Incessant Divagation

“YES, I WANT PIE WITH THAT” 

by Rick Jones, Husband of the Minister's Wife

When it comes to Thanksgiving dinner, Lois and I have a traditional division of duties. Lois does most of the food preparation. I do most of the food consumption.

Of course, she also eats. So it seems fair that I also help fix the meal. We make our own stuffing, which means that I get to chop up the bread, celery, and onions. We used to get a 24 pound turkey, but now that our household has less folks in it, Lois has [with regrets] scaled back to a 17 pound bird. But she still prepares as much stuffing as she used to, which means that we have plenty of stuffing plus lots of leftover dressing. The difference between stuffing and dressing, by the way, is that stuffing was actually stuffed into the turkey, and dressing was cooked separately. I don't know if any real chefs agree with that definition, but it's our kitchen, our rules.

Other than chopping stuff for stuffing, opening cans, and lifting the bird into and out of the oven, I don't get to help much. The food turns out better that way. My mother taught me to cook a few basic dishes, but they are very basic. Whenever I try to get creative, it leads to comments like “What did you put in this?”, “Does this food have a name?”, and “How can something be raw on the outside but burned on the inside?”. Our boys once wrote up a recipe card for me which had just four lines:

 “Quick and Easy Pizza”

www.dominos.com

www.papajohns.com

www.pizzahut.com

I have one recipe which results in a mixture of ground beef, canned corn, canned peas, and instant potatoes. Some people call it “shepherd's pie”, but I think that might be an insult to shepherds. We call it “That Stuff”. The first time I served it, the boys were raising the usual objections. I hadn't thought of a name for it yet, so I raised my voice and said, “Just pipe down and EAT THAT STUFF!”

“That stuff” is not on our Thanksgiving menu. We have real whipped potatoes [that's my other job: peeling potatoes] with lots and lots of gravy.

There's more to the menu, but suffice it to say that the post-Thanksgiving challenge is to finish all the leftovers before December begins. It's not an easy task, but every year I volunteer to lead by example.
I also observe the post-Thanksgiving tradition called “pretend that the bathroom scale does not exist”.

I do like watching football on Thanksgiving, but we leave the TV off during the main meal. This year, that definitely won't be a hardship. I've looked at the match-ups scheduled for the day, and at least four of the six teams involved are playing like a bunch of turkeys.

Incessant Divagation

LOIS GOES TO CAMP 

by Rick Jones, Husband of the Minister's Wife

It's that time of year again ; Lois is away at Camp Waka Waka. She goes with friends to a women's retreat in Michigan. This event has become almost like a holiday for us – that is, it involves nearly as many traditions as Christmas does.

Every year we look for ways to raise a little extra cash for Lois's trip to camp. This year [not for the first time] it involved a two family yard sale. That means an annual tradition of sorting through our stuff and deciding what to get rid of. We go through our too-extensive collection of videos. I'll stand at the shelves and read titles that I'm willing to sell, and she'll “yea or nay” them. We've agreed that if one of us says it's a keeper, it stays. After the better part of an hour, we relinquished just four movies. Other yard sale traditions include:

My back being sore for days from hauling boxes to the sale, to the tables, back to the car when it's all done, and to the local Salvation Army donation site;

Late nights pricing items – Lois reminding me that something is “like brand new”, me reminding her that yard sale buyers will only pay yard sale prices;

Lois preparing some really good meals [the other family hosts the sale at their home's location] – this year, homemade barbecued pork, and egg salad; All other meals being based on frozen dinners because we're both so tired from hauling stuff, and sunburned;

Me being in charge of setting up the books, comic books, videos, and music, because most of that stuff used to be mine, then cringing when someone actually buys one of my departing treasures;

Me telling a pre-teen kid to take care of his new comics, some of which are three times as old as he is;

Lois and I agreeing that after all the muscle aches, sunburn, and lack of sleep, this will absolutely be the last yard sale we'll be involved in . . . then putting half of what's left into storage, in case we decide to do “just one more sale” next year.

Is it worth the effort? We do spend two days with a family we like being with, and usually get enough money to cover the cost of camp. The rest of the funds? The change gets put into rolls and deposited in the bank; some cash goes to the collection on the following Sunday at church; and I look like Mister Moneybags because my wallet is bulging with that huge stack of one dollar bills. Two days after the sale was over, I filled the car's gas tank and gave the cashier one $5 bill and twenty-three $1 bills. She was not amused.

Another food-based tradition connected to camp involves beef liver. That's a meat that often elicits very definite opinions. It's not your basic “I can take it or leave it” food. I actually enjoy it. Lois hates it. It's so abhorrent to her that the smell of liver cooking nauseates her. So the week she'll be leaving for camp, I buy my traditional package of beef liver. The night before she leaves, I let it thaw. The day she leaves [in the early morning], I cook and eat the liver for either lunch or supper. This is followed by the “opening of many windows” tradition, to be sure the house is thoroughly aired out before Lois returns.

I also plan on preparing supper that night. She always says she's been re-energized, refreshed, and had a wonderful time. Then she collapses on the couch, physically exhausted, and “lets” me haul in her suitcase.

It's an annual tradition.

Oh, and the camp isn't really named “Camp Waka Waka”. Then why call it that? Tune in next week and I'll tell you.