Farewells and Firs

Just when we're gettin' super comfy with our guests and the jokes are getting really good and we're falling into a rad rhythm...

...they go and leave.

Yet we still fit in a trip west to Alleghany County today where they grow the Fraser Fir full and fragrant!

Dr. Gooch lit the chandelier in the living room and we're breathing in the tree goodness right now.  More pine pics later.  Night.

We Love

sharing our home, our food, our city, and our love with our family

"I Feel Like I'm Home!"

That's what my sister said as we approached the table to fill our plates with the bounty of the day's labors.  And that was all I needed to hear.

The Food

The Folks

This year I'm thankful for health and family and roasted chestnuts added to my Mom's dressing recipe.

Kicking It Off in the Kitchen!

I got out of bed this morning (still so grateful for a functioning epiglotis) and went straight into the attic.  I needed something to motivate me in the kitchen today.  I found it tucked beneath the tree skirt: our 8-year collection of Christmas Music!

And to get start the kids off on the right note we dug out another holiday collection: my Christmas cookie sprinkles.  We used them to top their oatmeal.  Snowflakes, red and green balls, mini gingerbread men, little trees, and tiny candy canes adorned that mushy goodness at the breakfast table.

Lucy, to me, as I cooked the oatmeal: "When you say 'sprinkles', I just want to die!!"
Me, stunned:  "Why?"
Lucy, with a twirl and throwing her arms up in the air: "Because, sprinkles make me so happy! I just feel like I'm in Paris!"

Is she my daughter or is she my daughter?  Although, I think she was going for "paradise" not "Paris".

Wishing you all happy preparations in your kitchens far and wide.

Her Colors are Purple and Purple

the Thanksgiving Table ready to be filled-a happy sight

It was like my throat was possessed.  The worst night was Sunday.  I woke up gagging and gasping for air.  At that point I hadn't been able to eat much for three days and was weak and sleep-deprived.  Monday I woke up able to swallow (some scrambled eggs and a yogurt drink from Dr. Gooch).  Relief.  Recovery.  Thank you for prayers and advice--both were weighed heavily, I think.  I never knew I was so grateful for the ability to swallow.  Just in time, right?

Today is a new day and we have Uncle Jacob (who my kids confusedly call Uncle Brenda) staying for the holiday feast.  I loved spending the day "catching up" with my tall, handsome brother.  And tomorrow Aunt Ann and Uncle Brendon (source of confusion) arrive with sweet baby MD.

The kids are excited for the holiday.  Having visitors is supreme in their eyes and Seth likes meat on bones so the prospect of a whole Turkey for dinner (make it really brown, Mom) is heavenly.  I put Jacob to work slicing and peeling roasted chestnuts for the stuffing and de-segmented a load of grapefruit for the traditional grapefruit slush:

Grapefruit segments

pink lemonade concentrate

water

freeze

crush

mix with lemon/lime bubbly

serve in goblets with pizazz

We couldn't hardly peel Hazel off of her Uncle Brenda Jacob and he is now catching some early evening z's to recover from tolerating her antics all day long.

Here's a sweet picture of Seth "starring" in Stone Soup.  I was super bummed to miss it.  Super. Bummed.  He refused to reenact the song and dance in our living room for me.

Oh, and look at that grass!!

Presumptive Diagnosis: H1N1 Influenza

I can deal with chills and fever.  Bring on the body aches and fatigue.  I'll even scratch those hives all over my body with delight.

But.  Sore. Throat. Be. Gone.  You are laying me low.  I have two responsibilities in life: caring for my children and eating.  I can't talk or swallow.  This stupid sore throat has rendered me useless.  And after three days it is getting old, too.  And the pain--oh the pain that no medicine can touch.

Okay, that's all the complaining I'm going to do.  Oh wait, one more, I'm going to be a terrible hostess to my lovely guests this week.  That makes me sad.

I can't swallow.  Hives all over my body.  Chills, body aches.  To bed.  Praying now I can make it to Seth's school production of Stone Soup in the morning.  He has the opening scene.   I hope I make it to Monday alive.  Seriously, the sorest throat ever.

The Chaos Factor

Here is the hypothesis (at least today's hypothesis):

a.  Each human being has a certain level of chaos they are wired to tolerate.
b.  It is the same for every human being.

Here is how the humans differ:

a. Some people are born clear of chaos with a clean slate ready to take on the world like champs. These people are often teachers, event coordinators, restauranteurs.  They are around you.  You know them.

b.  Some people are born with their own complete matching set of silver-plated chaos.  It's clean, but it's there and it takes up space.  These people are often artists or writers or postal workers.  They have to have somewhere to put the spill-over.  In paint, words, or thoughts on a route because they can't fit the superfluous chaos collected along the way.  It's messy.

Here's the conclusion:

a.  Both sets make good mothers.  The children of the first "take in stride" the conveyor belt of existence as it pass by or under.  They are methodical mothers always ready with gentle words and mashed potatoes.

a.  The children of the second are fighters with fathom-like love.  They are maniacal mothers who provide a place for great healing and rich, varied experience.

I'm not sure which one I am but I have weighty suspicions.  One is not better than the other, both are powerful and necessary.  One is a ferris wheel and one a rollercoaster.

*pictures taken by Dr. Gooch during a revisit of the trail.  Except the funny dog sign picture--that was by me.

Misfits

At Gugelhupf Bakery in Durham during Rain Storm '09

Sometimes we take all four of the rascals places, like in public, and then we're like, what were we thinking, and we hurriedly herd them back into the car and one of us runs in to get the needed product and then we go home where we can hide safely out of the public eye.  It's crazy.

No Motorhome

At the breakfast table, I was figuring out how old Seth would be when Avery started Kindergarten.  He'll be 10.  He'll be in fifth grade.  All four of our children will be in Elementary school together.  I told Seth this.  He asked, "Will we still be in this house."  I said, "Definitely."

"No, I don't want this house for that long.  I want a better house."
My rebuttal, "Seth, there is no better house.  We got the best house in all of North Carolina!"
"I want a house with wheels."
"A motorhome?"
"Yes, I want a motorhome."
Nothing against motorhomes or those who live in them, but a gal's gotta draw the line.

It isn't surprising that Seth would be more comfortable in a motorhome.  We've lived, up to now, a nomadic life.  Only stopping long enough to concieve and bear two children in each place.  And we've never lived super close to family (we're those have-to-spend-the-night relatives) so we've done a lot of traveling (driving). Our younger three have no memory of our previous residences and Seth can only recall foggy images of his early life. We're ready to settle and provide a soft bed of memories for our someday grown children to return to for a rest from their hectic future lives.

Yet, I feel like any second Dr. Gooch is going to wake up next to me or call me on his way home from work or wipe his mouth with a sigh at the dinner table and announce:

'We're going to Kalamazoo, Michigan!!'  Then, we'll all clap and look at the map to see where that is.  I'll ask about the job there and Seth will ask if there are any lighthouses.  Lucy won't care except that we'll have treats in the car on our way there.

But then, I would start to cry and think about all the bulbs we Dr. Gooch planted and the sprinkler system and the grass just starting to get a little thick and so green.  I'll think about the kids' schools so convenient down the road and the rooms we painted and most of all I'll think about our mild winters here compared to how they would be in Michigan.  Brrrr.

And then I'm relieved that Dr. Gooch never really announced anything except maybe how good the dinner was.  I don't know when that nomadic blood will leave my system, maybe never, because, as my Mom said, "You and Dr. Gooch (except she said Craig) don't let the grass grow under your feet."

Yet, here we are checking our new grass up close every day saying, "The grass is growing well."  And, I'm enjoying every minute of it.  So, Seth, no motorhome.  At least not for a long time.

This Life

blurry but beautiful

Thursday...the twelth?

It seems like it has been raining forever.  I am ready for some sunshine like the kind we had last weekend.  Our roof is leaking, lights are blowing out all over the house, faucet knobs are breaking loose, and our flower bulbs are drowning in Hurricane Ida's leftovers.  They say tomorrow (Friday the 13th) is more of the same.  We've stocked up on hot chocolate, moved the loveseat into the girls' room for a reading nook, and made a batch of cookie dough for some decorating after dinner tomorrow.  These efforts and some sunny snaps from Sunday should help us weather the storm.