Happy Thanksgiving! Things I am Grateful for

 

It's Thanksgiving morning, 9AM.  I have no turkey to roast, no pies to bake, no sides to prepare, no stuffing to stuff.

 

My home is quiet as a churchyard on any day but Sunday.  The wind outside is blowing and the temps are in the low 20s.  There is a dusting of snow on the ground.

 

My husband is still asleep; my mother-in-law is too, each wrestling with fatigues born of insomnia, injury or illness.   Even our faithful dog Dewey is slumbering, having awakened my husband at 5AM for a quick trip outdoors.  They are safe and warm and snuggling in their beds on this cold November day.

 

Our sons are halfway round the world in Australia.  I miss them but I reassure myself they are safe and happy and on the adventure of their lives. 

 

My brother, his wife and daughters are on the West Coast.  We haven't seen one another in five years.  The girls have their own families now and I know my brother is surrounded by love.

 

Our table stands empty.  It will not be set today.  But it rings with the memory of holiday dinners, family, friends and parties. 

 

My parents are gone and, I believe, in a better place.  Every holiday fills with their presence, their customs.  My mother would spend two days getting ready for Thanksgiving and our menu rarely varied.  She served Waldorf salad on her mother's cranberry pressed glass plates (which I still have), roast turkey stuffed with a traditional herbed bread stuffing, candied yams in butter & brown sugar, green peas, home made cranberry sauce, oyster dressing (a second stuffing for those with sophisticated palates), gravy, mashed potatoes, crudités of carrots, celery, black olives.  The table was always set with her Irish linen or old lace tablecloth, linen napkins, her fine silverware, Lenox dinner plates, crystal goblets.  There were fresh flowers, candles and music.  Dessert was always pumpkin pie and minced or pecan pie with whipping cream.

 

My father always carved with his steel butcher knife.  He loved to sharpen that thing on his whetstone and made a very big deal of it.  Grace preceded the meal.  Ours was an observant family, at least, outwardly.

 

Afterwards, mother and I did the dishes.  She had no dishwasher until they retired and, if she had, it wouldn't have mattered as she would never have put her good dishes, crystal and silver in it anyway.

 

When I married and lived far from home, my husband and I celebrated Thanksgiving meals I prepared or we went out.  I remember one Thanksgiving in Chicago where we were on vacation.  We stayed at the Ambassador East hotel and had reservations in the Pump Room.  Very chic.  By the time we sat down and ordered, they were out of turkey!  We had to eat fish!  That still makes me smile.

 

Today, my husband, my mother-in-law and I are dressing up and going to a lovely hotel in our mountain town where we will be served a traditional Thanksgiving meal.  We shall sit and dine on fine china with fancy cutlery, crystal on a white tablecloth and enjoy spectacular views of the mountain range.  It will be nice and easy. 

 

Aside from the people I love who are gone or away, I shall miss the leftovers.



Happy Thanksgiving!

Back from the Bourbon Trail

Bourbon Wars  by Cole Scott

My husband and I returned from a week long journey to Kentucky, where we once lived, to celebrate my birthday with good friends, do the Bourbon Trail and see the places we used to enjoy.

I am hastily posting these two shots he created during our tour of two major distilleries, Four Roses and Buffalo Trace.  Touring the distilleries is an education in itself and, while you do get to sample, it's at the end of long, informational and fascinating tour.  They are all different and well worth the time.



Buffalo Space by Cole Scott

The top photograph was taken at the Four Roses distillery in Lawrenceburg, KY.  The one that looks like a moon shot from a satellite is the interior of a barrel at the Buffalo Trace distillery near Frankfort, KY.

A Nightmare Before Halloween in Portsmouth N.H.

The spousal unit and I visited Portsmouth, NH last weekend.  It's one of our favorite New England seacoast towns, picture perfect, successfully preserved with great restaurants, a charming downtown and much to do.  It was a sunny, warm October day.  We ate outdoors at a sidewalk boite called Michelle's run by a charming husband and wife.  After brunch, we walked along the city streets where many versions of Jack Skellington from "The Nightmare Before Christmas" were displayed on vintage lampposts.  They were simply made but very effective.  I asked my husband to take a few shots and here they are.  The first two are raw, right out of the camera.  Shot #3 is his tricked out version of #2.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

My "most wonderful time of the year" is Autumn,  mid-September through mid-October when the leaves are in various stages of color, the lakes have a lazy morning fog hanging about til the sun peaks through, revealing all manner of water fowl, fish, fishermen, and fearless, hungry ducks. The mountains are ablaze with color and one has only to walk outside to feel the snap of a crisp Fall day,  ripe apples falling from our four apple trees and my house fragrant with home made apple sauce and apple pie. Geese and loons are contemplating their winter journey south but still hanging about for a last fattening up from the bounties of Summer. My husband and I usually take day trips staying close to home for spectacular local color.  This year was different. Recovered from respective Spring surgeries, we were ready to hit the road.

First stop was Frenchman's Bay between two of the three Acadias. We spent a week hiking, biking and exploring the territory in what is regionally known as Down East.  Warm weather, mostly sunny days and spectacular natural surroundings made this trip memorable.

The 163rd Fryeburg Fair, "Maine's Blue Ribbon Classic", came to town late September.  This is the largest agricultural fair in New England home to blue ribboned farm animals, a large midway with fair food and endless rides, woodsmen's day, sled dragging, harness racing.  People watching is the best part.

 

Schoodic Point, Acadia National Park, Maine  September

 

Acadia National Park, Mt. Desert Island    September

 

 

 

 Morning fog on Back Lake, Pittsburg N.H. October

 

 

 Cole Scott Sunset shoot 

Schoodic Point  September

 

 

 

"A Fast Pace" by Cole Scott

Harness Racing at the 2013 Fryeburg Fair in Maine

October

 

Fryeburg Fair midway at dusk 2013
 by Dick Pollock

 

The Grand Theater in Ellsworth, Maine

September 2013

 



Next stop was Coos (pronounced coh-oz) County, New Hampshire, an unspoiled country of rolling hills, spectacular lakes, rivers, forest, hunting, fishing, snowmobiling in winter and now home to the brand new Ride the Wilds ATV park, over 1000 miles of trails in New Hampshire and Southern Quebec. We took an entire day to ATV a very small portion in a Polaris Razor known as a two-up.  What a rush that was!  It was like being on a very scary ride or rollercoaster for over 40 miles.  Not for the faint of heart.  We got stuck twice and they had to winch us out of mud and logging trail ruts in two different places.  It was a gorgeous warm sunny day so no problem.  I do not have photographs of this trip, having dropped and broken my new camera while in Acadia.

 

Here is a link to a newly produced TV feature on this not-to-be-missed part of my state.  

3 Friends, 5 Days, 10 Years

"A friend is one who knows you and loves you just the same."   Elbert Hubbard

 

Ten years ago this week, I lost three of my dearest friends within five days of one another.  Each was in his/her early 50s.  Each had cancer. 

 

Doug and I on his 40th birthday

The first to go was my friend Doug.  He died ten years ago yesterday of  colon cancer.  He was and still is the funniest person I have ever known.  Friends since high school, we hung with the same crowd in the parking lot of a coffee shop known as Dyles.  We christened ourselves  "the Dyles gang" although we weren't  a gang, per se, just a group of teenagers with similar interests:  drinking, smoking cigarettes and pot, going to the beach, going to any party we might hear about. The friendships began for some of us as early as junior high and are still going strong.  Doug, who began his tenure in the group as a slightly built, straight man to his overweight sidekick nicknamed "Wally", eventually became the king of one-liners & witty responses.    He told anecdotes and, like Jerry Seinfeld, most were based on truth;  those we'd experienced and those he embellished.  He was so funny he should  have done stand-up.  I think it was his secret passion. My life was never so hilarious as when portrayed by this guy.  He met the love of his life in his early twenties.  They married, had children and were supposed to live happily ever after.   Ten years after his passing,  she's still alone and in love with him. 

Mazatlan ca 1984 or 85
 the way I like to remember Doug, beer in hand

 



Maui, ca 1980  Dari & her then BF

The second loss came the next day when my best friend's sister, Daria, died of breast cancer.  She and Doug knew one another and surprisingly were diagnosed with their respective cancers within weeks of one another.    Each  fought their illness for five long years.  Daria comes from a medical family and she explored every available avenue, including, finally, a bone marrow transplant from her doctor brother.  She was a free spirit.  Unlike her three siblings, she did not follow the dictates laid out by her rigid father.  She was the only one to smoke before she was 21, forgoing the $1000 he promised each child if they made it.  She moved to Maui in her early twenties, lived at the beach, taught school, bartended and had a very cool life.   She married later than most, meeting her dream man in her mid-thirties.  After many years of shuttling between Maui and Lake Tahoe, where she was a black jack dealer, she settled for a more conventional life with her handsome, boyish husband, moving to a tiny town in Wisconsin to live on his family farm and teach school. She was unconventional to the end and I picture her turning the tiny town in which she passed her final years on its ear with her beautiful brave ways.   I consider myself privileged to have spoken  with her numerous times before she was too weak to talk.  Her death left a void in that family that can never be filled.

 



Randy & Pat ca 1984
Old Towne Mexican Café
San Diego

The third loss was two days after Daria's.  My very close friend, Pat, whom I met and worked with in my mid twenties, was one of the kindest, gentlest most thoughtful people I've known. She was a great listener.  When we first met, I was getting divorced; then I was dating (all the wrong men); then I was partying too much; then I was diagnosed with epilepsy; then I was in love and so on.  Pat listened to all the stories with great understanding and humor.  She was married to her soul mate, Randy, with whom she's grown up just outside Milwaukee.  I know she lived vicariously through many of us because we were "out there" and she was not.  But I never detected anything but interest and her advice was wise beyond her years.  Pat and Randy were family to me back in those days.  Pat had a wonderful gift.  She never forgot a birthday.  I never failed to receive a beautiful card and I looked forward to those cards because I knew, wherever I was living, she'd send one.  She was beautiful inside and out.  When she and her wonderful husband, finally left San Diego to return to their families and make a home in Milwaukee, my husband and I threw a wonderful large going away party for them.  Everyone in San Diego radio and TV  came because everyone loved Pat.  She had a way of making me feel like I was brave and funny.  I was a better person seen through her eyes.

 

Three friends.  Five days.  Ten years ago.  It seems as if it were yesterday.