Thanksgiving weekend is simply fabulous. I love the realization I always get on Friday: “I still have two free days left! Wahoo!!”

Plus the weekend is full of amazing vittles… Turkey and cranberries, sweet and normal potato dishes, green bean casseroles and yummy dinner rolls, pies and cookies. Yum!

This weekend was even better than normal because the Lawton family celebrated my birthday a week early. Though I don’t exactly love eating birthday cake and pumpkin pie on the same day, getting gifts and blowing out candles is always an acceptable activity — even if it’s on Thanksgiving. I got a super soft pink robe and jammies from my folks and husband, and music from my siblings… Joni Mitchell, Travelogue; Sigur Ros; and Radiohead, Hail to the Thief. If any of my family is reading this, THANK YOU! I’m feelin’ the love.

I hope all of you, my dear friends, are have a great weekend as well. ‘Tis the season!

Here it is, for all you Survivor watchers… Jon is pure evil. Any man who could manipulate people’s emotions by mourning the false death of his grandmother is just wrong. Plain, stinkin’ wrong. I was actually weepy while watching the contestants embrace their loved ones. Then along comes “Johnny Fairplay’s” buddy who informs him that Grandma is no longer. Tears begin to flow and I secretly chastise myself for despising this guy so vehemently before… Imagine my dismay when his evil doings were revealed. Argh!!! Down with Jon!

Yet, somehow, I somewhat admire the slimy character. He lies — at least he lies boldly. And he doesn’t claim to be a honorable man as he does it. Hmmm… something to chew on.

Thumbs up to…
-quiet Sunday afternoons
-the first snow of the season
-snuggling under warm blankets
-hot chocolate
–Antwone Fisher
-good friends and fun conversations
-painting your own pottery
-Edy’s peppermint ice cream

Thumbs down to…
-diarrhea
–Hollywood Homicide
-peppermint ice cream without crunchy peppermints
-smelling Safed Mas but not eating it

While Andrew is having his butt kicked by deadlines for his SIP (Senior Integration Paper) at Covenant, I thought I’d allow him to be my guest commentator for today. The following excerpt is taken from a recent email, with permission by the author:

ugh!  this saturday… brad thought he had a concussion, which if he did they can do nothing for him at the ER, however, we went.  no concussion.  instead, i had to spend the day listening to people agonizing over the death of their family and friends.  perhaps for the first time in my life, i had the opportunity to watch the entire process.  if anybody ever asks me to wait in the ‘family waiting room’ because the doctor wants to talk to me, i’m not going!  tragic or unexpected death is terrifying.  listening to 15 year old girls cry out for their dad, watching grown 40 year old men learn of a siblings death as they sink to a chair to avoid passing out…watching people pass out of their wheelchair and fall on their head on purpose just because they weren’t getting admitted fast enough — and all they wanted was pain medication.  watching more and more family of the same man with a heart attack walk in…wave after wave…and start wailing out loud because they thought he was okay.  having no truly devastating deaths in my experience to date left me emotionally unprepared for watching numerous families come in and think everything is okay, only to be forced to deal with funeral homes, psychotic relatives, the works…ick.

the ER sucks.

A few days ago I dragged my lazy homeowner self outside and swept our front walkway. Covered with large, elephant ear-esque leaves, no one could find a patch of clear sidewalk to walk on… until I swept, that is. I jokingly asked my next door neighbors is they wanted to borrow my rake, insinuating that they weren’t keeping up with their yard well enough.

Wednesday I awoke to the very odd effects of what I like to call The South Eighth Street Wind Tunnel. Nary a leaf to be found in anyone’s yards, on anyone’s sidewalks, but mine. In our yard? The most enormous pile of elephant ears, purposely put there by some divine nature.

Coincidence? I think not.

I once read a story about a pioneer woman that couldn’t stand the constant winds of the wide open plains. She finally cracked and went crazy.

Apparently my American flag can’t handle the winds, either.

I knew this day would come. The plastic Pottery Barn handle just wasn’t prepared for the gusts we face day after day in Nebraska. Slowly and surely cracks began to form… until today, when my patriotic display went headlong into the flowerbed. I wondered how long the ol’ Stars and Stripes had been laying there and how many people drove by noticing our lack of proper flag etiquette. The flag was intended to stay up as unwavering support for our friend Rob Nickeson, as long as he is stationed in Iraq, until he comes home. But knowing the pace that we complete our around-the-house projects? Well, let’s just say it leaves me with little hope of continued front porch patriotism.

I am so addicted to television…

SUNDAY
Alias at 8pm, becoming a weekly custom at the Cutler’s house. We get to hang out with great friends and their completely adorable baby while watching Sydney kick international butt. Pretty cool, though not as cool this season because Vaughn is married. Big sigh.

MONDAY
Every other week I have bible study… Thus I’m not hooked to Monday night tv.

TUESDAY
NYPD Blue… I enjoy watching Sipowicz and gang workin’ hard, crackin’ cases down at the 15th precinct. Connie is pregnant — yay!

WEDNESDAY
Wednesday evenings find me bolting half a city block, from my junior high bible study at Zion to The Grand’s viewing of The Bachelor in order to catch The. Most. Exciting. Rose. Ceremony. Ever! The show is the one that earns me the most odd looks (and I’m certain, internal judgment calls) when I reveal that I’m a watcher. It’s a guilty pleasure.

THURSDAY
Hold on to your hats — this is the Nite of Nites for television watching… 7:00pm. Friends — it’s the final season and it’s must-see tv. 7:30pm. Survivor — though I don’t get to see the first half, the second half is always exciting. I have just enough interest invested to care about the tribal councils. (By the way, I don’t think the recent “twist” is a fair idea. Here’s hoping Burton and Lil get voted out again!) 8:00pm. Extreme Makeover — don’t knock it ’til you’ve seen it. Everyone needs a meeting with Sam the Stylist. 9:00pm. ER — I’ve watched this show since I was in high school and I can’t quit now… But it kinda stinks. I’m tired of the ridiculous high drama found in the County ER. Give me the more personal storylines anyday.

FRIDAY/SATURDAY
This is a recent addition… House Rules, where three couples compete in home renovations. Yikes! I heard that a couple should never attempt to wallpaper during the early years of marriage (or, in our case, put up mini-blinds), much less renovate a home. Quite entertaining!

That’s it. That’s my week in front of the life-sucking boob tube. I know that once I become a mother I’ll rarely watch television again — so really, I’m doing myself a favor by such indulgences now. Hee, hee.

I didn’t know how to cook.

My fiance picked me up from a friend’s house in St. Louis that Easter holiday and we proceeded to cook Easter dinner — our favorite, Chicken Kabuli. It was by no means a traditional Easter meal (okay, so it was an Indian dish far from your normal ham and potatoes), but it was what we loved to eat and thus we prepared it for my family.

I also didn’t know how to shop for groceries. But one of my most vivid memories of cooking with Jeremy in those days was picking out the necessary ingredients for Chicken Kabuli. One of the most vital parts of the recipe is tomatoes, and that was how I discovered Romas. Beautiful, oblong, firm fruits quite unlike their more familiar cousins, the overly-round Beefsteaks which readily spurt their innards upon contact with a sharp knife. The lovely red of the Romas, in combination with an array of spices and the final touch of heavy cream, contributes to the attractive , delicious dish of Chicken Kabuli.

Over my kitchen sink tonight I fingered the final produce from my garden, collected one week ago, before the first hard freeze of the season. As I washed away bits of rich soil and picked off green stems, I felt the Romas had somehow seen me come full circle. There’s tremendous joy in now being married to my favorite person in the world, the man who taught me how to pick out good produce from the grocery stores in St. Louis. There’s much happiness in watching little seedlings grow into productive and full plants within the confines of our modest backyard garden. And there’s a feeling of satisfaction in being able to turn the literal fruits of our labors into good food for dinner… I can’t claim to be a great cook. But at least now I know how.