Thursday, November 27, 2014

Thanksgiving with Steve

These Sunday's segments are written by my husband, Mr. Jenny. Here's what he has to say about his posts:

I’ve been writing these weekly stories about life in Northern Idaho, as a youngster and as growing into a young man, primarily for our family. And I'm delighted to share them with you. Just between us, I’m anticipating being cranky when some whipper-snapper who may not even be born yet harasses me in 30 years or so with 'Grandpa, tell me about when you were a boy.' That will probably be after the mad cow disease has set in and erased whatever memory is left. So these are the not-so-dramatic adventures of a Baby Boomer in the 1950s, 60s and 70s.  This was first published in about November, 2009.

Thanksgiving

Another Thanksgiving in the books this week, a smaller crowd than usual, and my annual BBQ turkey came in perfectly.  Jenny's traditional perfect, oven-roasted boring turkey was cooked up in plenty of time for the main meal as well.

Boring perfect turkeys reminds me of my Aunt Eugenia, and of all of those Thanksgiving’s in the 1950’s and 1960’s at her house in our small town in Northern Idaho.

Every year, without exception, every single time, Aunt Eugenia massacred the turkey. She over-cooked it to the dryness and consistency of leather. Year after year the white meat was inedible; the juicy dark meat was not. It was obvious to everyone except her that she was secretly trying to make turkey jerky. In later years she laughed at her inability to cook a bird, but in the 1950’s, she was in fierce competition with her sister – my mother – to cook the best turkey. My mother (my father actually cooked it, but I think that was a secret at the time) would prepare the perfectly oven-roasted turkey to transport the short distance to Eugenia’s house for the late afternoon feast. The contrast of the two turkeys was always stunning.


Eugenia would be seem to be embarrassed and fume ever year that her bird was so dry, and that her sister out-cooked her yet again.

Aunt Eugenia (Genie for short) was kind of a strange duck: She was very prim and very proper, always dressed to the hilt, her house always picked-up and tidy, her language impeccable, her presence one of reserved elegance. But underestimate her or cross her at your own peril: Her glare, when you crossed the line of propriety, was like a death ray. Her pronouncements and judgments – out of the public view – were cutting, sharp, and decisive. You never wondered where Aunt Eugenia stood on anything, on any topic, on any view, and woe be to you if you disagreed with her pronouncement. And by the way, you had better shape up and behave yourself in her presence.

Thanksgiving was always at her house, while a month later Christmas dinner always at the Matlock madhouse. Thanksgiving usually consisted of us three rambunctious brothers and our parents, Aunt Eugenia’s two grown children who both still lived with her at the family home (one of whom for many years called us brothers ‘brats’, a term I still don’t like), Eugenia’s mother (my grandmother), and six or eight other adults that included several of Eugenia’s widowed lady friends. Mr. Eugenia had fled life with Eugenia in about 1950.

Eugenia always hired a bit of help for the holiday, usually someone in the kitchen to prepare the side dishes, the desserts, and then to clean-up the kitchen after dinner. For many years the help was a delightful lady named “Coxie”. Ida Cox was entertaining, energetic, and a fountain of local history of our town, most of which she had lived through personally. She stood no more than four-foot eight inches tall, thin as a rail, but with muscular arms. Coxie cooked on a wood burning stove at her small frame home until her death in 1970 at the age of 95. She was a master of home cooking, she delighted in making cakes and pies for her friends and neighbors, and often, if we were lucky, for the Matlock family. She fried chicken on Sundays, after chopping their heads off with a hatchet on Saturdays. She chopped the wood for her stove, and she never believed that gas or electric ovens did a very good job. She would chase us boys around Eugenia’s house when her cooking chores permitted, to the consternation of my aunt, and she befriended all of us brothers for years. She was a delight, one of those characters you never forget.

Eugenia’s son was Eugene (Cousin Gene) who I have referred to in many of these stories as my father’s partner in the local radio station and the radio news broadcaster for our small town.

It was Cousin Gene, my father, and my grandmother “Grambie” who were most vocal about Aunt Eugenia’s annual destruction of the Thanksgiving turkey --- year-after-year. Grambie would have one of her two cocktails a year (the other was always an eggnog before Christmas dinner) while Cousin Gene and my father would dip into the bourbon for a couple of shots before carving the two turkeys that would be resting at the kitchen table. The men would groan over the destroyed turkey as it crumbled under the carving knife, and they may have had another shot of bourbon in honor of Eugenia’s bird. Coxie would cackle and laugh at the poor bird while preparing the stuffing and green beans, and Grambie would sit on a kitchen step stool out of the way, sipping her drink, going “tisk, tisk, tisk” at the pulled pile of white turkey meat. It was really very funny, even to me at that young age. While that was going on, Brother David and I would steal pieces of dark meat to sample. In later years, when home from college for the annual turkey day massacre, Cousin Gene would sneak glasses of bourbon to David and me as well. He was a good cousin that way.


As a curious youngster, I always found it fascinating that there was a little button under the carpet of the dining room table where Eugenia sat at the head. If she needed help from the kitchen, she could press the button with her foot to activate a buzzer. Coxie would ignore her, of course, with a loud laugh, but in later years when Coxie no long cooked for the family, others came running. It was weird.

My mother was no great cook, although she tried. Her salvation at Thanksgiving was two-fold: i) In the late 1950’s Butterball turkeys came on the market that had the plastic temperature probe that popped-up when the bird was done, thus generally preventing over-cooking (Eugenia never figured that one out, one of those new fangled inventions that made no sense to her), and ii) Coxie in the kitchen preparing everything else.

I wish Coxie were alive today -- I’d invite her to dinner and I would fly her from Idaho to Arizona to join us, not to cook but to experience our modern but traditional Thanksgiving and to enjoy our family. I wish my father and Cousin Gene were alive to join us as well, to sneak a bit of bourbon, and to rightly judge whose turkey this year is best.

I wish you were coming too, because I know that you, along with all of our Thanksgiving day guests this year, are going to appreciate the finesse, the delicacy, the suberb nature of the masterfully prepared cherry-wood smoked turkey that will jointly grace our table on Thursday along with its boring counterpart, the perfectly oven-roasted bird.

A Thanksgiving Memory


It was early morning. It was that tingly cold that makes you put on your warmest slippers and flannel robe. As I headed downstairs I cursed my attraction to century-old farmhouses. Although we had tried mightily to seal old glass windows and run heating vents through almost petrified wood beams, the upstairs was always chilly, and even more so in late November with an early cold spell bringing snow and wind to upstate Ohio.

On the way to the kitchen I turned up the thermostat several notches. I turned on the kitchen light and the golden tones of the wooden cabinets and floors glowed. The double window over the kitchen sink reflected a light glittering of snow dusted pink, rose and gold from the first rays of the Eastern sun. The gnarled ancient apple tree branches silhouetted against the pale lavender morning sky cast their charm over me as they always did.

The pilot light on my old, white enamel stove was out again, but I struck a match and the burner glowed warmly in the still chilly kitchen. I checked that the oven pilot light was working and turned that on as well. In deference to the early hour I had left my cast iron skillet, biggest roasting pan and a basket of onions out on the counter the night before.

The refrigerator supplied the butter, celery and a fat turkey ready to be stuffed. Very soon chopped onion and celery were simmering away in butter and their savory scents perfumed the kitchen air. This was the smell of every Thanksgiving past in our family. It was the same scent I anticipated each year when my parent rose at dawn to begin the preparation of our childhood feasts. I can remember laying in my cozy bed and smelling Thanksgiving as it drifted through the house. I hoped my children were having those same feelings on this day.

My huge yellow-ware bowl, used only for preparing food in massive quantities, easily held all my bread crumbs, bread cubes and spices - pungent sage and black pepper, the coarse glisten of kosher salt, the soft, enticing smell of the marjoram. All of the scents combined in that big yellow bowl…ahhh, the fragrance of memories. Soon the onions and celery were tender and the chicken broth warmed and the dressing became moist and aromatic with their addition.

The kitchen had become warm and wonderful and soon the stuffed turkey was in for its long roasting time. The extra stuffing was in its buttered casserole with a scoop saved out inside my little pink stoneware bowl. Now it was time to make some coffee and then start the dinner roll dough rising, time to make the pie crust so it could chill for several hours, time to start chopping vegetables…

But first… a fresh cup of coffee and cream and a small pink bowl filled with stuffing needed to be eaten in front of the big windows overlooking the stark sculpture of winter apple trees and the rosy morning glow of the sky. The house was quiet, the wooly throw was warm on my lap, my children were safely asleep upstairs.

Later the house would fill with relatives and laughter and teasing and conversation. Pies, mashed potatoes, the magnificent turkey, flavorful stuffing, yeasty warm dinner rolls, and homemade jellies glistening like jewels would fill the table.

But for now, my coffee was perfect, the stuffing was savory, memories of all the Thanksgivings that had come before warmed my mind. This moment and this magic was my Thanksgiving.

.....

I still have the giant yellowware bowl. It sits on my counter filled with fruit and random bits of lifes overflow!

Have a blessed day of Thanks, my friends, whether it is a holiday where you live or not.

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Wednesday, November 26, 2014

Alphabe-Thursday Letter B


Good morning class. Welcome to round ten of Alphabe-Thursday!

Today we will be bellowing about the beautiful letter:


Please link directly to your Alphabe-Thursday URL (if you don't know how to do this let me know!) and please continue to visit the five links before and after your link and leave a comment. Minimum of 10 links visited please. You can visit more if you like, of course.

I just finished visiting all the A links!  It is fun to be back and reading!  It feels like a little vacation whenever I sit and go through several links!   Thank you for participating!

If you have any difficulties with your link, please make sure to include the number of the link when you e-mail me. It is really difficult for me to find you easily otherwise.

If you have any questions about Alphabe-Thursday or problems doing your link just post it in a comment or send me an e-mail. I'll do my best to help you as quickly as I can.

The McLinkey will be live from 1:00 pm MST time Wednesday afternoon in an effort to assist our lovely "friends across the pond" and continue through 10:00 am MST time Friday morning!

And remember.... link back to this post, you need to be registered as a follower of my blog, PG posts only, and try to visit at least 10 other students (perhaps the 5 students before and after your post). The links will stay live after the final post deadline has passed so you can even wait and visit over the weekend or whenever you have more time.

Please bring your best letter B now!
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Sunday, November 23, 2014

Irish Letter A

My husband and I took a trip to Ireland in September.  I got very sick on the return trip and have been laid up, but I decided to try and participate in Alphabe-Thursday this round with my own little tales of Ireland.   This is my first offering.


Mr. Jenny was distracted trying to take pictures of a coffee-colored stream churning under medieval trees, so I walked ahead.

 
Across a  narrow, ancient stone bridge.
 

Around a bend in a road hedged with ferns and fuschia. 

 
Until I stopped in my tracks.

 
And caught my breath in disbelief at a tiny, ancient stone church nestled into the small glen of verdant greenery that was the rural Irish countryside.

 











Beyond the welcome of an open rusted iron gate I saw her…gathering boxwood and hydrangeas the color of sunset and mid-day.  She looked up from her lovely task and saw me.   “Welcome, come in.”  I walked across the gravel of the driveway with a huge smile on my face.   She reached out from her bouquet and we shook hands. 

 
“Boxwood.   Hydrangea.  What a bounty!” 

 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 

“Oh, ‘tis, ‘tis.  And I am Anne.”

 
“And I am Jenny,” I replied.  
 

 

 
 
 
 
 

We continued to smile at each other in that silly way you smile at a loved one who’s been gone from your sight for too long.  Eventually Mr. Jenny wandered into the churchyard and joined us.  He raised his eyebrows at me in question.  I introduced them and offered to carry the flowers.

 
Anne declined but invited us into the church.

 
Oh.

 
Oh.  

 
The church.

 
It was ancient.   And lovely.  The dark oak gated pews gleamed with care.  The wide plank floors were swept clean but sprinkled here and there with sky blue and pink hydrangea petal confetti.

 
I stood in front of the altar.   I felt the history and the love and the pain and the blessings the little church held. I felt the peace the little church offered to me and I let it soak into my soul. 

 
My soul has been a bit bruised lately.  Trying to find solace has been exhausting work with painful introspection often soothed only by music.
 

So even though I heard the murmur of conversation between Anne and Mr. Jenny, I began singing. Amazing Grace. 

 
How sweet the sound. That saved a wretch like me.

 
The pain and loss inside of me seemed to weave into the poignant lyrics.  The burden of grief carried too long, lifted away.   I turned my face up to the jeweled stained glass window and sang through my tears. 

 
Anne came and stood beside me.   I turned my tear wet face toward her.  I felt no shame or embarrassment to be crying in an old stone church in the Irish countryside in front of a woman I’d never met before. 

 
We stood together. 

 
Shoulder to shoulder. 

 
Kindred hearts joined by chance.

I don’t know how long we stood, but finally Mr. Jenny joined us.   “We need to get going,” he said.

 

“Wai!   Before you go let me show you the stables,” Anne said.

 
We had a whirlwind tour of the stable and some weathered tombstones and explored the nooks and crannies of the old church.  

 
“Tis wishing I am that I had some milk so I could give you coffee,” Anne said sweetly.

 

‘Tis wishing I was that she did have milk, because Mr. Jenny finally insisted it was time to go to meet our Grandlittles after school.

 
 Anne and I faced each other and embraced.  “We are kindred spirits,” Anne told me solemnly.  I nodded.   It was true.  I don’t know how, but it was true.

 
As we started to walk back up the church driveway, Anne called after us.   “Come back on Friday night.   We’re having a little concert here.   Come back and see us on Friday night at 7.”

 
“We’ll be back!     We’ll be back!   Thank you Anne, thank you!”


Mr. Jenny took my hand as we walked away through the rusted gates, around the bend and back across the beautiful stone bridge.



I squeezed his hand tightly in return.


 And felt very blessed to have met Anne in her little Irish church. 
 
 
This little story is linked to Alphabe-Thursday's letter A.   To read other A offerings, just click here.


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Wednesday, November 19, 2014

Alphabe-Thursday Letter A


Good morning class. Welcome to round TEN of Alphabe-Thursday!

Here we go again!

My goal is to actually read all the A's this week.

And to put up an A post.

Gosh.

That seems like such a big goal, but I wrote it on a sticky note and stuck it on my computer screen so I'm going to try very hard to accomplish it!  And I've actually written an A post about visiting Ireland so that's a start at least!


Today we will be sharing all aspects of the letter:



Please link directly to your Alphabe-Thursday URL (if you don't know how to do this let me know!) and please continue to visit the five links before and after your link and leave a comment. Minimum of 10 links visited please. You can visit more if you like, of course.


If you have any difficulties with your link, please make sure to include the number of the link when you e-mail me. It is really difficult for me to find you easily otherwise.

If you have any questions about Alphabe-Thursday or problems doing your link just post it in a comment or send me an e-mail. I'll do my best to help you as quickly as I can.

I also want to mention that sometimes when I visit wordpress blogs the only way I can leave a comment is by using an e-mail address DIFFERENT than the one I have linked to blogger.  If you see odd e-mail address that's why I'm doing it.

The McLinkey will be live from 1:00 pm MST time Wednesday afternoon in an effort to assist our lovely "friends across the pond" and continue through 10:00 am MST time Friday morning!

And remember.... link back to this post, you need to be registered as a follower of my blog, PG posts only, and try to visit at least 10 other students (perhaps the 5 students before and after your post). The links will stay live after the final post deadline has passed so you can even wait and visit over the weekend or whenever you have more time.

Please advise us what your A post is, by linking now:

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Wednesday, November 12, 2014

Alphabe-Thursday Letter Z


Good morning class. 

Welcome to the end of round nine of Alphabe-Thursday! Today we will be studying the zippy letter:


...but before we do please


I have something important to tell you.

As you know, I've been pretty ill.   No answers yet and I will actually update you all in a post later this week.

Based on your e-mails, I think you all like our little Alphabe-community so I will just continue for the next round.

I'm hoping to be able to participate this next round.

I have a thought of a theme and if I can just get the pain management under control a little better I think I can do it.

I appreciate your understanding that I can't visit much!

I will when I can!

Often I read your links but if my hands are bad, it's difficult to write a comment to you!

Let's try it again, if you're game.

And, if you're not, thanks for participating.  You've been fabulous!




Everything else is still the same!


Please link directly to your Alphabe-Thursday URL (if you don't know how to do this let me know!) and please continue to visit the five links before and after your link and leave a comment. Minimum of 10 links visited please. You can visit more if you like, of course, and please try very hard to visit the blogs that visit you for this meme.

If you have any difficulties with your link, please make sure to include the number of the link when you e-mail me. It is really difficult for me to find your link otherwise. And, if you see any broken links, please let me know that as well.

If you have any questions about Alphabe-Thursday or problems doing your link just post it in a comment or send me an e-mail. I'll do my best to help you as quickly as I can.

The McLinkey will be live from 1:00 pm MST time Wednesday afternoon in an effort to assist our lovely "friends across the pond" and continue through 10:00 am MST time Friday morning!

And remember.... link back to this post, you need to be registered as a follower of my blog, PG posts only, and you must visit at least 10 other posts...perhaps consider starting from the last posts and work backwards. The links will stay live after the final post deadline has passed so you can even wait and visit over the weekend or whenever you have more time.

Please link your zany Z post now!






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Wednesday, November 5, 2014

Alphabe-Thursday Letter Y


Good morning class.

Welcome to round nine of Alphabe-Thursday! Today we will be studying the youthful letter:


Please link directly to your Alphabe-Thursday URL (if you don't know how to do this let me know!) and please continue to visit the five links before and after your link and leave a comment. Minimum of 10 links visited please. You can visit more if you like, of course, and please try very hard to visit the blogs that visit you for this meme.


If you have any difficulties with your link, please make sure to include the number of the link when you e-mail me. It is really difficult for me to find you easily otherwise.

If you have any questions about Alphabe-Thursday or problems doing your link just post it in a comment or send me an e-mail. I'll do my best to help you as quickly as I can.

The McLinkey will be live from 1:00 pm MST time Wednesday afternoon in an effort to assist our lovely "friends across the pond" and continue through 10:00 am MST time Friday morning!

And remember.... link back to this post, you need to be registered as a follower of my blog, PG posts only, and you must visit at least 10 other posts...perhaps consider starting from the last posts and work backwards. The links will stay live after the final post deadline has passed so you can even wait and visit over the weekend or whenever you have more time.

Please link your yummy Y post now!
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