The Shiny Twinkie

My son-in-law's gift to the family this Christmas was a travel trailer!  He and my daughter are off to pick it up and give it a trial run overnight, while I hold down the fort with the grandkids.  (I'm still in Washington as I type.)  I chuckle to myself.  If there is ever any inspiration to lose weight, life in a travel trailer provides it!

The first picture I received of the new TT came from my kiddo this afternoon who called it a shiny Twinkie.  And she's right!

I've had some experience with travel trailer/motorhome camping, so my mind is racing to come up with a list of supplies and helpful hints.  It also gives me ideas for future gifts--things that they will need for TT living. 

On another note, if you are a regular reader of Peggy's Ramblings, you might notice that this post actually has a picture in it, and (for once) I did it myself!  I tried something that I had done for another application.  It worked!  Maybe by the time I'm 80, I'll have this technology thing figured out!

SPOILER ALERT: Santa Claus Discussion Here

As the song goes, Christmas was meant for children.
Most people's happiest Christmas memories come from when they were children and still believed in Santa Claus--a magical white-bearded man, dressed in red, who rides through the sky on a sleigh pulled by reindeer on Christmas Eve, dropping into houses via their chimneys in order to leave gifts for the residents of the household.  It's the stuff dreams are made of for little kids.  Maybe adults, too.

I guess I was like most normal kids.  We put our tree up just a few days before Christmas in those days (because they were real trees that would dry out and become fire hazards).  There were no presents under the tree because only Santa could bring those.  Well...not so much.  There were presents there--gifts that the folks had purchased for other family members.  Just not the children.  Nothing seemed particularly screwy about that to me back then.  I do remember being concerned because none of the places where we lived had fireplaces with chimneys.  How could Santa come down a nonexistent chimney?  My mom told me he made special arrangements to come in through the door.  I mean, Santa can do anything, right?  Nothing so weird about that, either.  Also because we had no fireplaces, we pinned our stockings to the backs of chairs or sofas, hoping for goodies.  There were always goodies, so Santa could do it all.  As children, we suspend our disbelief.  I remember one year that we left milk and cookies out for Santa.  The next morning, only crumbs and an empty glass remained, with a thank you note from the bearded guy.  Wow!
Telling me to go to bed and actually fall asleep on Christmas Eve so Santa could come was asking the impossible!

I think I was in Kindergarten when some other 5-year-old kid told me that there was no Santa Claus.  Santa was actually our parents.  (Hah hah, for once, it wasn't my older sister spilling the beans to me about reality facts!)  I remember that I wasn't traumatized.  It seemed perfectly logical to me.  Not sure I had already suspected, but I knew I had to check in with my mom about it.  When I told her what I'd been told, I tried to convince her that I didn't believe the tattle-tale, but she knew the jig was up.  Our baby brother hadn't been born yet, so there was no purpose in carrying on the Santa myth.  We were then advised NOT to start snooping for presents ahead of time because, if they were discovered, we would not get them.  One of the two daughters always went searching, anyway.  (Hint: it wasn't I.)  We found stuff but got it anyway.   Seems that parent threats were as hollow as parent-carrying-on the Santa thing.

In the years that followed, my focus left Santa and focused on the real meaning of Christmas.  My brain hasn't retained the actual date, whether pre-or-post-Japan, but we were all at my grandparents' farm on Christmas Eve.  My sister and I were to sleep on the hide-a-bed couch in the living room, in the same room where the parents and grandparents were playing cards on the round card table that belonged to my grandparents.  They were either playing Pinochle or Bridge, but spirits were high (as was the cigar and cigarette smoke in the room).  There were two picture windows in that room.  My grandmother would keep the curtains closed in the daytime but open at night.

That particular Christmas Eve, a dense fog descended over the farm.  We couldn't even see anything just a few yards from the windows.  When the fog lifted around midnight, we were met by a magical fairyland.  Everything--every leaf and blade of grass--was covered in white.  This was my first introduction to hoar frost.  I just saw it as a Christmas miracle.  I sat on my knees looking out the south-facing window, seeing a dark and quiet world, all covered in white.  I will never, ever forget that.  Inside was laughter and gayety.  Outside was beauty beyond belief.  Welcome, Baby Jesus!

My mother had told me a story about the night that Santa Claus came to her house when she was a child.  He came through the door and visited with her and her siblings.  When Santa departed, Mom was sooo upset that her father hadn't been there to see him!  I thought that was funny, especially since her father (my grandfather) had a wandering eye.  Amblyopia, I guess.  As kids, we understood that our Popo had eyes that went in two different directions, never corrected by surgery or anything else.  When my sister's children arrived (his great-grandchildren) he had yet another gig as Santa.  Laurie, the youngest, declared, "That's not Santa.  That's Popo.  I saw his eye!"  God bless the babies!

My absolute favorite family Santa story involves my son-in-law, but I have to set the scene here before I can tell it:

Denis is Russian by birth.  Russia doesn't celebrate Christmas as much as it does the New Year.  He endeavors to be American, in spite of his own culture.  Denis is soft-spoken, patient, and adaptable, and I love him to pieces.  When he married my daughter in California, he inherited two children who were, at the time, living with their father in Illinois.  And then, they moved back to the Midwest to be closer to the children--a big career move for him.  They had rented a condo in Grayslake, IL.  As Christmas approached, I went up to visit.  I stayed in the entrance-level room, with a closet under the stairs leading to the next levels.  When I went there, I took with me the Christmas presents from the children's paternal grandparents--one of which was labeled for "Lily", an American Girl doll that Grandma Judy had given our granddaughter the previous year.  All of the presents were hidden in the closet under the stairs.

If the children no longer believed in Santa Claus, the rest of the family didn't know it.  They were certainly old enough to have been properly informed.  (My personal belief is that they knew the truth but weren't willing to confess because it would make the magic go away.  Just a guess.)

On Christmas Eve that year, we finally got everyone scooted off to bed.  I was asleep in the basement room when I was awakened by some noise in the stair closet.  It was 1:00 AM.  There was Denis, dressed in a Santa Claus suit, rummaging around, trying to find all of the presents to take upstairs to the tree.  He had borrowed a Santa suit from the neighbor because he didn't want to be discovered if the kids should catch him putting out presents.  He didn't want to be the one to mess up the illusion.  I asked what he was doing.  He told me he was sorting through the boxes to determine which ones to take up to the tree and which ones to wait until later.  He was grumbling to me about it, then said,  "And who the hell is Lily??"

I couldn't help it.  I started to chuckle and then started to laugh to myself...and I still laugh!

I had never heard Denis swear before or since.
I never left my bed that night, but there before me was Santa Claus, swearing in a Russian accent, distributing presents for people who were in bed,  just trying to be the good guy in a culture that was relatively new to him.

There will always be a huge soft spot in my heart for Denis Shchepetov and Santa Claus, both of whom are the same man.  Some things are just too special to forget!


         

Old Story About My Sister

I was aware of this story when it happened but had quite forgotten it until Thanksgiving weekend when, somehow, it became a topic of conversation with a newfound cousin over lunch.  I'm a terrible story-teller but wanted to put this one in writing for the archives.  (Sorry, Shari!)

My sister, a widow who lived in the country just west of Springfield, IL, had a swimming pool, which was an attraction for family and friends.  She also had a Corvette convertible, also quite an attraction for those who are into that sort of thing.

I can't recall the occasion, but her daughter and daughter's companion, plus companion's family came to enjoy the pool.  As it happens, part of the daughter's companion's family is biracial.  No biggie for us.

Shari (my sister) participated in the party, and then decided to take one of the young guys on a trip in the Corvette, for a thrill.  And what a thrill it was!  In the process, I think the road went to gravel and the car skidded into a bean field.  No one was hurt.  Then along came a sheriff's deputy.  Here is my 77-year-old sister, in her bathing suit, with an expensive car in a bean field, accompanied by a young African-American dude.  Nothing weird, right??

The only story I know that can top that one is the one my son-in-law tells when he was a foreign student from Russia, driving around in a junk car with his fellow Greek foreign student at Indiana State University, going from ATM to ATM to find one that would accept his numbers to take mega-money out of his Russian account.  They were wearing camo...had backpacks packed with cash...had accents that revealed them as foreign...and had a car that broke down in the boonies.  When they finally were able to reach police help, they were luckie duckies that they didn't get arrested as terrorists.  I love this story!  Denis is an American citizen now, doing quite well for himself and my family.  Things could have been so much different!!!!

Love my sister.  Love my son-in-law.  It all ended well.  That's all that counts!

 

Team Names

This post borders on the ridiculous but is an indication of how my solitary mind works, sometimes.

I was having an online conversation with my daughter last evening when she mentioned that one of the local high schools where she lives was playing in a football championship game.  And this is where my brain train left the track.

At their inception, schools will adopt a name/mascot for their teams, especially for football, that implies something fierce, courageous, and strong as a representative of their teams' competitive might.  Last night's game in Washington took place between the Bothell Cougars and the Camas Papermakers.  Wait...what???  I understand Cougars as a team name, since there are still sightings of cougars (mountain lions) on a regular basis in the Bothell, WA, area.  Picture the head of a predatory cougar as their avatar. But Papermakers?  Yes, yes, I understand that the logging industry in Washington is likely a major contributor of paper for the nation, but what do they use as a symbol for their team?  And what do the cheerleaders yell?  How does their Fight Song sound?  It's amusing to speculate.  (The Papermakers won the championship game, by the way.)

My own high school's team (in Oak Park, IL) was the Huskies.  Picture the head of a Siberian Husky with a strong look in its eye.  Go, Huskies!

The high school where I taught for many years (Monrovia, IN) had the Bulldogs.  Picture the head of a bulldog, always gray in color, with a spike-studded collar to make it look tougher.  Fight, Bulldogs!

My alma mater, Illinois State University, was represented by the Red Birds.  Not Cardinals--Red Birds.  Picture the head of a cardinal with a hawk-like look in its black-outlined eyes.  Win, Birds!

I mean, you can see it, can't you?  The University of Illinois has the Fighting Illini (unless they recently changed it for politically correct reasons).  Picture the head of an Illini warrior, with complete "Indian" headdress.  Purdue University here in Indiana has the Boilermakers, with their symbol as a big, black, steam-powered train engine with a huge cow-catcher on the front, coming at you head-on.  They all work, yes?

And then there are others that are a bit more humorous to contemplate, with no disrespect intended:

*Cloverdale (Indiana) has the Clovers.  Clovers are plants.

*Indiana State University has the Sycamores.  Sycamores are trees.  

*Indiana University has the Hoosiers.  Hoosiers is the nickname for people who reside in Indiana, but no one can tell you from whence the name came.

*Plainfield (Indiana), where I live, has the Quakers.  This one tickles me the most.  The reference isn't to earthquakes but rather a religious denomination, The Society of Friends, nicknamed Quakers.  Indiana in general, and Hendricks County in particular, has a large number of Friends churches.  Some Quaker people were instrumental in the Underground Railroad, helping enslaved people reach freedom.  The Friends Annual Western Meeting House is in Plainfield; hence, the team name.  The team picture is of a man in traditional Quaker garb, top-heavy with broad shoulders and Popeye-like biceps, and a tough look on his face--the "Fighting Quaker".  HOWEVER, by practice and tradition, Quakers are pacifists.  Somehow, it seems contradictory to be yelling, "Kill 'em, Quakers!" to encourage the football team.

Hey...they didn't ask me!  I didn't make this stuff up.  Were I better informed on team names, I could probably come up with more.  For the moment, it's enough for my mind to wander into the possibilities:
Stomp 'em, Clovers!
Sic 'em, trees!
Hoo-hoo-hoo, Hoosiers!
Kill 'em with kindness, Quakers!

I'll let myself out.       
   

Thanksgiving, 2019

Veni, vidi, vici....
This Thanksgiving was to take place at my house-on-a-slab, minus my Seattle family.  My sister and her beau were coming for the Feast on Tuesday, and I had invited my best friends who are also co-grandparents for my/our grandchildren, plus their live-in son and his lady friend.

Tuesday

Shari and Jim rolled up along about 5:30 Tuesday afternoon.  The smoked salmon that my daughter sent from Harry and David (which was VERY tasty, btw) arrived a few hours before they did.  My original plan was for us to finish up grocery shopping then have Schwan's pizza for supper, but that went down the tubes based on the hour they arrived.  We didn't go shopping, since we already had most of what we needed, so we all had a libation while I fixed a breakfast skillet for supper.  We visited a bit and were all in bed quite early.  I slept like crap.  The next morning, Jim said that he slept very well, while Shari fell out of bed and hit her arm on the nightstand, causing one of those horrendous red bruises that she gets...

Wednesday

This was to be food prep day.  I already had the turkey thawed, but first, I took Jim and Shari on a mini-tour of Plainfield after she fixed Jim some scrambled eggs  Obviously, my sister has been here before, but this was Jim's first visit.  I did my best to confuse him!  We did one errand thereafter, then stopped at Meijer for a few little things.  Came home, putzed around for a bit, then decided we'd better get the ball rolling on roast turkey.  Shari fixed stuffing (which took some time) and stuffed the 20-lb. bird.  It was beautiful!  I took a picture and posted it on Facebook.  Sadly, and to my ultimate shame and embarrassment, it was the ONLY picture any of us thought to take all weekend!!!)  The bird needed to roast for almost five hours, so we all had time to visit.  

During the "down" time, Jim had a book he was reading.  Apparently, he had been writing a multi-part article for the local MO mag that he writes for at home and had been up and stressed for days about it.  Thus, coming to my house at the completion of all of that, and being allowed to read in relative peace pleased him.  Shari and I stayed in the kitchen and gabbed.  After a while, Jim decided that he wanted to go for a walk.  He asked if I had gloves that would fit him, since he has "extraordinarily long fingers".  I produced the ragg-knit gloves that my Russian family had given me, and they fit nicely...so he went for a walk east on Stanley Rd.  He saw a house that was for sale and was attracted to.  I don't think there is any intention to move to central Indiana, but he/they are always looking....   

At one point, Shari was asking about what we were going to put out for the hors d'oeuvres on T Day.

A note about that:  our mother started the whole holiday hors d'oeuvres thing back in the day because she was busy cooking our feast and didn't want to be a short-order-cook for breakfast or lunch.  Her hors d'oeuvres set on a card table in the living room usually consisted of:  shrimp and cocktail sauce, pickled herring, raw oysters, crackers and cheeses, and California Onion Dip with Ruffles potato chips.  Of course, those were in the days when the whole family gathered at the farm.  Shari is also used to having family come and go all day, so she carries on the tradition.  (She has a big family!)  I knew there would only be the three of us for hors d'oeuvres, so I was only prepared to put out shrimp.  WELL!  That wouldn't work!  I put together a short list of extras we would need and asked Jim to go to the store with me...then decided I could go by myself...then HE said HE could do it alone.  Huh???  They don't have GPS, but he figured he had put it all together in his mind to go to Meijer and back alone.  I asked him his route.  He said it wrong, so I corrected him.  It seemed to be a point of pride to him, so we let him go with our short list, making sure that he had both of my phone numbers handy in case he got lost.  Not too long after he left, a phone rang in the house.  Wasn't either of mine.  Wasn't Shari's.  OMG!  It was Jim's!  Left in the living room....so now this man is out in the wilds of Plainfield with no communications!  Of course, I worried endlessly until he pulled into the drive, unscathed.  Amazing!  

Thereafter, we were prepared to put out shrimp and sauce, salmon, crackers and sliced cheeses. California Onion Dip and Ruffles, and everything else that wasn't nailed down.  Just for the three of us.

I didn't get the turkey in the oven until well after noon.  It cooked while we talked and my mind raced about what dishes everything would be served in, etc.  Of course, when the bird came out of the oven, it had to "set" for awhile and needed to cool before I could carve it.  In the meantime, we ordered Chinese from Happy Dragon to be delivered for supper.  By this time, I had run out of steam for the day, but needed to carve the bird and get the carcass out of the kitchen...so I pushed myself.  Got more than enough turkey for supper, and then some, before putting foil over the carcass and putting it inside the grill on the patio, since the temps weren't supposed to get above 40 degrees.  Also put the drippings from the roasting pan in containers on the patio so that nature could do its work to separate the fat from the broth for gravy.  (It worked!)  

Thursday, Thanksgiving Day

Thank God we had set mealtime at 4:00!  That gave us most of the day to set the table, blah, blah...

I was expecting Judy, Phil, and Dan, plus us, for the feast, and Dan's lady friend for dessert.  

Shari was a tremendous help, taking care of the details that I sometimes don't think about, etc.  When the Heffelman crew came,  everything was in the oven and ready to roll, but no....Dan informed us that his lady would be here for the meal and we needed to wait for her.  We set another place at the table...while everything in the oven was drying out and over-cooking.  I think it was another 30 minutes before Jami got here.  I felt like a heel because I hadn't understood that she was coming for the meal; Judy felt bad that she hadn't told me (I'm not sure she even knew); and the food was quickly getting overdone.  Had I known, I would have put a second leaf in the table so no one would have to sit on a corner.  As it was, Judy chose the corner rather than have Jami be inconvenienced.  It's just the kind of thing that Judy does!!  

We had WAY too much food.  Everything was dandy until the desserts came out.  Shari took a piece of pecan pie, then announced to us that she needed to excuse herself because her stomach was upset.  Instead of going to the garage room, she went to my bedroom--I assume because there is a bathroom back there--where she fell asleep.  After everyone departed, with leftovers in hand, Jim moved Shari to their bedroom, and we all retired, full and pooped.

Friday

Shari got up feeling fine after a lot of sleep.  We had a bit of breakfast, then (after puttering around a bit) prepared to go meet Cousin Jim and his wife at Chili's at noon.  I will call him Cousin Jim so as not to confuse him with my sister's Jim.  

A word about Cousin Jim.  Some months back, I got an email on Ancestry.com from a woman in Tucson, AZ, asking if I am related to a certain couple that were her grandparents.  As it happens, her grandparents were my grandparents, too, on my father's side--people who had passed before I was born.  (I know very little about my father's side of the family.)  Our fathers were brothers!  In the course of trading emails with her, I discovered that she has a son who lives in Indianapolis and works for the FAA.  Since I am within spitting distance of the airport, I reached out to my newfound cousin.  When Sister Shari and her guy were here, I thought it was a great opportunity to meet him and his wife, so we set a date for Chili's at noon here in Plainfield.

I feared our luncheon might be awkward, since none of us knew each other, but it wasn't.  Cousin Jim is quite personable and his lovely wife is, too!  Shari's Jim held up his end of the conversation, so all was well.  As we were departing the venu, Cousin Jim's wife said she was happy to know that he had family here.  That absolutely fractured me because her own family is half a world away (she is Filipina), so we all hugged as if we'd known each other all our lives.  What a joy!

When we returned home, I brought the turkey carcass in to be totally de-meated.  We froze all of that.  All the while, Jim and I were conversing.  We solved some of the world's problems. 

Saturday

Everyone got up and showered.  I made cinnamon rolls. After some chit-chat and some packing, they were ready to depart.

They left for Lebanon, IN, where they were to meet Jim's twin sister and husband at a Steak and Shake for lunch before leaving to go back to MO.  (His sister lives in Lafayette, IN.)  I got a call from Shari later saying that they were safely home.  Had arrived about 5:30, their time.  She sounded upbeat.  At that hour of the day after a busy weekend, that's a plus.

My biggest regret about the entire weekend is that we didn't get the grandchildren called on Thanksgiving, and the ONLY picture anyone thought to take was the one I took with Shari and the turkey.  What were we thinking??????

There was enough food that I sent lots of it home with both Judy and Shari, and still have some for me.  

So there you are.  Another holiday down successfully, with a LOT of help from my family and friends!