shooting in Los Angeles in 1997?”, Big Sis and I both just assumed she wouldn’t know it and moved on to the next turn.  Sainted Mother stopped us and said, “Hey, give me a chance.  I might know it.”  We assured her that she had no chance of getting it right, but she insisted that she wanted at least to try.

So we asked her, and she said, “Oh, is that that Biggie Smalls person?”

!

Sainted Mother, we will never doubt you again.

Some days are harder than others

Most days, I’m not afraid of going blind.  I’ve heard words of doom pronounced before, only to be rescinded, and I know when to panic and when not to.  I’m doing what I should be doing to preserve the vision I have, and there are new developments all the time that give me hope.

But some days are hard.  Some days I get so scared, thinking that the darkness is going to fall at some point and never lift again.  There will be a sunset that will be the last one I see, a ray of light that will falter and fade until the shadows swallow it completely, until they swallow me completely.  I’ll never see the sun again, never see another flower, never see the faces of the people I love.  I’ll walk in darkness for the rest of my life.  I know, I know that there’s so much that’s worse.  I could be dying.  This could be happening to someone I love, instead of to me.  But when I wake up in the middle of the night to pitch black and think, someday this is what the world will look like to me at noon, that doesn’t help much.

I love light.  I love the sun, the way it can be so far away, spinning and burning, and still light up entire worlds.  I love daffodils, which I’ve always thought look like sunlight made into a flower.  I love to see my niece’s face and how it changes as she grows, always more beautiful every time I see her, and it breaks my heart that I may not be able to see her as a woman.  I want to see her face.  I want to see the face of my sister when she looks at her daughter.  How often do you get to see happiness absolutely undiluted?  But I’ve seen it.  How can it be that I may someday never see it again?

But I can hear my niece laugh.  I can hear my sister joking with her and being stern with her and loving her; I can hear her father being so funny and patient and good-hearted, and I don’t need to see any of them to know what kind of a woman she’s going to be with parents like that.  I can recognize amazing in any language, with my eyes closed and both hands behind my back.  And I have time to memorize the faces of everyone I love.  I have time to sit by the daffodils and see the way they bloom as if they’re reaching for something, maybe reaching for the sun, like me.  I promise you, I will be watching the sun come up every day I can still see it and I’ll turn my face to the sky like those daffodils, and when my eyes fail me altogether I may walk in darkness, but I’ll dream of light.

I’m grateful for the time, and I’m grateful that it isn’t worse.  It’s just hard to be brave when you know what’s coming, and it comes little by little every day.