Black Friday -- ha

(Thanksgiving flowers)

Shawn says Black Friday doesn't exist in his world.

DJ says that Black Friday means we pull the shades and sleep until noon in the dark.

DJ also pointed out the irony that Americans supposedly spend all day Thursday giving thanks for the great abundance they are blessed with, and then roll up their sleeves to hit the malls on Friday, willing to draw blood and mow down their neighbors in their to-the-death competition to procure more stuff.

After cooking and cleaning up the turkey feast, I can't imagine who has energy to shop after Thanksgiving. Maybe it is the people who eat their dinner at a restaurant and thus (after receiving the bill) are desperate to save money on their Christmas gifts? I was exhausted last night, but blessedly able to sleep. I woke up at 8 and still felt like it was about 3 a.m. -- except for the bright sun streaming in around the edges of my window shades. I went back to bed.

We didn't sleep until noon, only about 10:00. I breakfasted on tea, leftover turkey, leftover pie, and citrus fruit.

It was a good Thanksgiving. We had the same menu as always, but we ate off the every-day dishes instead of the china. The turkey and praline squash were better than last year, and the Waldorf salad was not quite as good.


(pies, and me making praline squash in the background)

Speaking of the turkey... that was thirty pounds of deliciousness. Actually, I thought it was 29.88 lbs, so I've been happily calling it a 30 lb. turkey without any remorse. But I noticed on the label yesterday that it was actually 28.99 pounds, so I guess I was exaggerating more than I thought in my number-rounding process. But it was a gargantuan turkey.

A friend offered to loan me a turkey roaster. I don't think we could have done this project without that roaster. The turkey was technically too big, but I lined the sides with buttered aluminum foil where the turkey was plastered against them. The lid went on, and that was what mattered.


(topped the roaster with a towel to insulate)

I read up on roasting in a roaster, and applied a melange of the advice I found.

(1) I rinsed the turkey, rubbed it with olive oil, and sprinkled it with kosher salt, fresh ground pepper, plenty of sage, and a bit of thyme and rosemary. I put plenty of the seasonings into the cavity.

(2) I coarsely chopped and/or quartered some onions, celery, a granny-smith apple and a lemon and stuffed them into the cavity as well.

(3) We put about 1/2 inch of water in the bottom of the roasting pan. Sources differ as to whether they recommend this step, but I wanted to be sure to have something for gravy.

(4) We placed the turkey in the roaster with the buttered foil along the sides.

(5) We turned the roaster up to nearly the highest setting and "seared" the turkey for 30 minutes.

(6) We roasted the turkey for 2 hours at 325, and then 4.5 more hours at 350, never lifting the lid once to check until seven hours had been completed.

Upon opening the roaster, the first thing I noticed was the leg meat falling from the leg bones. I thought perhaps it would be overcooked and dried out. But it was a the tenderest, moistest, most flavorful turkey I've ever had, except perhaps when I've brined them.



The first few bites were so delicious. Unfortunately, I got full practically before I even tasted some of everything. But you know, "there's always tomorrow..."


(DJ after eating his fill)

So I guess this post is more about Thanksgiving than it is about Black Friday. And I am glad, because I think that's the way it ought to be.


(The guys raked the rest of the leaves...)


(...and watched football.)


Lulu took pictures.


We ate our first meal in the dining room since we repainted this past summer. That is sparkling cider, non-alcoholic, and it was a delicious complement to the meal.


It was nice.

All's well

My kids are all at home.

Last night, it felt so good to go to bed knowing that every bedroom was occupied. Every person was present and accounted for. Six sets of DNA-sharing lungs would be breathing the air in this very house, all night long.

I fell asleep listening to them bantering out in the hall about whose turn it was in the bathroom. It just doesn't get any better than that.

Today we had a family photo shoot with a family friend who is a wonderful photographer. We walked around on this perfect fall day amongst crunchy leaves, brick buildings, metal bridges, park benches and grassy banks on the side of a canal. Our photographer took tons of pictures, and we laughed, climbed, and leaned against one another.

At the end we were chilly, so we warmed up with some fancy coffee drinks in a trendy little coffee shop, and we were just so together, so completely and totally all there. Jon smiled, DJ was nonchalant, Laura wondered how long it takes to get into NYC from Shannon's apartment, and Shannon talked to Shawn about visiting her when he goes east on business, and how she knows a place where they can get all-you-can-eat sushi for $20.

Now they are all at the phone store because Jon gets his first phone today, and the rest all want upgrades.

And I'd better come up with a dinner plan...

Holiday season

The longest gaps in my posts are when there is the most going on in real life. Shannon is home now, and we're praying that Lulu-belle will arrive home safe tonight.

It's kind of weird how one's blog is quiet when one's life is full, but it makes sense.

Wegman's has turkeys for 48 cents per pound with a $25 purchase. I've been hitting Wegman's more lately, so each time I go I can get a turkey. I believe I've bought four turkeys so far! I'd like to get one more, and then I can roast one per month until spring. How is that for a fun way to pass the winter months?

The other day I took Jon with me on my turkey run. (I call it a turkey run when I go out to spend $25 and get a cheap turkey--and I don't feel guilty, because Wegman's is getting a lot of business out of me through this offer, business that otherwise would be going to Aldi.)

So Jon and I were walking toward the freezer case that holds the turkeys, and I said, "Do you want to get a medium one, or a big one?"

Of course he said he wanted a big one. I saw a 20 pounder and said, "How about that?" He considered it and told me, "Well, the one underneath it is a whole lot bigger." He dug out the really big one, and it was very nearly 30 pounds. I tried to talk him out of it. I don't know if my oven is even big enough to roast a bird that big. Oven roasting bags only hold turkeys up to 24 pounds. I was very dubious of this scheme.

He won. There is a 30 pound turkey thawing in the bottom of my refrigerator.

I hope the plastic wrapper doesn't leak.

I borrowed a turkey roaster from a friend. If the turkey doesn't fit in this contraption, we're up a creek.

Song lyrics

I've written a number of times about my concerns regarding the lack of theological substance, correctness and completeness in many Contemporary Christian Music choruses.

There are some good modern songs, though. Here are links to a few of the ones that touch my heart meaningfully:

How Deep the Father's Love

In Christ Alone

The Gospel Song

All I Have is Christ

Blessings



It is not about when a song was written, whether it is a new song or an old song. It is about:

(1) What kind of truth do the lyrics of the song proclaim about the Lord?

(2) Does the form of the song (the way it sounds and feels) support the meaning that it is trying to communicate?

In other words, the song needs to have good, solid truth in it, to begin with. And then, the melody and the rhythm need to underscore and spotlight this truth, rather than distracting attention away from the lyrics. Even a really good song can be ruined by a distracting drumbeat, although I recognize that this statement drifts dangerously close to matters of personal taste. Still, it is something to beware.

Aside: I was once in a choir that sang a song with lyrics that proclaimed,
It was a great thing that He did for me!
It was a great thing that He did for me!
Jesus died on Calvary,
for the whole wide world to see!
It was a great thing that He did for me!

Now, this is all absolutely true and good and right. However, the song was sung to a loud, catchy, swinging country gospel tune. I'd say it was rollicking. If the song had been about the resurrection, it might have been appropriate. But singing in such a sing-song, hee-haw, kick-up-your-heels-and-dance style about the crucifixion of my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ... well, it always made me cringe. Quite a bit.

Lyrics are important. Words are important. If Jesus is the Word of God, made flesh to dwell among us (John 1), then words are important. People who say, "You just think too much," are copping out, and the Emperor has no clothes.

I just wanted to write about this today because there is an old hymn that I have never liked, since I was a child, and this morning I thought of an analogy for why I do not like it.

I do not like the song, "The Old Rugged Cross." Here are the lyrics in particular that I do not like:

So I’ll cherish the old rugged cross,
Till my trophies at last I lay down;
I will cling to the old rugged cross,
And exchange it some day for a crown.

It has a nice, heartfelt hymn melody, so in these days when hymns are sung somewhat rarely, especially if it comes up in the middle of a head-banging set of contemporary music, I can get lulled into a sense of well-being by the melody before I realize that I do not like the words.

But really? "I'll cherish the old rugged cross..."? How about if I cherish JESUS, who died a horrible death on the old rugged cross? The cross itself was a terrible thing, the thing I'd have had to experience if Jesus had not sacrificed Himself for me on it.

The analogy I thought of: Imagine a young man who has to work for a living in a terrible machine factory. In this factory, his bosses beat him and insult him daily, working him to the bone. Day after day, in the ear-splitting din of crashing metal parts, he lifts and carries large, awkward, heavy, sharp-edged metal pieces from one end of the factory to the other. He has no hope. He is miserable, and he can't afford to quit, or he will starve.

Then, suppose his mother learns of his predicament. She moves across the country to live with him, and she goes to work in the factory for him, enduring all the harsh treatment and excruciating labor to earn money for her son, which she gives to him so he can go to college and earn a degree and get a better job.

At the end of it all, when the young man has received his college degree, paid his college bills, and begun a new job, does he say... "I love the old machine factory!"

I think not.

And neither do I love "the old cross." I love Jesus. I am grateful that He died for my sins. I appreciate with all my heart what Jesus did for me on the cross. But I do not love the cross. It is almost like saying that you love Hell, because Jesus saved you from it. That would just be ridiculous.

Identifying the problem

I am trying to clean, and it is totally stressing me out.

I had to take a break.

Part of the problem, I think, is that in order for me to make things look nice, I have to take apart and hide all our haphazard systems for living and paying bills and cooking and studying. When it is aesthetically pleasing around here, it is entirely non-functional. Both of these scenarios (living in squalor vs. living in an aesthetic but non-functioning environment) cause me no end of stress, but the clean-to-dysfunction is killing me right now. It could be months before we find some of the things I am squirreling out of sight today, even though I am trying very hard to do this logically.

(side note: When things get lost, Shawn plays a game where he says, "Hmmmm. I'm Ruth. Now, where would I put the [--insert name of missing object--] if I were trying to store it in a logical place?" I can never find things this way, but he often does, which is uncanny, but I have been telling him for nearly 25 years that it is his job to read my mind, and I guess he has learned how in certain instances.)

I long for a house that is both aesthetic and functional... where I have real places to keep (not hide) the things I am working on, and I can find things readily without just piling all the important stuff in one very obvious and unaesthetic place, and bills do not get lost and I don't forget to return my library books before they are overdue.

*sigh*

Remembering to say thank you

I wrote about my varicose vein surgery back when it happened. But in so doing, I neglected to mention the most amazing part. 

 I did mention that I was afraid of the anesthesia, but I did not explain how afraid I was. I was so afraid that I did not sleep for a week before the procedure. This no doubt was part of my excuse for going to pieces and weeping during my admission process. I was exhausted. 

During the week before the surgery, the week when I was not sleeping, I had to do a little marching band fund-raising for Jonathan. I don't know if I have ever mentioned how much I hate and despise fund-raising. But I do. And there I was, an exhausted, frightened woman, looking down the pike at vein surgery, trying to focus on the day-to-day, and the day-to-day was fund raising. Ugh. 

One of my tasks was to try to sell a print ad to a local jewelry store. This ad would appear in the program for the band show that our school was hosting. I get a lump in my throat just thinking about trying to sell an ad to a jewelry store. It was October, so I decided, "I will go into the store and buy something for one of my girls, for a birthday gift. And after I have made the purchase, I will ask if they will buy an ad." 

So I went into the store and looked at jewelry pieces, and a nice woman helped me. She was medium height, medium build, short brown hair (more stylish than mine) and nicely dressed (as you would expect of an employee in a jewelry store). She was just a really nice person. At some point a dam broke and I gushed out my life's story, about how tired I was because I was not sleeping because I had surgery coming up and I was so, so scared. Even as I spilled my guts, I was embarrassed and ashamed. But she looked at me sympathetically and said, "What is your name? I would like to pray for you. I'll pray for you, that God will help you get through this." Just like that. 

I didn't even know what to say, so I just said, "Ruth." I didn't tell her that I was a sister in Christ, or that God had certainly put her in my path that day because He knew I needed a touch from Him, or that my heart was overflowing with gratitude. I just told her my name was Ruth, and I bought a necklace for Shannon, and I halfheartedly offered to sell her an ad but waved it away in relief when she apologetically told me that the store owner wasn't buying many ads in the present economy. I walked out to my car full of wonder. 

And then, on the day of the surgery, when I had been admitted and had stripped down to a hospital gown and was getting prepped by my nurse, the nurse pulled out a big questionnaire. As she went down through the questions, she hit one that asked, "Do you have a particular religious affiliation?" I scrunched up my face and asked, "What do you mean by that?" She was of medium height, medium build, short brown hair. Her hair was sandy textured, and she had a few freckles, I think, and a cute little nose that turned up just a tad. In her pale surgical-green scrubs, she looked full of kindness. I don't even remember what I said, but all of a sudden we were having this great chat, and she was a Baptist, too, with a brother who is a pastor in the Adirondacks or Albany or somewhere. She said, "We're all born-again here!" And even though I was so afraid of the procedure, she assured me that God would be with me and that it would be OK. 

It was so amazing and surreal, I can't even remember the particulars, just this incredible sense of relief and astonishment that God would reach out to me like that, at a time like that, and let me know how near He was. And then I never even told anybody about these things. I don't even know why. But I am telling now, because God deserves to be bragged on.

wonderful weekend

I knew my daughters were coming home this past weekend, so I bought some flowers. They were gorgeous.

However, the roses opened too fast, and were nearly spent by the time the girls arrived...

So we replaced them with some carnations to extend the life of the bouquet. It reminds me of fluffy peppermint candies.

Every year for about two weeks, my three older kids have stair-step ages. The first year, they were 0, 1 and 2. Now, that was a challenge. This year (and in this picture) they are 19, 20 and 21. Actually, 21, 20 and 19, if you want to get technical. This was taken one day before Shannon turned 22.

While the girls were home, the boys got Lu to shave their heads. Here she is scalping DJ in the garage. It was too cold and rainy to do it outdoors. Sadly, through the whole weekend, we did not get a single picture of Jon. He, however, was the one who swept up the hair in the garage, and also the one who grilled steaks for the joint birthday dinner held on October 21.


Here is Shannon in the garage, bonding with her Schu while she watches Lu wield the electric razor.


Ahhh... the birthday cake. This is a triple-layer chocolate-mocha cake from Taste of Home. It has a chocolate-mocha cream cheese frosting, and it is delicious.



We put on 41 candles, because Lu turned 19 on October 8, and Shannon was turning 22 on the 23rd. 19 + 22 = 41. Hence, 41 candles.


It took awhile to light them all. Jonathan helped.


The sight of the cake all ablaze was quite remarkable. We took our time singing, as much as we dared, so we could enjoy the effect.



...and when they blew out the candles, there was a great cloud of smoke. We opened the slider to the deck to air it out, and averted an issue with the fire alarm.


I'm not gonna lie, that was one mouthwatering, magnificent, momentous birthday cake.



The next day, Shannon and Shawn and I went apple picking. The apples are disappearing fast. When Shawn learned that Granny Smith apples were prolific right now, and that they are only good for baking, not for eating, he was all for picking "...just a few more of these!" We enjoyed a great, big, fresh, apple crisp to eat that very evening.


That night we all bundled up and went to see Jonathan play in a marching band show. Even though we didn't take any pictures, I will try to get a generic marching band picture of Jon on here, but I'm having some trouble right now. Just imagine a very tall, dark eyed trumpet player who marches sharply and in perfect step, blowing sweet high tones through his horn into the crisp fall starlight of central New York... It was a great night, and we weren't even too cold.

AHA! I got it! Kind of a formal band uniform mugshot, but even so, you can see how handsome my boy is.


And there went another fall weekend where the pool did not get closed. Poor old pool, full of leaves and raindrops. Poor old us, that will be one cold, wet job now.