Black Friday

Ahhhh Black Friday…. I grin at those silly folk who rise at ungodly hours to spend money… I actually admire the tenacity and bravery it takes to get out and pull off this type of combat maneuver, alas, I am far too lazy to venture into the uncharted waters for the post-Turkey Day pillaging of the local mall. Actually, I did it once, with my mom, when my children were very young. 0500 into a KMart because I was a single parent, very little cash, and mom was nuts enough to offer to take half the list. A bangup Christmas the kids had that year, but I saw an apocolyptic side of humanity that day I would never again want to view. Mom and I should have gotten matching KMart Tattoos or something, some symbol of solidarity to show for our having survived the event.

Today, I spent Black Friday morning with my mom at a doc appt. Then, I toodle home, entering the house to smell the aroma of nuked Turkey leftovers hanging in the air, while the sound of Guitar Hero’s horrific Lynyrd Skynrd Freebird cover plays for the umpteenth time. Please God, let him reach Superstardom… (or did that only exist in the South Park episode?) I wonder, could it be worse were there a “Ukelele Hero” complete with Don Ho hits, or a Burt Reynolds/Ned Beatty inspired “Banjo Hero”? It could be worse… maybe tambourine hero? Spanish Guitar Hero, packaged with a couple of 45s, two ammo laden bandoleros and jug of Patron Tequila might be a delightful alternative. As I enter the kitchen, my very own Guitar Hero turns to me and says “You’re two hours late. I COULD have gone to the hockey game.” And I replied “Tell Grandma’s doctor.. and you weren’t going to the hockey game ANYWAY.” (get a job, do your homework, why aren’t your chores done, and where is that Tequila?)

Today is the post-Thanksgiving jaunt to find a tree. For most families, this is probably a joyous, momentous occasion. My family is not most families – not by Woman’s Day, Better Homes & Garden, or any mushy TV Advertisement standards… HOWEVER, I believe my family is far closer to reality than “most” families will ever admit. I secretly KNOW Martha Stewart and her kid had some near miss brawls in the car going shopping, or tree hunting… Anyhoo… Snapping and snarling, with rope and a very sharp saw (this has the makings of a fabulous movie plot) we pile into the Jeep, and off to the tree farm. One beautiful thing about living in the Northwest, is you get your Christmas tree CHEAP, you cut it yourself (NO! not by the side of the road either!).

In the four mile drive, I only hear the muffled bumpin’ of my son’s MP3 player, and my daughter’s hyper euro-pop tune whispers whooshing from HER MP3. My husband is strangely giddy… (tequila?) chattering like we are candidates for the next monthly issue of THE WATCHTOWER (or a psych magazine – and no, we are not Jehovah’s Witness). We arrive at the tree farm with the same number of passengers at the trip onset (this can be an important factor on our outings, as anyone pissing off the captain of the Jeep is liable to be thrown off the ship midway and forced to walk). The the guys groan their usual groan when I announce we must drive to see ALL the fields where cutting is allowed this year. It is my inherent right, as the mother of this brood, wife of this man, to demand we do not purchase from the first lot. My husband wonders aloud (as long as he pretends to wonder, I allow him to live) why I do this every year, and without fail, select the same type of tree each year. With the myriad ornaments we own, only certain types of trees will support our collection, and like any woman, I have to make sure I’ve looked the competition over before selecting.

Success! One hour into the trip, we find *THE* one, and my husband expects the boy to cut down the tree. To our surprise, my 16yo daughter takes the saw, and cuts the tree! I am proud! My budding chef might have a potential second career in the logging business! YEAH!!!!!

Upon arrival back home, I realize our lovely Lab Sophie has left me a gift in my office! (It’s the ONLY downstairs room w/carpet…. go figure) You see, I use the Martha Stewart method of cooking a turkey – she’s not failed me these last three years. A bottle of sweet white wine, and a stick of melted butter (no nasty margarine!) mixed together, soak your cheese cloth in this concoction, and cover your bird. Baste every 15 minutes.

I am a moron. Because I’m not crazy about white wine, i bought a 4pack of some screw top mini-bottled white-wine-wannabe crap at the grocery thinking it would be enough. I guess I’m not very good at math when it comes to calculating the difference between a bottle of wine, and a 4-pack of those airplane wine shots. I ran out half way through baking the bird. Crap. Wait! I have a delightful half bottle of ice wine from a private Oregon vintner that I bought for 35.00 ten years ago… I bet THAT stuff is “sweet”… Who cares what it’s worth, I bet it would be good (and OMG it was not good, it was heavenly, it was Deeeee-VINE!!!!!!!!). Ohhhh how I wish I’d saved that beautiful bottle, it was absolutely MAGICAL. It did wonders for my dinner as well! The turkey was great. The gravy made from the drippings was unlike any giblet gravy I have ever had… Being a southerner, I pride myself in rating gravy. The stuff I made is what Psalms were written about. It was just amazing. Apparently the dog thought so too. I tossed the cheesecloth after cooking. I don’t know when she did it (there’s no living or mechanical thing on earth with more stealth than a Labrador who steals food), but Sophie got the cheese cloth from the trashcan… and ate it. I knew she didn’t act like she felt well this morning, and now I know why… The cheese cloth was returned, minus the fabulous flavoring in exchange for some other odd bits, but thank you God my goofy hound wharfed it up on the carpet. I am thankful for my goofy gal, and that she’s safe.

We finished the day with a trip to Red Robin for outrageous hamburger, and no fights. (This family has potential, I think…) They boy went on to meet up with a friend for a sleepover and allnight XBox HALO marathon, while my girl went to spend the night with a friend who recently moved to Everett, but was in town with family for the weekend. Wow… Marc and I , and no kids! Off to walk grandma’s dog, get her doctored, fed and watered, and back to the theater (record time of 35 minutes) to see Stephen King’s THE MIST. I have mixed emotions about King. Sometimes I like his stuff, sometimes I wouldn’t be caught dead near it. I remember the book “IT” scared the bejeezus out of me, but a freaking clownfaced spider at the end was when I broke up with him. The mist was Hitchcockian (sp?) in it’s thrill… full of anticipation… Leave it to some Hollywood bumfungler of a writer/director to screw up a great flick. Someone with serious religious issues wrote this screenplay. I’ll not reveal the plot, but it COULD have been a MOST excellent movie!!! It followed the book BEAUTIFULLY (except in a few places where it went south in a BIG way) and it was a tad too long (1/2 hour too much, IMHO) . I only give this movie two out of five. It could have been a 4.5…

All in all, it was a great day! Tomorrow, there will be kids to pick up, a grandma to carry to the mall for pants (I’ll need that tequila for sure – I hate the mall), and new adventures, I’m sure. :O)