About Thanksgiving...

This year I did something I have not done before – hosted Thanksgiving for friends without any family around at all. Normally some of my family members make it, but this year everyone had other plans, so it was just friends.

It was the BEST THANKSGIVING EVER!

I do not say that to disparage my family because I always enjoy getting to host them in my home and was looking forward to seeing my nephews. The absence of family, though, took away all the stresses that come with being around family that are natural, normal, and simply a part of being family. No matter how much we love them, the “ugh, family” factor always surfaces.

Seven friends came over for Thanksgiving Day lunch (and three days later I still have leftovers enough to feed another seven). The friends came from various parts of my life: church, professional contacts who became friends, and relatives of friends. It was an amazing mix of people who all got along well. In fact three people spent the night. I don’t count J since he lives here now, but it was great to stay up late, watching football, movies, and watching everyone else play Scrabble (I was about to collapse after cooking, so I sat aside).

I look forward to more holidays like this one.

Friends and Allies

Election day this year was one of the most exciting days I can remember in recent history. It was the first time in memory that I was truly excited to have voted and came away with some faith in those elected. I am not naive enough to believe they can accomplish everything they want (perhaps I am just too jaded).

After the tears of joy and excitement of a new start, the realization came that hate had one more time made gains in the country with the passage of Proposition 8 in California. In review it was clear that the victory was motivated by nothing more than hate and fear-mongering. Even the Republican governor of the state campaigned against it, yet mis-information prevailed.

Now it seems that the battle is not over. The temporary victory has done more to draw attention to the fact that the battle over gay marriage has boiled down to prejudice and lies brought against fundamental rights of equality. There is no other way to label the campaign any longer and more people are seeing it for what it is.

A week and a half after the election, unprecedented rallies took place across the nation - not only of the GLBT community, but of friends and allies ready to stand with us and procaim that we can no longer tolerate a society governed by hate. Among those to join the rally in San Jose was the son of one of my cousins along with many of his friends. Those straight young people chose on their own to participate because they do not buy the fear and lies.

Seeing his picture at the rally buoyed my spirits as much as Obama's victory. Hope is still alive.

Liver!

Liver and onions have always been one of my favorite dishes and I have come to understand that people either love it or hate it. I have never come across anyone who can take-it or leave-it.

When I was growing up, my grandmother always told me that the best liver to eat was lamb liver, but by the time I was growing up, the slaughterhouse down the road rarely ever slaughtered lamb and when they did it was for a private customer. Years ago, I gave up on ever experiencing the delicacy my grandmother described.

A few weeks ago at the farmer's market I came across a booth that sold fresh, grass fed lamb and asked if they sold the livers.

They do!

But they were out.

I try to eat whatever my body is craving. I think it knows better than I do exactly what my body needs in nutrients. Nevertheless, knowing one of my fantasy foods was in reach only fed a growing craving for liver smothered in onion. Nothing satisfied. The craving grew to a desperation as week after week, the lamb vendor arrived at the market without liver.

Finally, yesterday they had some packages of liver!

I couldn't wait to get home from church and a study group tonight to make it.

My grandmother was right! I have often been disappointed when I had the chance to satisfy a craving, but this time brought no disappointment. The lamb liver has such a subtle, yet full flavor. I had to stop myself before I ate the entire liver.

Tonight, I am going to sleep well and satisfied.

Infections Still Suck

I have made enough progress that the doctor is not putting me in the hospital.

I asked him why my pain was worse and he replied "because you're getting better."

Something about that answer just was not satisfying, but after the doctor explained it all, it made sense, so I still love my doctor.

Tongue Depressors Expire and Infections Suck

I have spent way too much time in the doctor’s office when I start noticing that tongue depressors have expiration dates.

In the last month, I have had a skin biopsy, which resulted in a dermatological visit during which a skin cancer was cut/burned away. I have to admit that I do like the dermatologist because he has such a great sense of humor.

I had two medication follow-ups and was thrilled that all is good on that front.

But in the last five days I have been to the doctor three times with the first one leading to directions to go immediately to the emergency room. I’d only ever been to the emergency room twice before that I recall – once on a holiday weekend for a Benadryl shot due to an allergic reaction to a bee sting (an no store that was open had Benadryl), and another when I broke both my arms at the same time (a story unto itself).

This time was actually scarier – my doctor said go immediately.

The emergency room doctor diagnosed an infection – and five days later now, they still have not identified it and it has not responded to antibiotics. Today the doctor gave me two additional antibiotics and a two-day deadline for improvement or he is going to admit me to the hospital.

Fortunately, the high-strength painkillers have knocked the pain from being the most excruciating feeling I have ever had to merely a persistent low-throb. Unfortunately, that masked pain does not help me know how I am really feeling – it just keeps me in a mental haze that I do not like.

Hopefully within the two days there will be no more swelling and no more pain and I can get back to normal.

Rabid Fan

I think I crossed the line today.

At the end of the Cowboys game, I started walking around the house singing, "How big is that L on your forehead?" to the tune of "How much is that doggie in the window?."

If you "valley-girl" the "L" it works.

Something has to change in Dallas, and soon. This is ridiculous.

Breakfast Torture

This morning I woke up early to get to church to cook breakfast for the youth group who had spent the night in the church for a lock-in.

Things were very quiet when I arrived, but I set to work cooking the bacon and pancakes.

As the bacon started cooking, that most distinctive salty-smokey aroma began to fill the kitchen and fellowship hall, my mind was drawn back to Saturday mornings when we often had bacon and eggs.

Waiting for breakfast after the bacon aroma has already filled the room qualifies as torture. Even as I was cooking the breakfast the wait to finish the bacon and pancakes, my hunger pangs grew even as the youth started making their way into the kitchen, snagging pieces of bacon on each pass.

Maybe the next administration will consider cooking bacon as a replacement to waterboarding and the other illegal techniques that have been employed against al Qaeda. Surely a morning of smelling bacon and only being fed gruel will break the toughest character.

Smells Like Grandma

Being a good host, I like to keep a can of room deodorizer handy in each of the restrooms in my house - just in case not everything is rosey.

As I was making a quick run-through of my local grocery store (H-E-B) the other day, I passed down the aisle with the room sprays and remembered that the one in my restroom was getting a bit low. The store did not happen to have the fragrance I usually use handy, but had one that sounded rather nice, and light, and all together appealing: Powder Soft.

This morning as I was putting it in my bathroom, I made a couple quick sprays to see what it smelled like.

It did not take long to realize that it smelled like grandma.

Grandmas have two smells.

There is fresh-baked cookie grandma who is gonna love and spoil you until you can't take it anymore. This is a good grandma smell.

Then there is grandma-farts-in-a-nursing home grandma smell. This is not a good grandma smell.

H-E-B Powder Soft Room Spray is grandma-farts-in-a-nursing home smell.

Office Space!

Finally I have a functional office space in my home. Since I moved into the house two and a half years ago, my office has been the clutter/junk room. During my recent vacation, though, my office was project #1 and it has come out quite nicely.

The first step was getting four bookcases out of the room. I still have the books, but finally gone mine put away in somewhat of a logical order. On one wall, I put in a track shelving system and it made a world of difference. Being able to adjust the shelves gives me so much more usable space than the standard wall-unit bookcase – and it looks so much more orderly perched up above my new desk.

The desk made another huge difference. Despite eating up a chunk of space, it is a real desk and fits nicely in one corner with a writing and a computer space. Since I still like to compose most of what I write by hand rather than by typing, that space is so important to me. The writing space looks out a window to my front lawn – usually at the damn grackles, but still it is some kind of wildlife beside the college-age boys renting the house across the street.

I also moved in my 55 gallon aquarium and the comfy recliner that never matched any of my other furniture. So now I have soothing sounds to go along with a favorite reading space.

I have a couple boxes of books to put away somewhere yet and some scrapbook boxes to file. I make scrapfiles, not scrapbooks. It is much more exciting to open one of the boxes and rediscover a memory than to have it neatly organized in a scrapbook where you know exactly what you are going to find.

All in all, though, my reading, writing, and quiet place is back. With just a bit more organization (stuffing things in the closet), it will be the perfect place for my evenings, and maybe I’ll be able to get to the short stories I kept threatening to rework and publish.

Sleep NO!

When I started taking the new medications last week, in addition to all the ranging side effects I laughed about, I knew there was also the possibility of very vivid dreams. Several people told me just how strong the dreams could be.

Since I rarely dream – or recall my dreams rather – I looked forward to this new experience in my life.

I did not expect that experience to turn into, “Hell no! I’m not going to sleep!” or more accurately, “I’m not going to lay down.”

So far I do not recall any vivid dreams, but the images that pass through my mind as soon as I lie down and begin to drift off are nothing short of horrifying. They are all violent images of death and torture of only the kind Jack Bauer could survive. I simply do not want to close my eyes.

Given the choice, I do not watch those kinds of movies and do not even pay close attention to the trailers in movies or on television; it simply does not interest me in the least. In the case of 24, I simply am unable to suspend my disbelief long enough for the story, no matter how compelling, to come alive for me.

Call me unpatriotic – I still do not like the show.

Let me be clear – in the pre-sleep visions, I am neither the protagonist nor the victim. I am a completely removed person as though watching a movie or television show. The option to intervene or somehow change the course of action is out of my control. My option to change the channel, so far, is also out of my control.

I need to find the right reading material to change my frame of reference before going to bed. I usually watch The Simpsons, but clearly Homer and crew are not doing it for me.

I say all this and find myself up at 3:30 a.m. listening to one of my all-time favorite classical works – “Danse Macabre” by Saint-Saens.

Go figure.