Happy Thanksgiving ya’ll! I know it seems odd that I don’t write for days and days and finally I decide to, and it is on a holiday, of all days. But, hey, I’m an odd person. So I guess I’ll just… wander through the none-too-exciting happenings of my none-too-exciting life.
This morning I woke up to my alarm clock at 6:30. Now see, I used to not even hear it, I would just reach behind my head and turn the stinking thing off. But, finally, I got smart! Or… semi-smart. I just moved my pillow to the other side of the bed, so I have to launch myself across my comfy bed to turn it off. But… I merely curl back up under the covers and return to my peaceful Dream Land. Hmmmm. I’m gonna have to put the alarm on the dresser I guess… So anyway. About 7:00 I woke up, but remained in bed, lingering not only in my warm covers, but in those silly, nonsense thoughts I always seem to wake up with.
Until I heard… Footsteps. But not just any footsteps. The footsteps of… *eerie background music*
The Daddy Monster.
Daddy has rather peculiar ways of greeting me in the morning. Sometimes he takes the metronome from my piano and turns on high and sets it on my dresser. That’s enough to drive anybody crazy. Sometimes he comes in from the cold and puts his frozen hand on my bare skin. This morning he wielded a turkey baster. Yes, a turkey baster. I have many familiar memories of this particular kitchen instrument. It was my favorite of all pretend microphones. I remember dancing around our kitchen happily belting out Shania Twain’s “Man, I Feel Like A Woman” at the very top of my lungs. Anyway, I groan but before I duck my head under the covers and pray for my own safety, he squeezes the bulb and sticks the little tube by my ear and WHOOSH this little puff of air tickles my ear. I squeal and roll over but he continues his fun, his chuckles obvious signs of his enjoyment, at my expense. Finally, he abandons the turkey baster and takes my covers and rips them off of my bed.
Hey, mister! Just who do you think you are?
Oh. My Daddy. Right. Grrr.
So I take the covers, throw them back on the bed, and proceed to dive underneath them. Daddy rips them off again but I ignore him and pretend to be happy curled up on my bare bed. (Oh, and did I mention he had turned on my overhead light and the ceiling fan, so by now I was not only blinded but quite chilly.) He… Well, kind of growls, at my persistence and takes my foot and drags me onto the floor.
“Come on!” he said. “Time to dress the turkey!”
If you have a sense of humor, and know me, and was aware of the fact that I was, of course, still in my pajamas and therefore ‘not dressed’, this may cause you to chuckle.
It did not, however, amuse me.
Daddy grabs a shoulder and a wrist and pushes me into the hallway, shoves me in the bathroom and closes the door on me.
Well, fine then. I can take a hint.
After this glorious ‘good morning’ from my loving father, I stepped into my slippers, whom I have- Oh, wait. You haven’t heard about my slippers! Well, here is the story.
Yesterday, we went into town, as always, for piano and Tyler’s college and miscellaneous errands. At Wal-Mart, I did some shopping. Got presents for my dear friend Sara, and a movie for myself (A Knight’s Tale, what a hoot, I love it, and it’s clean) and proceeded to browse a little bit while Mom and Tyler waited for assistance regarding a DVD player. I try to keep my distance from any form of electrical appliance. So I entertained myself by browsing through a rack of fuzzy slippers! There were only three colors- black, salmon pink, and baby blue. Now, I’m not a pink-person. But I loved that salmon color! See, I have never had slippers. Well, I had like one pair, but I think the dog chewed them up and some stickers got in em, stuff like that. Bye-bye slippers. Well, I wanted a pair. And I wanted a fuzzy pair. And here, the occasion arises! Alas, the salmon pink slippers came only in Medium and Large. I have a rather monstrous foot, I must admit, and though the Larges fit, I knew they would not after a few months. So I found an XL in the blue pair and got them. Once at home, after a shower, I slipped them on… And they look even bigger on my feet! Mom said I look like I have Big Bird feet, only blue. Niiiice. They do look rather funny… and large and fluffy. In fact, rather like squirrels in a way, if not a newly discovered species of Furby. Actually, yes, rather like a new species of Furby. But the slippers have now acquired the name “The Blue Squirrels”.
Back to my story. I slipped on my Blue Squirrels (these squirrels died of natural causes!!!) and padded into the kitchen. Where Momma was already baking up a storm. I barely had time to make a cup of hot cocoa (once the cocoa’s presence is near, all is well with the world), rearrange some dishes in the sink so Mom could rinse the turkey (no she was not giving me a bath in the sink), I hurriedly dressed myself (surprise, surprise, I am actually capable of such a task!) and back into the kitchen to do dishes and make room for the dehydrator (we are making jerky from the deer meat), roaster (for the turkey, of course), pecan pie, rack of blueberry muffins, and other various Thanksgiving-meal-type-things.
Since the boys were off quail hunting, Mom and I went back and forth from the kitchen where we were baking Thanksgiving dinner (us country folks call ‘lunch’, ‘dinner’ and what you call ‘dinner’ we call supper, so yeah…. For any of you city people reading this) and the living room where we were watching a Garth Brooks interview. Really, if you get GAC, watch for it, it’s very good. So yeah… While Mom was on the phone with my Omi (that means ‘grandma’ in German) I was being attacked by the ferocious Huckleberry. This little guy has teeth and claws and he knows how to use them. Ouch! Nasty little fellow. You pretty much need helmet, breast plate, sword and shield if you intend on sparring with Sir William Huckleberry! Mom was explaining to Omi what we were having for Thanksgiving…
Mom: …stuffing, vegetable casserole, cranberries….
Me: YOW! Hey! Stop it!
Mom: …orange salad, pecan pie, crescent rolls, stuffing…
Me: And how should we cook the huckleberries? This one seems a wee bit BITTER! *shakes kitten in Mom’s face*
Nasty little booger.
Okay so I’m gonna reverse my life back to the Thanksgiving CC at Sara’s house. Clint and Tiffany came over with their two crockpots, in addition to our crockpot, and bag of s’more stuff, and a layered bean dip. With six people, it was a tight enough squeeze. So Clint came up with the brilliant idea of sticking the crockpots in the big tool box and packing a coat in with them to keep them from spilling. Nice! It actually worked! I had to hold the bean dip though, and spilled some picante sauce from it on me, but oh well. Just as we were all about to pile into the truck, I remembered….
“The cats!” I cried. Jennifer, Sara’s older sister, had been wanting some cats. Two to be exact. I forgot! So we hurriedly gathered up Tucker’s crate (my beagle sleeps in it in my room) and the two cats, Sherbert and Starbucks, and off we went! Every time Dad took a sharp turn or accelerated Mom and I would shout simultaneously, “Gary! The crockpots!” and “Daddy! The cats!” Clint, for one, found it amusing. After an hour and fifteen minutes of driving, we arrived. Phew! The cats and crockpots, both in tact. Inside we went. I found Sara, told her and Jennifer I brought the cats, and Jennifer suggested we put them in her crate… I should have been smarter. I gave Sara Starbucks and I took Sherbert. We reached the crate… So close to getting them in… But the dogs were barking and crowding us and the little kids were screaming and shouting and Starbucks got scared and scratched Sara. She tried to grab her, but she slipped away. She hid in a corner, where we could have captured her, but all the kids saw the kitty, went crazy and flocked towards her as if she were made of candy. Frightened, away she went into the night. Yes, it was dark. Joy. Sara found a flashlight and off we went, accompanied by a good friend Camille, in search of the frightened feline. But to no avail… Sara looked for her a few days after that, and she never returned. How sad. =( Maybe she will still show up… Anyway, Jennifer got to take Sherbert home. Sara, Camille and I ended up spending most of the night taking goofy and ridiculous pictures of ourselves. It really was a ton of fun! Oh we are such goofballs, Sara… I need to put one of them as my picture on here. Hmmm… I wonder if I did, if Sara would beat the crud out of me next time I see her… Oh, well, wouldn’t be the first time.
So anyway. I’m off to go work dutifully in my lab, where I experiment day in and day out with dangerous and toxic substances, stressing over creations that one day may change the world! BWAHAHA!
Oh, who am I kidding. I’m gonna go watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Adios!
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