Give Thanks or Eat Pie Trying

Three things you should know about me:

1.   I don’t like Thanksgiving.  It’s not one of my favorites (which for the record are:  Fourth of July, Christmas, my birthday, and St. Lawrence day).  Thanksgiving for my family is just another turkey meal with a bunch of extra vegetables.  And rolls.  And dessert. 

2.   I very rarely, like almost never, cook – especially if it requires opening the oven door.

3.   Until last year, the thought of having people in my home who weren’t related to me by blood in my personal space home filled me with intense anxiety – and not because I’m a closet hoarder, I swear.  Seriously, the four years that I lived in my apartment, I had one friend over and that was for like fifteen minutes. 

With all that in mind, how is it that tonight there will be 17 people gathering in my house for our Second Annual Pre-Thanksgiving Thanksgiving (PTT) Feast eating turkey that I cooked in my oven?  Yeah, I still can’t figure it out either.

Actually, to understand let’s go back in time.  So, last fall sometime I was eating a Healthy Choice frozen meal – the turkey dinner – for lunch.  Yum-yum!  I thought, well, gee whiz, this is really delicious…IDEA!  Let’s have a Thanksgiving potluck at work and we could all bring stuff in and eat a Thanksgiving-y lunch together.  I had the whole plan in my head – my contribution would be anything store-bought because like, seriously, was I going to cook?  No way.  There are people much more adept in that area than me.  Yea!  Thanksgiving lunch idea, woo-hoo!

Then I told other people and they got the crazy idea that the Thanksgiving potluck should be at my house because I never had a house-warming party and then it kept snowballing and before I knew it I was taking turkey-makin’ lessons at TopChef’s house, watching YouTube videos about carving birds, and preparing for invaders visitors. 

Except for one minor snafu, I survived last year’s PTT feast.  I even had fun and enjoyed having my friends in my home.  I know, crazy, right?  I jokingly said it would be an annual event (although I was pretty sure I said it would be a moveable feast…) 

I haven’t been in much of a celebratory mood lately so I wasn’t really planning on having a Second Annual Pre-Thanksgiving Thanksgiving.  I waffled on the decision and then said, what the hay bale, let’s do it.  If my friends – even some from the city – want to come and share food and fellowship (I totally stole that line…), wear Pilgrim hats, and give pre-thanks at my house, they’re more than welcome. 

By the time you read this, I’ll have cooked (and carved) two turkeys, set a table for 18 people, and convinced my friends that to really experience Pre-Thanksgiving Thanksgiving like the Pilgrims, we really must don bonnets and Pilgrim man hats.

Hey, anything’s possible.  

And a Happy Harvest to you and yours!

  

Clutterbug

I’ve always had a lot of stuff.  Partly because I’m a bit of collector, partly because I don’t like throwing anything away, and partly because I think I might’ve been a teensy bit spoiled when I was little.  (In my defense, I will say that while I may have been spoiled…I don’t think I was a spoiled brat.)   

Growing up, my small bedroom was always cluttered with dolls, books, bags, stuffed animals, clothes, dollhouses, newts, doll cradles, and, at one time, a guinea pig.  It dawned on me recently that my bedroom wasn’t small.  It was just overfilled with crap stuff.

I never outgrew that tendency. 

My cubicle, my car, and certain rooms in my house are happy habitats for the cousin of the stink bug – the clutterbug.  Even rooms that don’t appear cluttered with stuff…are.  After hosting friends for pre-Thanksgiving Thanksgiving dinner last year, one friend said he didn’t think my house was cluttered at all.  That’s ‘cause I didn’t let anyone look in the closets or under the beds.

Far and away, my biggest problem is paper.  I guess that’s to be expected considering the line of work that I’m in.  I rarely throw any paper away and when I do, I agonize over it.  Now, I’m not talking about the junk mail that ends up in the recycling bin as soon as it comes into the house.  No, I’m talking about credit card statements, receipts, greeting cards, instruction manuals, Chinese fortune cookie fortunes, and on and on.  I’m better than I used to be…when I was younger, I would save ticket stubs from the movies.  I’m pretty sure I still have my ticket from when I saw “I Know What You Did Last Summer.”

I just got a new iron because my old one died and I cannot go unpressed.  The iron came with an instruction manual.  Now, unless it’s a top of the line Rowenta, most irons are gonna work the same way they’ve worked since we stopped heating them with hot coals.  But me?  I need to save the instruction manual just in case I forget how to turn it on one morning. 

I like to save receipts – not for tax purposes.  No.  I like to save them just in case I want to put them in a scrapbook one day.  Because it’s important to remember that I paid $4.56 for ice cream on that vacation in Bar Harbor in 2003. 

Speaking of scrapbooks.  I have 19 scrapbooks in progress.  And by “in progress,” I mean, I bought a bunch of scrapbooking stuff that’s stored in a big container and the pictures are scattered about in photo boxes, envelopes, or wicker baskets.  I have a basket filled with all my pictures, tickets, and programs from when I went to the Summer Olympics.  In 1996.  We just passed the 15 year anniversary.  Do you think I should get working on that scrapbook soon?

This clutterbug is going to try to bring a little order to her chaos.  On Monday night, I went to a great talk about controlling clutter.  The speaker was Andrew Mellen, a professional organizer who’s been featured in a bunch of magazines and wrote a book called “Unstuff Your Life.”  He gave a lot of great tips that I’m going to try to put into practice this weekend as I start to unstuff my life.    

 I’ll let you know how I do.  I’m starting with my receipts.  

Catchin’ a Little Tail in the Landing

I actually wrote this post last week and was saving it but I figured my big Oprah extravaganza post can wait one more day.  Neighborhoods have been on my mind lately, especially with the devastating tornado that ripped through Joplin, Missouri and the flooding along the Mississippi River.  Tonight, I went to my first ever Homeowners Association meeting and this post seemed timely. 

Almost two years ago, I moved into a development that I’ve affectionately dubbed “the Landing.”  The house that I bought is on an extremely close-knit street; it’s watched over by a pair of dads who keep in line not just their kids but the other kids in our little section of the Landing.  It’s a place where everybody watches out for each other.  There’s even a signal in case something’s wrong.    

On any given day, on any given evening, Mike and John, the dads, are outside playing with a whole pack of kids.  Football, hockey, kickball, rollerblading.  Now, I jokingly ask Mike what the next season’s sport is so I can prepare myself.  And sure, when you’ve got a bunch of kids playing in the street, you have to be careful.  In fact, that’s one of the first things I was told - "We just ask people to slow down when they drive through here because of the kids."  So, I slow to a crawl when I come home and triple-check my mirrors every time I back out of my parking space.  That’s what neighbors – and safe drivers - do.

I never thought I’d really become part of the neighborhood fabric.  I don’t have kids and I’m not much of a joiner.  In fact, it’s very easy for me to be disconnected from larger groups - I am an introvert after all.  I come and go from the Landing just doing my thing.  A polite smile here, a friendly wave there, and then I go inside and shut my door to watch Judge Judy. 

Phoebe - out for her Sunday
morning constitutional

But then a skinny gray cat showed up at my door.  I fought it, I did.  Just ask my friends who kept telling me I should let it in.  You know what happens…one cat becomes two, two becomes four, four becomes eight, and eight becomes Crazy Cat Lady on the Corner.  I’ve seen the Cat Lady documentary…I know how it plays out.  To make a long story short, I let that skittish little stray cat in.  A few weeks later, my mom found out the cat’s back story.  She wasn’t a stray…she was the neighborhood cat and her name was Phoebe.  Phoebe was actually Mike’s wife Vicki’s cat but she’s gentle and docile and was heartlessly bullied by their other mean, nasty cats.  To protect her (although I’m not sure how this protected her), they let her out in the daytime and she made the rounds in the neighborhood.  Last summer, she found me and she’s kinda been mine ever since.  While she’s a wonderful little pal who cuddles up on my lap, she’s done something much more.  She’s connected me to the neighborhood in a way that I don’t think would’ve happened had she not become a part of my life. 

Because of Phoebe, people know that’s there’s a real person living in the corner house…not just a nameless neighbor passing through.  Last Sunday, when I got back from running errands, Mike called over to me – “Hey, Denise!  You want a burger?  We’re having a cook-out.”  I politely declined because I had just eaten lunch but I was touched by the invitation.  A little while later, as I sat on my front step potting some flowers, watching the boys play football in the street, Mike and Vicki’s daughter, Tory, came over to see if Phoebe was around to play.  I explained apologetically that Phoebe was up in her bed napping (now you know why she stayed…she gets a full-size bed all to herself!) but when she woke up, I’d bring her out. 

Duct-tape wallet - never
leave home without it.

On Thursday evening, there was a knock on my door, it was Tory and her friend Courtney.  Trying to hide my grimace because I was on my way to buy my very important umbrella, I told them Phoebe couldn’t play…I was just leaving.  So unneighborly, I know.  Tory said, “No!  We came to give you this!”  “This” was a duct-tape wallet.  “I made it for you because you take care of Phoebe!”  How can you not love that?  I thanked her profusely and then there were hugs all around because I guess ten year olds like to hug.

Phoebe, a now fat gray cat who never quite catches her tail, made me a part of the neighborhood.   

It’s no duct-tape wallet but it’s still a pretty good gift.  I think she deserves a treat.         

You Can Go Home Again. Just Remember to Pay the Tolls.

There’s a reason people on the East Coast don’t call their highways “freeways” like our pals on the West Coast do.  ‘Cause they’re not free.  You have to pay these annoying things called “tolls”. 

I live in Maryland.  My family lives in Pennsylvania.  The northbound trip up 95 (it is not “the 95”) is about 130 miles.  I can usually make the drive in about two hours.  Two hours and fifteen minutes if I get stuck behind a slow-poke.  Two hours and thirty minutes if I get stuck behind a slow-poke while we’re sitting in gridlock at the Delaware Toll Plaza.  The total cost of tolls (round-trip) is 19 bucks!  That’s the price of a dinner followed by a Baskin Robbins milkshake!

When I first moved to Maryland, almost six years ago, I made the trip up to Pennsylvania twice a month.  You figure it out - that’s every other weekend.  I would pack everything up on Friday night and be on the road no later than 4:30 in the morning on Saturday.  Before I knew it I was home. 

Pennsylvania is home.  It’s where I grew up; it’s where my family is; it’s where my history is.  I love being a Pennsylvanian.  We used to have license plates that proudly declared “You’ve Got a Friend in Pennsylvania.”  Isn’t that nice?  You could be cruisin’ around town and you always knew that there was a friend in the car in front of you.  I know stuff about Pennsylvania.  I know there are 67 counties (Heinz 57 plus 10!  I learned that in 4^th grade and never forgot it.  That’s awesome Pennsylvania teaching for you!)  I know that Pennsylvania means Penn’s Woods, named after William Penn’s dad. I know Pennsylvania is one of four Commonwealth states and okay, I don’t really know what a Commonwealth is but it’s my most favorite trivia question.  Do you know what the other three Commonwealths are?  (Don’t cheat.) 

I’m slightly partial to the Southeastern corner of the state which is so much better than the rest of it, except maybe the Poconoes where the Christmas trees grow.  I do have a confession to make - I’m not really from Philadelphia.  I just tell people that because it’s so much easier to say that rather than to say that I’m from Glenside, Cheltenham Township.  Because then people ask -  where’s that?  What direction is that from the city?  How the heck do I know?  Does it look like I carry around a compass?  I think it’s East.  Or it might be Northeast.  I don’t know.  Google Map it. 

I have to specifically say Glenside, Cheltenham Township to differentiate it from Glenside, Abington Township.  Cheltenham and Abington are huge rivals.  I guess Abington’s greatest claims to fame are Abington Township School District v. Schempp and Bob Saget.  That’s Bob Saget of Full House fame - you know, Michelle Tanner’s dad?  What’s Cheltenham known for?  Frank Lloyd Wright architecture - okay, it’s only one building but it is a National Historic Landmark!  And Cheltenham gave the world Mr. October.  So what if he played for the Yankees?  If you don’t like the Yankees, how’s this - the back-up mascot for the San Diego Padres grew up in Cheltenham!  Awesome, right?  And why does Benjamin Netanyahu speak with a bit of Philadelphia accent?  He graduated from Cheltenham High School just like me.  Yep.  CHS can claim a baseball great, a back-up mascot, an Israeli prime minister and a future Archivist of the United States among their notable alumni.  Yep, I’m going for the big time.  That mascot is so not getting on the CHS Wall of Fame before me.   

These days, I’m a Pennsylvania transplant in Maryland.  Maryland’s okay.  I don't know much about it.  It’s the Free State.  While I don’t really get the whole Baltimore Hon thing, Charm City is home to Michael Phelps and Ace of Cakes.  A guy with a bunch of Olympic medals and a guy who can bake a cake to celebrate.  That’s cool.  Plus, they filmed Homicide:  Life on the Street here and well, you can’t diss anything that a Baldwin brother was in.  There are other nice parts of the state too that I don’t go to often because it’s around the Beltway.  By the way, Inner and Outer Loops…not two circles inside of each other.  I know - I found it misleading too.      

So, I’m not a Marylander and I’ll never consider myself anything other than a Pennsylvanian.  The Great Commonwealth is and always will be my family home.  I always know that I can come home to Pennsylvania, but somewhere along the way, maybe when I started paying a mortgage or started building my life here, Maryland became the place that I go home to.   

It actually doesn’t really matter if I’m going or coming home, because either way, I’ll still have to pay all those damn tolls.