When I was 14 years old, when I was finishing my freshman year of high school and my brilliant sister Amy was finishing her freshman year of college, she said her favorite phrase in French was "J'ai oublie."
OK, I can't figure out how to make all the accent marks. I wish I were Canadian. But I'm not. So Amy said, "J'ai oublie" was her favorite French phrase ever, and I asked, "What does it mean?" and Amy intoned imperiously, "I ... FORGOT!"
Turns out that "j'ai oublie" means "I have forgotten." ROFL!!! Amy is exactly that kind of person, which is exactly why I love her so much.
And I still can't do the accent marks, especially in blogs, but that phrase is pronounced "zhay ooblee yay." So now, you forgot, too!
Anyhoo. The whole reason I'm posting this post is to tell you that while most people were dealing with the holidays, I was dealing with both the holidays and... the forgetting to take Chantix.
J'ai oublie.
I forgot...
To take Chantix.
And I had un-set my morning alarm, but I was still getting the nighttime alarm to remind me to take my 1 milligram of Chantix.
Even with an alarm... I still managed to forget. Christmas was crazy. I mean, it always is, and I still was ahead of the usual schedule this year. Yet, even with all that work and the alarms, I forgot to take Chantix. For *days* at a time!
So. Here it is, and we're almost at the end of 2007, and I haven't had Chantix in more than a week, and I haven't had a cigarette in more than four months.
This is *so* weird. I haven't gone through Christmas without a cigarette since 1984. And trust me, Christmas is WAY more stressful than it was back then!!!!
But I made it through.
I think I have quit smoking. I feel nostalgic when I think about all those holidays when I went outside to smoke. But I got through it all.
I am going to miss the vivid dreams. So far, I still have the vivid dreams, and yes, I have been sleepwalking a good bit. (My husband tells me that on Christmas Eve, I led him on a merry chase while I wandered around the house, totally asleep.) I'm going miss hanging out with Mama. The vivid Chantix dreams have been such a fabulous god-send in terms of dealing with my perpetual longing for Mama. She died in April, 1993. I think *anyone* who has lost their mother is going to tell you how hard that is to deal with. Mama was my best friend, and the vivid dreams have given me such marvelous hours of visits with my best friend. I did have one vivid dream of visiting with my father -- who died when I was 8 years old -- and *that* dream was not fabulous. It was just weird. But since I got on Chantix, every time I've dreamed of Mama... Honestly, y'all, it's like she's really here. And that's... such a blessing.
I hope I haven't totally scared some readers. It's not maudlin. It's just... really cool.
So, anyway, I haven't had the Chantix, and I haven't had the vivid dreams.
And I haven't smoked. In fact, I am still totally disgusted by the whiffs of smoke I smell in public.
2007 was such an amazing year!!!
Monday, December 31, 2007
Monday, December 17, 2007
I'm almost ready
OK. I didn't post last weekend, like I said I would. I still keep up with a few of the Chantix bloggers, but only every other day instead of every single day. And I no longer read their blogs because I know that they're going through exactly what I'm going through. I keep reading them -- because they're interesting. Because I feel like they're my friends. Because they're fun. But not because it's going to bolster my resolve not to smoke.
I still make way more stuff out of paper than I ever did before. I am way more productive in the cards and the scrapbooks and the handmade boxes and books and doodads. But it's not because I'm desperate to keep my hands busy and to get my mind off smoking. It's because I became accustomed to it, and I enjoy it. Here it is almost Christmas, and I have some seriously kick-ass crafty things to give to my relatives. - Piles of handmade greeting cards that they can send to their friends. - Stacks of nifty little books filled with photos of loved ones. Heck, I even have tiny message boards that can hang out on the fridge door. I mean -- I have seriously made a whole ton of paper things, and it's not ALL because I'm jonesin' for a cig.
My doctor originally prescribed six months of Chantix for me. She said it was because I was such a longtime, heavy smoker. I smoked about two packs a day for 22 years. (Ya know what? I smoked more like 3 packs a day for a while there. I try not to remember that, I would love to deny it, but it's true. I smoked 3 packs a day for about a year during 2005-2006.)
Even though Chantix itself recommends 3 months, I was glad that my doctor prescribed six months of the drug. After all, Chantix itself recommends quitting after 7 days, and I failed miserably at that. I didn't quit smoking 'til the 20th day. Having the extra three months of drugs made me feel ... more secure. If that's possible. I mean, come on, quitting smoking is not an activity which actually qualifies for use with the word "secure."
But I am in my fifth month of the pill. I learned long ago to eat before I take a pill. I had to set an alarm on my cell phone to remind me to take the pill after several weeks. My sister quit smoking using just the patch -- and when she forgot to put on a new patch, she stopped using the patch.
My sister... is a *real* quitter. She amazes me. For all sorts of reasons for as long as I've known her, my sister amazes me -- but for quitting smoking and then giving up the patch before the recommended time, she *really* amazes me.
Anyway, here's the thing: I'm pretty sure I will not be filling my prescription for the sixth month of Chantix. I keep forgetting to take pills now, and that's with an alarm to remind me to take it.
And most importantly -- and I have so resisted this way of thinking --
-- Smoke repulses me.
It really does.
For weeks after I quit smoking, if I smelled cigarette smoke, I thought it smelled delicious. Just *divine*. Oh, if only I could bottle that irresistible aroma and pour it all over me! I would walk through clouds of smoke around the grocery store entrance, and I just wanted to hang out with those happy smokers and smoke with them! I would stand on the street outside the restaurant in Knoxville, and deeply inhale the delectable second-hand smoke like a dieter outside a doughnut shop.
I just ... so loved the smoke.
But recently --
If I run into a cloud of smoke outside the grocery store, I run through it faster than normal, and I hold my breath. The smoke smells so bad. So evil and bad and disgusting. It's like... Oh, I hate to say this, because I'm Southern and we just don't speak of these things. But cigarette smoke smells like... someone... had a bout of intestinal distress. It's literally repulsive. And I can't stop myself from making faces and running away from the bad smell.
I do not *want* to smoke.
And I never thought I would feel this way. I thought I would always be a smoker who simply wasn't smoking at the moment.
Now I look into the future, and I see it clearly, without a cloud of smoke hanging around it. I can watch a long movie and not light up first thing when I get out of a cinema. I can dine in non-smoking restaurants without feeling put-upon. (OK, all Tennessee restaurants are now non-smoking, and I'm so glad in such a perverse way. I honestly think it's an unconstitutional law, but I'm so glad that I don't have to smell smoke while I'm eating.)
My house smells better, my hair smells heavenly. I breathe deeply and it doesn't hurt. I don't cough first thing when I wake up in the mornings, and my sense of smell ... really has... become... more pronounced. Not my sense of taste, though. I still love the way everything tastes, and I can't tell that any food tastes better or worse now than it did before I quit smoking. I wear cologne now. I hadn't worn cologne regularly since I was 29 years old. There was no point. I never smelled the Private Collection over the stench of my smokiness. Now, I smell better than a freshly baked loaf of bread in a clean, new, brown paper sack.
I honestly do have more energy. I really am more positive and cheery and all that happy garbage that the non-smokers heaped on me unbidden when I was a smoker.
At the same time, I am in despair because my very best friend in the whole world hasn't quit smoking yet. I am going to see her in November of 2008. I hope that by then, I will have gotten over my phase of being repulsed by smoke. (Is repulsion a side effect of fear? Because I can handle it if it is.)
So this is where I am: My vivid Chantix dreams are becoming less vivid. (Maybe cuz I keep missing a dose.) I have gone through tons of stress. (Oh, my gosh, if I didn't want to smoke on Thanksgiving Day, then I will never want to smoke.) I am disgusted by cigarette smoke. And my sister, my other very best friend in the whole world, isn't smoking, too.
I think... I think I might be ready to stop taking the Chantix.
In a week or two.
But I refuse to give up the Chantix bloggers!!!
I still make way more stuff out of paper than I ever did before. I am way more productive in the cards and the scrapbooks and the handmade boxes and books and doodads. But it's not because I'm desperate to keep my hands busy and to get my mind off smoking. It's because I became accustomed to it, and I enjoy it. Here it is almost Christmas, and I have some seriously kick-ass crafty things to give to my relatives. - Piles of handmade greeting cards that they can send to their friends. - Stacks of nifty little books filled with photos of loved ones. Heck, I even have tiny message boards that can hang out on the fridge door. I mean -- I have seriously made a whole ton of paper things, and it's not ALL because I'm jonesin' for a cig.
My doctor originally prescribed six months of Chantix for me. She said it was because I was such a longtime, heavy smoker. I smoked about two packs a day for 22 years. (Ya know what? I smoked more like 3 packs a day for a while there. I try not to remember that, I would love to deny it, but it's true. I smoked 3 packs a day for about a year during 2005-2006.)
Even though Chantix itself recommends 3 months, I was glad that my doctor prescribed six months of the drug. After all, Chantix itself recommends quitting after 7 days, and I failed miserably at that. I didn't quit smoking 'til the 20th day. Having the extra three months of drugs made me feel ... more secure. If that's possible. I mean, come on, quitting smoking is not an activity which actually qualifies for use with the word "secure."
But I am in my fifth month of the pill. I learned long ago to eat before I take a pill. I had to set an alarm on my cell phone to remind me to take the pill after several weeks. My sister quit smoking using just the patch -- and when she forgot to put on a new patch, she stopped using the patch.
My sister... is a *real* quitter. She amazes me. For all sorts of reasons for as long as I've known her, my sister amazes me -- but for quitting smoking and then giving up the patch before the recommended time, she *really* amazes me.
Anyway, here's the thing: I'm pretty sure I will not be filling my prescription for the sixth month of Chantix. I keep forgetting to take pills now, and that's with an alarm to remind me to take it.
And most importantly -- and I have so resisted this way of thinking --
-- Smoke repulses me.
It really does.
For weeks after I quit smoking, if I smelled cigarette smoke, I thought it smelled delicious. Just *divine*. Oh, if only I could bottle that irresistible aroma and pour it all over me! I would walk through clouds of smoke around the grocery store entrance, and I just wanted to hang out with those happy smokers and smoke with them! I would stand on the street outside the restaurant in Knoxville, and deeply inhale the delectable second-hand smoke like a dieter outside a doughnut shop.
I just ... so loved the smoke.
But recently --
If I run into a cloud of smoke outside the grocery store, I run through it faster than normal, and I hold my breath. The smoke smells so bad. So evil and bad and disgusting. It's like... Oh, I hate to say this, because I'm Southern and we just don't speak of these things. But cigarette smoke smells like... someone... had a bout of intestinal distress. It's literally repulsive. And I can't stop myself from making faces and running away from the bad smell.
I do not *want* to smoke.
And I never thought I would feel this way. I thought I would always be a smoker who simply wasn't smoking at the moment.
Now I look into the future, and I see it clearly, without a cloud of smoke hanging around it. I can watch a long movie and not light up first thing when I get out of a cinema. I can dine in non-smoking restaurants without feeling put-upon. (OK, all Tennessee restaurants are now non-smoking, and I'm so glad in such a perverse way. I honestly think it's an unconstitutional law, but I'm so glad that I don't have to smell smoke while I'm eating.)
My house smells better, my hair smells heavenly. I breathe deeply and it doesn't hurt. I don't cough first thing when I wake up in the mornings, and my sense of smell ... really has... become... more pronounced. Not my sense of taste, though. I still love the way everything tastes, and I can't tell that any food tastes better or worse now than it did before I quit smoking. I wear cologne now. I hadn't worn cologne regularly since I was 29 years old. There was no point. I never smelled the Private Collection over the stench of my smokiness. Now, I smell better than a freshly baked loaf of bread in a clean, new, brown paper sack.
I honestly do have more energy. I really am more positive and cheery and all that happy garbage that the non-smokers heaped on me unbidden when I was a smoker.
At the same time, I am in despair because my very best friend in the whole world hasn't quit smoking yet. I am going to see her in November of 2008. I hope that by then, I will have gotten over my phase of being repulsed by smoke. (Is repulsion a side effect of fear? Because I can handle it if it is.)
So this is where I am: My vivid Chantix dreams are becoming less vivid. (Maybe cuz I keep missing a dose.) I have gone through tons of stress. (Oh, my gosh, if I didn't want to smoke on Thanksgiving Day, then I will never want to smoke.) I am disgusted by cigarette smoke. And my sister, my other very best friend in the whole world, isn't smoking, too.
I think... I think I might be ready to stop taking the Chantix.
In a week or two.
But I refuse to give up the Chantix bloggers!!!
Saturday, December 8, 2007
I'm here, I'm here somewhere!
I'm here, I swear! I'm fine, too, and I keep meaning to post. I just... want the post to be *right*, darn it, and I have spent so much time lately cleaning house and baking and washing china... I am worn out when I get to the computer. But I do want to write something, and soon, about where my head is at, as far as quitting smoking and taking Chantix are concerned. I am in my fifth month of Chantix. I have not smoked since August 19th. And I honestly forget for large chunks of time that I ever smoked. Which is weird.
So this weekend, I promise, I will post something profound. Or funny. Or maybe both!
In the meantime, after watching a film (documentary?) about Don Rickles, I'm convinced the world would be a better place if we were all more like him.
Think about that. And then try to fold laundry without cracking up.
And happy Chanukah to all my Jewish friends!!!! Y'all know you're lovin' it! Light a candle instead of a cigarette!!!! Yeah! Very cool holiday!
So this weekend, I promise, I will post something profound. Or funny. Or maybe both!
In the meantime, after watching a film (documentary?) about Don Rickles, I'm convinced the world would be a better place if we were all more like him.
Think about that. And then try to fold laundry without cracking up.
And happy Chanukah to all my Jewish friends!!!! Y'all know you're lovin' it! Light a candle instead of a cigarette!!!! Yeah! Very cool holiday!
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Testing
You're blue — the most soothing shade of the spectrum. The color of a clear summer sky or a deep, reflective ocean, blue has traditionally symbolized trust, solitude, and loyalty. Most likely a thoughtful person who values spending some time on your own, you'd rather connect deeply with a few people than have a bunch of slight acquaintances. Luckily, making close friends isn't that hard, since people are naturally attracted to you — they're soothed by your calming presence. Cool and collected, you rarely overreact. Instead, you think things through before coming to a decision. That level-headed, thoughtful approach to life is patently blue — and patently you!
Mm'kay. Can I tell y'all the truth? I know I can, so I will, anyway.
I'm a big ol' psychological freak.
I know I am, because one of my many shrinks told me I am over 17 years ago.
(Like I hadn't figured it out before then. Snort!)
If any of y'all out there are into Myers Briggs Type Indicators -- and I am, in a huge way, because, frankly, that's what my Type does -- I am an INFP. And if you know anything about MBTI, then that says everything.
The thing was, when that one shrink told me my type -- after a really long test -- she said, "You are the weakest personality type."
I think she must have been an ESTJ, the exact opposite of INFP. Because only an ESTJ would think an INFP is "weak."
Just because we're introverted. Hmph.
I happen to think the Tickle test result that I quoted above fits me perfectly. However, I should say that I know a lot about personality tests, and therefore, I could've predicted I would be a Blue. I just know how they word the questions to skew answers in a particular direction. I can't help it. I'm an INFP. I'm a Blue. That's. What. We. Do.
I've done a lot of things over the last 17 years to try to expand myself beyond my personality restrictions. I work really hard at remembering that money is a real thing and that numbers aren't just a bunch of pretty mumbo-jumbo. I have *totally* overcome my inherent inability to stay on track when emptying an ice tray. I *always* refill the ice tray. That's a big step for us INFP's.
[Bunny Trail: I once found a website with individualized prayers for every MBTI type. The INFP prayer said, "Dear Lord, Please help me finish just one th--"]
I've learned how to load the dishwasher at least halfway, although I'm still unsure how to start the thing. To be honest, I really think it's enough for me to cook the meal. I shouldn't have to wash the pots and pans on top of all that work.
The point is, I'm still a work in progress. I know my limitations, and I'm trying to push past them. At least a little.
And in the meantime, sometimes I really do console myself with the fact that my serene veneer is in place and intact. People usually think I'm a lot more calm and trustworthy than I think I am.
So Blue? Yeah! I can take it!
And by the way, I saw someone smoking outside a restaurant tonight, and for the first time in a long time, I thought, "I don't want to join him."
That's growth. Even for an INFP or a Blue.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Broccoli Casserole
Many, many years ago -- OK, really, it was November, 1998 -- my sister asked me to refresh her memory about Broccoli Casserole, since she was bringing it to Thanksgiving dinner at my house. I wrote back to her and tried to make the experience humorous.
Joke's on me -- the casserole is *delicious*! And I was almost making it up off the top of my head at that time.
From: BayuthL@aol.com[SMTP:BayuthL@aol.com]
Sent: Monday, November 23, 1998 3:53 PM
To: aturner@tva.gov; ltturner@cococo.net
Subject: Remedial Broccoli Casserole, Lesson 1
Dear Student,
Welcome to the wonderful world of broccoli casserole! Soon you, too, will amaze and astound your family and friends when you bake this tasty and nutritious sidedish for your next holiday gathering! Ever wonder what it takes? Well, we here at the Broccoli Casserole Institute have done years of mind-numbing research, sacrificing our figures, our tastebuds, and our gastronomical tranquillity working on this wonderful, much-loved dish. Sit back, and reap the benefits of all our knowledge!
[Editor's note: Please make sure we have your credit card number correctly before you begin reading the Lesson One. Our computers will automatically charge the low, low Beginning New-Student Cost of ONLY $2,419.38 the moment you begin reading. Also, be prepared for a finger-tip scan at the conclusion of the lesson. If technical difficulty is encountered, just lean toward your terminal for our amazing new retinal scan.]
REMEDIAL BROCCOLI CASSEROLE
***WARNING***
This recipe involves really hot things like ovens. And after the baking portion of the activity, the dish is really hot, too. Please use appropriate, government-approved, ULA-certified pot holders and aprons.
Do not stick your face directly into dish upon removal from oven. Contents are hot.
Do not remove dish with your bare hands. Dish is hot.
Do not try to climb into the oven. It is hot. It is also too small to hold the average American adult.
Do not try to filch cheese from the measuring cup. Cheese is addictive.
Do not try to eat casserole immediately upon removal from oven. Dish is too hard and may break teeth. Also, food is hot. Allow to cool 7-10 minutes before eating. When feeding to birds, allow small portion to cool for at least 30 minutes. Can re-heat in microwave.
Do not try to climb into microwave.
Do not use thermonuclear weapons to reheat. Thermonuclear weapons are hot.
Do not attempt to bake casserole in a plastic Tupperware-like container. It will melt in the hot oven, affecting the taste of the casserole for the worse.
Use fork or spoon to eat casserole. Knives can cut tongue.
Do not use knives.
Do not drop knives.
Do not even look at the knives, dammit, you're obviously too stupid to handle them.
Do not try to iron casserole.
And do not attempt to breathe casserole. It is thicker than air.
When transporting casserole from one location to another, do not drive with casserole in lap.
RECIPE
You'll need this stuff BEFORE you begin your fabulous, new cooking project!!!
2 10-oz packages of frozen broccoli
1 can of cream of mushroom soup
1 cup of mayonnaise
1 tablespoon finely chopped onion
1 egg
2 cups of grated cheddar cheese
2 cups of smashed up cheese crackers
(Another warning: Do not attempt to smash crackers by running over them with your car. Your car can do considerable damage to your kitchen.)
Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Cook broccoli according to directions on the package. Drain. Set aside to cool while you assemble the rest of the recipe. Mix together soup, mayo, onion, and egg thoroughly. Add in broccoli. Add in grated cheese. Smush into casserole dish, which you've thoroughly cleaned before this project. Cover with cheese cracker crumbs, smush into casserole. Bake at 350 degrees for about 30-35 minutes, or until the crumbs have turned slightly browner than they were before.
See above for warnings.
Thank you for purchasing our Remedial Broccoli Casserole, Lesson 1!!! If you're interested, we can send you Remedial Broccoli Casserole, Lesson 2, for only $3018 plus tax!!! Lesson 2 covers the exciting question: What if I tried to use fresh broccoli? And remember, those of us at the Broccoli Casserole Institute wish you and yours a very merry Thanksgiving, and a gassy Christmas, too!!!
Sincerely,
Brock Lee Kasser Oll,
President, Broccoli Casserole Institute of
email: BCIoA@yummy.com
Place fingers against screen here for scanning:
Place face against screen for retinal scan here:
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Turkey & fireworks & shopping, oh, my!
OK. I'll be honest. I had one of the most truly, spectacularly bad Thanksgivings ever. My evil mother-in-law did things previously unseen by mankind's delicate eyes. She was evil. I have said for years that she is evil, but she really raised the bar on evil this year.
(See, a week before Thanksgiving, she called me and told me not to bring my green-beans-and-horseradish-glop side dish that I have been making for thirty years. She said, and I'm quoting, "Nobody likes it." She also said, and I'm still quoting her directly, verbatim, "Only Steve ever liked it," and the Steve to whom she is referring is my sister-in-law's ex-husband, and whenever his name is invoked, it's kind of like saying "Satan" in their language, so what she was really saying was, "Only Satan would like your green beans and horseradish dish." I mean, my MIL was quite thorough about this point. She even told me that my own husband doesn't like my green beans and glop, which isn't true, but who am I to argue with the woman who gave me my husband in the first place? OK. So we get there, and I bring marinaded asparagus, which everyone loved except the evil MIL, who pushed one spear of asparagus around on her plate for half an hour and finally sighed in disgust, "I just don't like asparagus." But wait. It gets better. Another relative gets three bites into her dinner and asks, "Bay, why didn't you bring the horseradish stuff for the green beans? It's my favorite part!" And I'm sittin' there, trying to think how to answer this without making the evil MIL look like a total bitch, and MIL jumps in and says -- and I am NOT making this up -- "Yeah, Bay, how COULD you be so SELFISH? Where is that horseradish stuff???" OMG. OMG. OMG. I was so shocked by this total, bald-faced lie -- after having been insulted to the core of my being when she claimed that no one liked the horseradish stuff - I honestly couldn't think of anything to say. I aspire someday to being a total bitch who can confront evil-doers when they're in my face and completely wielding their evil lies. I am not that person yet, because I just sat there and said nothing. I shrugged at the relative who was disappointed over the green beans without horseradish sauce. I promised to send her the recipe. But I never said, "The only reason there isn't any horseradish glop is because my evil MIL said no one liked it, and she forbade me to bring it." Like I said, it was a pretty bad Thanksgiving.)
So on the day after Thanksgiving, I went to the grocery store and I bought a turkey breast so I could make a decent Thanksgiving dinner at least for my little family. I totally lucked out, and they were marking down the fresh turkey breasts from $1.49 a pound to 89 cents a pound. Yea, sales! Yea, me! I got a bargain turkey breast and took it home.
Wesley's homemade dressing was leftover from the actual meal at his mother's house. (Not only does she have no taste in green bean dishes, but she has NO taste in dressing, because Wesley makes the most marvelous cornbread and sausage dressing, but evil MIL preferred stupid Stove Top stuffing. She's clearly unhinged.) I made more green beans, and I made the horseradish glop from scratch. I also made our traditional Jello salad. (We do the green Jello with cream cheese and crushed pineapple. Evil MIL prefers Orange Fluff, but she didn't even do that this year, after telling me that my own husband doesn't like my green Jello Thing.) (That bitch.) (Hmph.)
We ended up having a totally fabulous Thanksgiving dinner only 24 hours after Thanksgiving had been served for the rest of the country. Sure, I missed out on Black Friday sales for the most part, but we now have real leftovers and totally fabulous food.
Next year, I really am not going back to my evil MIL's house. It's just too awful to contemplate.
Yet, even with all that unnecessary and totally wretched stress, I didn't smoke. I didn't.
Chantix really *is* a miracle drug!
(See, a week before Thanksgiving, she called me and told me not to bring my green-beans-and-horseradish-glop side dish that I have been making for thirty years. She said, and I'm quoting, "Nobody likes it." She also said, and I'm still quoting her directly, verbatim, "Only Steve ever liked it," and the Steve to whom she is referring is my sister-in-law's ex-husband, and whenever his name is invoked, it's kind of like saying "Satan" in their language, so what she was really saying was, "Only Satan would like your green beans and horseradish dish." I mean, my MIL was quite thorough about this point. She even told me that my own husband doesn't like my green beans and glop, which isn't true, but who am I to argue with the woman who gave me my husband in the first place? OK. So we get there, and I bring marinaded asparagus, which everyone loved except the evil MIL, who pushed one spear of asparagus around on her plate for half an hour and finally sighed in disgust, "I just don't like asparagus." But wait. It gets better. Another relative gets three bites into her dinner and asks, "Bay, why didn't you bring the horseradish stuff for the green beans? It's my favorite part!" And I'm sittin' there, trying to think how to answer this without making the evil MIL look like a total bitch, and MIL jumps in and says -- and I am NOT making this up -- "Yeah, Bay, how COULD you be so SELFISH? Where is that horseradish stuff???" OMG. OMG. OMG. I was so shocked by this total, bald-faced lie -- after having been insulted to the core of my being when she claimed that no one liked the horseradish stuff - I honestly couldn't think of anything to say. I aspire someday to being a total bitch who can confront evil-doers when they're in my face and completely wielding their evil lies. I am not that person yet, because I just sat there and said nothing. I shrugged at the relative who was disappointed over the green beans without horseradish sauce. I promised to send her the recipe. But I never said, "The only reason there isn't any horseradish glop is because my evil MIL said no one liked it, and she forbade me to bring it." Like I said, it was a pretty bad Thanksgiving.)
So on the day after Thanksgiving, I went to the grocery store and I bought a turkey breast so I could make a decent Thanksgiving dinner at least for my little family. I totally lucked out, and they were marking down the fresh turkey breasts from $1.49 a pound to 89 cents a pound. Yea, sales! Yea, me! I got a bargain turkey breast and took it home.
Wesley's homemade dressing was leftover from the actual meal at his mother's house. (Not only does she have no taste in green bean dishes, but she has NO taste in dressing, because Wesley makes the most marvelous cornbread and sausage dressing, but evil MIL preferred stupid Stove Top stuffing. She's clearly unhinged.) I made more green beans, and I made the horseradish glop from scratch. I also made our traditional Jello salad. (We do the green Jello with cream cheese and crushed pineapple. Evil MIL prefers Orange Fluff, but she didn't even do that this year, after telling me that my own husband doesn't like my green Jello Thing.) (That bitch.) (Hmph.)
We ended up having a totally fabulous Thanksgiving dinner only 24 hours after Thanksgiving had been served for the rest of the country. Sure, I missed out on Black Friday sales for the most part, but we now have real leftovers and totally fabulous food.
Next year, I really am not going back to my evil MIL's house. It's just too awful to contemplate.
Yet, even with all that unnecessary and totally wretched stress, I didn't smoke. I didn't.
Chantix really *is* a miracle drug!
Thursday, November 22, 2007
How Thanksgiving is testing my strength
I am once again going to my mother-in-law's house for Thanksgiving dinner.
I used to host dinner at my house. My sister Amy would come with her husband Paul, my sister Martha would come, and sometimes another guest or two would join us.
This occasion has been blogged about before on my Travel Blog. I love Thanksgiving. Mostly because of the food. I love my menu for Thanksgiving, and I love my cooking. When Amy moved to Las Vegas, I decided it was too much trouble to cook Thanksgiving for only five people. (Also, Amy's contribution was always the world's best broccoli casserole, so it wasn't much of a Thanksgiving without that dish.)
One year we tried eating in a restaurant, which was a horrific and sad excuse for a holiday.
I can't even remember what we did in 2005. But it was probably even more horrific and sad, and I've blocked it out of my memory.
Last year we decided to join our mother-in-law at her fest.
Louise has a different take on Thanksgiving than I do. She's not all about homemade. And she's not faithful to a bunch of specific, fabulous recipes that have been passed down through the years to the point that it just isn't Thanksgiving without those foods in attendance.
So, OK, different menu. It's still better than eating in a restaurant.
I am trying really hard to deal with it.
But here's the thing: Whether it was Christmas, Mother's Day, or Thanksgiving, any day that I spent at Louise's was always accompanied by the fact that whenever I needed an escape, I could always go outside and smoke.
Always.
I could go outside. And smoke.
And no one would go outside to hang out with me, because they all hated smoke, anyway.
Now, no one is going to stop and think, "Hey, Bay isn't smoking any more -- doesn't that make her more good, virtuous and perfect like us?" Nope.
And I no longer have a built-in escape route. If I want to go outside, I'll have to just say, "Uhhhh... I think I'll go see what kind of birds are hanging out in... the... bare trees..."
Next year, I'm doing Thanksgiving for five people. If my daughter moves away and doesn't come home, I'll do Thanksgiving for four people. If my son leaves on a ski trip, I'll do Thanksgiving for three people.
Whatever it takes.
Because I no longer have an excuse to step outside of my mother-in-law's house.
This is, like, the first time since I quit smoking that part of me kind of wishes I could still light up a cigarette now and then. Mostly my cravings to smoke are for stupid reasons like, "I always smoked at this time of day." But seriously, smoking to get away from the madding crowd -- that was a good excuse, wasn't it?
Oh, well. I'll take some gum with me. And bird seed. Maybe I'll see a black-capped chickadee. I haven't seen one of those since... uh, last year.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!!!
I used to host dinner at my house. My sister Amy would come with her husband Paul, my sister Martha would come, and sometimes another guest or two would join us.
This occasion has been blogged about before on my Travel Blog. I love Thanksgiving. Mostly because of the food. I love my menu for Thanksgiving, and I love my cooking. When Amy moved to Las Vegas, I decided it was too much trouble to cook Thanksgiving for only five people. (Also, Amy's contribution was always the world's best broccoli casserole, so it wasn't much of a Thanksgiving without that dish.)
One year we tried eating in a restaurant, which was a horrific and sad excuse for a holiday.
I can't even remember what we did in 2005. But it was probably even more horrific and sad, and I've blocked it out of my memory.
Last year we decided to join our mother-in-law at her fest.
Louise has a different take on Thanksgiving than I do. She's not all about homemade. And she's not faithful to a bunch of specific, fabulous recipes that have been passed down through the years to the point that it just isn't Thanksgiving without those foods in attendance.
So, OK, different menu. It's still better than eating in a restaurant.
I am trying really hard to deal with it.
But here's the thing: Whether it was Christmas, Mother's Day, or Thanksgiving, any day that I spent at Louise's was always accompanied by the fact that whenever I needed an escape, I could always go outside and smoke.
Always.
I could go outside. And smoke.
And no one would go outside to hang out with me, because they all hated smoke, anyway.
Now, no one is going to stop and think, "Hey, Bay isn't smoking any more -- doesn't that make her more good, virtuous and perfect like us?" Nope.
And I no longer have a built-in escape route. If I want to go outside, I'll have to just say, "Uhhhh... I think I'll go see what kind of birds are hanging out in... the... bare trees..."
Next year, I'm doing Thanksgiving for five people. If my daughter moves away and doesn't come home, I'll do Thanksgiving for four people. If my son leaves on a ski trip, I'll do Thanksgiving for three people.
Whatever it takes.
Because I no longer have an excuse to step outside of my mother-in-law's house.
This is, like, the first time since I quit smoking that part of me kind of wishes I could still light up a cigarette now and then. Mostly my cravings to smoke are for stupid reasons like, "I always smoked at this time of day." But seriously, smoking to get away from the madding crowd -- that was a good excuse, wasn't it?
Oh, well. I'll take some gum with me. And bird seed. Maybe I'll see a black-capped chickadee. I haven't seen one of those since... uh, last year.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!!!
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