Trifextra: Food Coma Conundrums

This is how I'm choosing to spend the day!

Some days more than others, there’s such disparity between what I need to do, want to do, and should do.

Gloating jubilantly when not inharmonious, oftentimes it seems as complicated as Catch-22’s cousin.

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This was a quick and dirty Trifextra prompt.  This weekend they assume that we are slogging our way through leftovers and family bickering (or is that just them? Nope, it’s not just you!!!) and thus they're going way easy on us. This weekend they’re are asking for a 33-word free write.

It’s also community vote. So click over, read a whole bunch of creative entries, and then vote for your favorite on Sunday night before you go to bed. Okay? 

Thanksgiving Thoughts

"As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words, but to live by them." ~John Fitzgerald Kennedy

A Thanksgiving Day Quote

Piglet noticed that even though he had a very small heart, it could hold a rather large amount of gratitude.

- A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

WWW.Wednesday: Turkey Week Book Selections

John Warner writes a column called "The Biblioracle" for the Printer’s Row Journal (the book arm of the Chicago Tribune). In it he reviews books or discusses the merits of different genres but it’s invariably all about books.

Last Sunday, he described his feelings about the short story. After reading a great number of such these last two weeks (by Alice Munro), short story collections may now be a new favorite type. I’m including an excerpt from that article here:

“The very best ones have a kind of diamond hardness, a compression down to only the most essential elements. The sensation of reading a great short story is like having the author remove part of your skull, reach in and scoop out some essential part of your brain you didn't previously know existed, and then display it in front of you.

Reading that over, I realize I've made it sound gross, but I mean to convey how a short story can simultaneously dislocate and reorient the reader. As we are immersed in the narrative, we are quickly and thoroughly dislocated from our own consciousness (a blessing in my case) until the narrative ends and we return to our senses, with a fresh understanding of the world we inhabit. I even occasionally find myself holding my breath as I read, as though I need to suspend all activity while I exist in this other world.”

This is how I feel, too.

What have I recently finished?

I loved every single minute spent with each and every story in this book. If you have not read anything by her, please do. She writes about women of all ages and circumstances, and everyone involved in their lives. Her writing is simply stunning.

What are you reading now?

Because I am currently obsessed with Munro and will read many more (or every) collection written by this author. More than halfway through and I believe I love it even more than the previous one, which is saying a lot.

A few weeks ago I mentioned I was in the mood to read some more spicy material. So I downloaded: 

Wikipedia notes "it was published posthumously in 1977- though largely written in the 1940s as erotica for a private collector." Hmm…

Having read only a few stories, I will reserve judgment on the spice quotient until next week.

What will you read next?

I really have no idea how I’ll feel after Thanksgiving and the kids go back to school. Maybe:

Thanks to Should Be Reading for making this happen!

As My Eyelids Begin to Flutter, I Remember NaBloPoMo

I just want to lie on the couch. Really, I do. But I won’t let this day get completely away without writing something even though I blew NaBloPoMo two weeks ago. This will be my third week out of four getting it “right” and being consistent. I’d like to win a (random) prize this week over at Yeah Write. We are down to mere days now.

About lying on the couch, we (kids and me) were alternating between a battle of crepes on “Throw Down With Bobby Flay” and polar bears, walruses and seals on “Animal Planet”. I’m not one to nap but my eyelids were fluttering, for sure, when I remembered. 

So no one thinks I’m shirking my Thanksgiving Day responsibilities (This is my 25^th year hosting it and I have it down!), I’ve been to the market, picked up Tom, and popped my head into the florist to grab flowers. Cleaned a little. That’s pretty much it because I had kids so they could help me with such things (kidding!).

Tomorrow is the first “day before” Thanksgiving that my husband has taken off of work. Ever. Doesn’t he realize he’ll be put to work here too? I’m banking on many hands making light work tomorrow. He's taking off Friday, too. As a matter of fact, he's never taken the day after Thanksgiving off either. Ever. Should be an interesting five days!

So my feet are going to prop back up and I’ll grab a blankie. I’m currently halfway through a fabulous book of short stories by Alice Munro (my second in two weeks).

bookshelfporn.com

Wouldn't this be a HOT room to have in a house? It's like a dream to me.

marriedwithchildren.com

In reality, I probably look more like Peggy Bundy... And I don't expect this to change much for the next few hours.

Tomorrow, I hope to write about books but if I run out of time I'll re-post a Trifecta piece I wrote last year on tomorrow's exact day. It was a cathartic release for me. Now that I think about it, I'm going to re-post it for sure and my goal is to write about the books I've been reading.

Oh, and I hate the pitch blackness of 4:45pm!!!!!

Pluck. Chew. Dash. Roll.

The temperature outside is handily visible through the glass above my sink. Affixed to the big maple, the gage reads a frigid 29 degrees. In this part of the country, at this time of year, degrees mean nothing until you factor in wind chill. 

If I were sailing, I’d use the treetops as a yardstick to measure it, the wind, but the trees are leafless now. I watch the top branches sway anyway and suppose a sweatshirt under my Patagonia down coat should do the trick because it's always twice as windy when whipping through the park. 

She begins to dance as the words “Do you want to w…” leave my lips. My gloved hand reaches for the hook where her leash hangs and this seals the deal.

The park across the street looks like frozen tundra. The prairie grass has been sheared for the season and the playground is uninhabited. The old metal slide is covered with icy crystals.

I zip in tighter as precipitation, something between ice and snow, stings my cheeks. I can feel its weight and chilliness in my hair so I lift my hood.

Circumventing the first pond, we venture further inside, to the desolate space in the park’s center where she can explore unleashed with true Labrador unbounded enthusiasm.

Pluck, chew, dash.

Roll.

Pluck, chew, dash.

Roll.

Pluck, chew, dash.

She appears almost childlike and I brim with envy. It takes me a moment to comprehend what’s enthralling her so.When it finally dawns on me, I can’t get her attention because she’s in heaven. So I zigzag run behind her through a field of icy doggie delicacies (frozen goose poop) trying to catch her collar. I shout, as she licks her lips,

“Addison! Get over here!” “Stop eating that.” “Oh, man! That’s just plain gross!”

Then finally,

“I’ve got TREEEEEATS!”

I promise them out of desperation and disgust, and it's a lie, but she comes to me because I usually have them in my pocket. 

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33-333 words for the third definition of:

PLUCK: (transitive verb)

1: to pull or pick off or out

2 a : to remove something (as hairs) from by or as if by plucking    b : rob, fleece

3: to move, remove, or separate forcibly or abruptly

4 a : to pick, pull, or grasp at    b : to play by sounding the strings with the fingers or a pick 

Shifts in Family Dynamics (When Your Kids Are Adult-ish)

The beauty of having older kids is no one wakes me up in the morning except the dog. As a matter of fact, I sometimes forget they’re home at all. It usually occurs to me around 11:00am because I either want to do something and the driveway is chocked full of cars that must be rearranged before I can reach mine OR dirty clothes magically appear in the laundry room during traditional sleeping hours (we are awake simultaneously for about 11-13 hours per day). Or the breadcrumb trails left throughout the kitchen and family room after midnight. 

On the plus side, they’ll willingly (within reason) run errands for me, walk the dog, unload the dishwasher, etc., etc.

The biggest difference, and what I forget in the time between their last visit home, is the shift in decision-making dynamics. They are mature-ish creatures of an extremely headstrong and opinionated nature. I suppose they’ve always been this way.

Historically and for the most part, our parenting style has been a dictatorship. Although I still think it’s fair to govern this way, it doesn’t go as smoothly as it once did. Everything is deemed discussable (and negotiable), which then leads some to believe we’re running a democracy. They think we vote on things. We, my husband and I, don’t. But then this happens…

“I agree with Daddy.” Or “Dad, Mom’s right.” Or “We don’t think so.”

We can feel the fault lines shift especially if there are an odd number of us involved. The “two against one” phenomena occurs. The playing field tilts when sides are taken and someone is odd man out unless all four of us are present. That typically turns out two against two then half the family is unhappy or disappointed or miffed.

Life with little kids is physically exhausting.

Life with adult(ish) children is mentally exhausting.

Nothing is perfect.

Believe me, we still haven't figured it out but I have no problem resorting to “because I said so” or outlandish and empty threats of punishment (especially if I’m woken during the night which I do not like) in a pinch as evidenced below.

When 5 boys spend the night...

And I didn't hear a peep!

 Happy Sunday! Today is homemade pasta making day!!!