Thanksgiving in a Box

I think we all like to believe that things were better in the past. If only we could go backwards, life would be so much easier and better. The problem being, life doesn't allow us to go backwards. Instead, life drags us kicking and screaming into the future. This time of year I always think about the Thanksgiving in a box I bought from my local grocery store. That box helped me move into my future.

It had been a bad year, everyone has them. My daughter graduated and went off to college (a good thing) but was not coming home for Thanksgiving. My husband decided he wanted a divorce, again, and moved out. My mother died suddenly and my dad quickly found himself a new wife who moved them to Florida. Our foster son had a major meltdown, packed up and left. The IRS was after me because of my husband's business practices and I had to put my dog to sleep. And lastly, Thanksgiving was coming and I had no idea how to cook the bird. My husband always took care of that.

So I found myself in an empty house planning Thanksgiving. I decided to buy Thanksgiving in a box as sort of a comfort. No fuss, no muss, everything was cooked for you right down to the pumpkin pie. It all came neatly organized in a box, ready to re-heat and serve. I invited a few friends for dinner, friends who were also a bit short on tradition that year. Friends who also brought their own sadness to the table. The meal wasn't all that good, but it wasn't bad either. We had some good laughs and I felt like I had made a baby step in moving into a future I did not like at all. I mourned for the Thanksgivings of old.

Looking back now, I think it was good that I had made an effort, however tacky and tasteless, to celebrate Thanksgiving on my own in the very place where all my cherished memories and departed loved ones seemed to be hanging suspended in the air around me. The people I invited had heartaches too, I was not alone. I tried to focus on the thankful part of the Thanksgiving holiday, knowing full well that the time had come to pack up and put the old memories in a box. Loss comes bearing gifts if you don't let yourself become completely stuck in grief. That year I wanted nothing more than to be stuck. I could not imagine that life would soon be offering me more wonderful Thanksgivings memories.

The year immediately after my Thanksgiving in a box, I flew to New York and Alexis and I took a bus to New Jersey for Thanksgiving with her roommate Eliza's family. I remember coming out of the subway and unexpectedly seeing those giant balloons coming down 34th street. We had a wonderful time together.

The next year I had met Harry and we began a tradition of spending Thanksgiving with Harry's friends, Pat and Bill, who lived in St. Paul. I fell in love with these two men and when they moved to the beautiful city of Sarasota, we began going to Florida every year for the holiday. I even began a new tradition of watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade, which I had never done, because for years I was too busy cooking. I learned I did not miss all the preparation and hard work required when you host Thanksgiving every year.

We interrupted our Florida tradition when we lived in Mexico for two years. Our Texas friends, Holly and Kara, with whom I taught with in Cabo, created a Thanksgiving feast with Texas charm for a group of our Mexican friends (drank a lot of tequila that night!!!). The second year Harry and I found a little restaurant on the beach and the two of us ate a mediocre turkey dinner while watching the most beautiful sunset I have ever seen in my life. We celebrated Canadian Thanksgiving, in October, with our Canadian friends in Cabo for three years running, this year included.

Thanksgiving 2010 found us with a group of Pat and Bill's close friends here in Sarasota. Chris, a chef and television personality, served up lamb and goose along with the turkey. There was no pumpkin pie which led Harry to toast that it was his favorite Thanksgiving ever! Traditions change, people we love die or move on. This year I was the only woman in our group of twelve and I couldn't have loved it more.

It's probably best that life doesn't allow you to go backwards. You can always open up your box stuffed full of memories anytime you want remembering not to get stuck for too long going through the box. Just re-heat, serve and move on to the different pies life has in store for you. When I get home, I am going to make myself a nice pumpkin pie.

12 reasons to get off the couch

While at the doctor today waiting to have my knee x-rayed I found myself reading a large poster mounted on the wall that was quite interesting. I was not in the mood for the poster's message, having been sidelined from exercise the last couple weeks because of a bad knee, but here goes:

If you exercise regularly you will:

1. Loose weight by boosting your resting metabolism.

2. Decrease your risk of colon cancer by 50%

3. Sleep better/less insomnia

4. Increase your longevity

5. Cut symptoms of depression by 50%

6. Reduce your risk of breast cancer by 50%

7. Cut your risk of catching a cold by 50%

8. Have increased energy

9. Reduce your risk of osteoporosis

10. Reduce the risk of developing heart disease

11. Reduce your odds of getting dementia and Alzheimer's by 30 to 40%

12. Improve your sex life!

*Exercise unfortunately means "aerobic exercise" the kind that gets your heart rate up for 30 minutes at least 5 times a week, not taking your dog out for a quick potty break.

I have been in a lot of pain that only seemed to grow worse the last couple days. I learned that I probably have a bone spur and that my knee is full of arthritis. The doctor asked me about past knee injuries and I told her the only one I could remember was a bad fall I took while skiing back in my thirties. She said that was probably when the arthritis started. Bone spurs just happen, and she thought she saw a large spur and a few small chips floating around on the x-ray. I will have an MRI to assess the extent of the tissue injury and the treatment I may need when I get back from our Florida Thanksgiving. Meanwhile, I will follow my doctor's advice and mega-dose on Advil and stay off my feet, which of course being me, I have not been doing.

After my doctor appointment today, I had a few moments of regret as I pondered the stupidity of my youth. My ex-husband, Jerry, and I flew out to Vale in a small 4-seater plane back in our thirties. (Funny how at 60 you begin to think of the thirties as your youth.) The couple we went with skied Vale every year, and on our first day on the slopes we ascended the lift to the more advanced runs. I knew I had no business being on these trails, but I thought if I just skied slowly I would be ok. The ski bunny couple would assume I was just slow, not inept. No such luck! Shortly after getting off the lift I took a bad fall. I was so embarrassed and told Jerry and the couple to just go on ahead and I would see them at the chalet later. It took me nearly three hours to get down the mountain where I proceeded to get into a good hot soak with my knee twice it's normal size. I put an ace bandage on my knee and skied the next day even though it hurt like hell. I stuck to the easier slopes and tried to work through the pain, as they say nowadays. My rationale was I would probably not get to Vale again, and the beauty of it all was breathtaking. Now, it seems, my vanity and bad judgement have come back to haunt me. I do still remember how beautiful those mountains were, however, and I can always tell the grandchildren that Grandma uses a cane because of an old ski injury.

I hope to get back to my exercise routine when this mess heals up. The doctor said SPIN and Pilates classes are actually good for knees. Until then, I will be on the couch remembering the list of 12 reasons to get off the couch.

PS. What did you expect? I'm 60 now: of course I'll be talking about my ailments!!

Back to Work

I returned from our road trip and called to have myself reinstated on the sub list in St. Louis Park. Two days went by and the phone did not ring. I, of course, began to obsess about my career as a sub being over. That was then, this is now. My phone rings constantly. This past week, I have worked every day and I have not felt so tired in a very long time. Even a 12-hour drive in the car now seems like a piece of cake. I need to build up some endurance, sort of like when you begin an exercise program.

St. Louis Park's school district has undergone some major changes this year. They closed one elementary school and now send all the 6th graders in the district to the one Jr. High. Student population has declined and the district took the opportunity to distribute low-income students and kids of color more equally around the district by changing school boundaries. The minority student population is now more balanced at 39% in every school, except for Spanish Immersion, which has a smaller percentage. The St. Louis Park school district is ranked academically #2 in the state, next to Edina, where the income level is much higher and the school population much less diverse. St. Louis Park city planners have included lower-income housing in this first ring suburb. Not true in Edina.

This is my third year of substitute teaching in St. Louis Park. I started right after I retired and continued for two years until we left for Mexico. I have great admiration for this school district. The diversity of the student population is fun and a culture of respect is carefully and skillfully nurtured in every school. A first grade I subbed in this week included a mix of Hispanic, Asian, Muslim, African-American, Jewish, and even white kids. A good way for kids to start their school career.

My first assignment back in the sub game was kindergarten. It was a good way to begin. I was reminded why I never took Kindergarten certification. The crying, the tattling, the shoe tying ... ah yes. Not to mention they hug you constantly. Day two: first grade, my favorite grade to teach until I realized I was too old. I love the way first graders internalize their daily routines. "No, Mrs. Baxter, we do it this way, never the way you are telling us to do it." Day three: elementary special ed. I was never certified in special ed. either, although I always had special education students in my regular classes over the years. This week's special education assignment included a student with an IQ of 68 who I found to be extremely articulate; and one student, named Usher, with a much higher IQ who kept flipping out of his seat into a handstand and then proceeding to walk on his hands around the classroom. Day four: middle school. A boy in class wore baseball gloves on both hands all day while displaying his baseball trophy on his desk. I was blown away by a discussion the entire class had about the Holocaust. I never studied the Holocaust until my senior year in high school. Day five: Spanish immersion grade 5. These students practically teach themselves. I wrote in Spanish on the white board the plan their teacher had left for them, and sat and read on my Kindle as they carried out what they were supposed to do independently. I remembered many of these students from when I taught them as first and second graders. One boy who was always folding and cutting up paper is still folding and cutting up paper. Day six: collapse into exhaustion.

Not being as young as I used to be, having hit the big 6-0 in October, I realize that a couple or three days a week of this may be more appropriate for one of my advanced years. I like subbing because each day is so different and there is no lesson planning involved, no meetings to go to, and no report cards. You walk out of the door empty handed, knowing a new adventure and challenge awaits you with the next assignment you accept. The bag of tricks it took years to learn is useful everyday with all the varied situations you encounter; and best of all, you can afford to relax and enjoy the students without all the overwhelming responsibility which a regular classroom teacher has. Some days, if the teacher has a lot of prep time on the schedule, you can fit in a little knitting and/or book reading. Pretty nice!

I only wish this moonlighting paid better, but a little extra money is nothing to sneeze at. I sneeze the money I make right along into our travel account. Nice! Also pretty nice was this week's completion of the bridge across Highway 7 that has been under construction lo these many months. We watched everyday from our windows as they constructed it, anxiously awaiting its completion, and gleefully yelling about the first accident, which took place before eight o' clock on the first morning. I am now able to walk across the blue bridge to the Spanish Immersion School and can also easily zip onto Highway 7 which gets me quickly to the other schools in St. Louis Park.

I figure subbing is something I can enjoy doing for a good long time to come if I so choose. (My first choice of career now would of course be professional tourist and blogger, but no one has called and offered me such a job.) Subbing will be fine for now. I just have to get over being shocked when students tell me I remind them of their grandmother (after all, I am a grandmother). When they say I remind them of their great-grandmother it will be the signal for me to retire yet again.

*And yes, dear Cabo friends who follow my blog, winter has arrived in Minnesota, snow and all! Hence the weird outfit.

Raviolissimo

I have always wanted to learn how to turn out good homemade ravioli, but being of British/Scandinavian descent, I was at a distinct disadvantage. Together Harry and I tried a couple of times to make ravioli, but we failed miserably. I knew we needed a good Italian.

Our friend, Linda, gave us a ravioli making lesson last Friday. Linda and her sister, Nicki, have been making their grandmother's Christmas ravioli recipe together for the last 25 years. Their Italian grandmother came to this country when she was 16 and every Christmas, made ravioli for the family using a broom stick to roll out the pasta dough.

When we arrived at Linda's kitchen in Linden Hills last week, everything, except the broom stick, was ready for our lesson. Linda had spent two days preparing; making the meatballs, the sauce, the filling and the pasta dough. This time our ravioli making went perfectly. We were in the presence of a maestra. Linda taught us how to create the adorable little ravioli using grandma's techniques with the aid of a modern hand-cranked pasta machine. You roll the pasta dough through the hand-cranked machine until it is thin but not too thin. And don't be afraid of the flour you may have to add after kneading the dough so it won't stick in the machine. We learned how to squeeze the air gently out of the little pasta blobs before you cut them with the roller that also seals in the filling.

We drank a nice bottle of red wine after our efforts and took home a bag of the frozen ravioli, sauce, meatballs and ribs (the secret ingredient to the tasty sauce). We also took home a huge casserole of ravioli with sauce, meat and cheese which we ate for the next three days. I felt like I had died and gone to Italian heaven! We were given Grandma's recipes for the sauce, the filling and the pasta dough!!

For me, the love affair with ravioli began many years ago. I remember my dad would sometimes open a can of Chef Boyardee as a bedtime snack. I thought the perfect little pasta shapes were so cute! Nine times out of ten, I order ravioli when I eat in an Italian restaurant (the tenth time is gnocchi!). Of course, restaurant ravioli is usually better than Chef Boyardee, but not always. It is not easy to make good ravioli. Sometimes the filling or sauce isn't good, or the pasta is rubbery. To get it all perfect is complicated and it takes hours of work. A true labor of love.

A couple years back I happened upon the book, The Lost Ravioli Recipes of Hoboken, by Laura Schenone. The author, a food writer and chef, embarked on a very personal journey in search of her family's authentic ravioli recipe from the old country. What she learned disappointed her (cream cheese in the filling made by her great-grandmother? OMG!) but what she learned about herself was firmer than cream cheese. I sent my Italian friend a copy of the book and we began to talk about someday getting together to make ravioli.

I am grateful to Linda that the day happened and for all her hard work on our behalf. Harry and I are going to try making ravioli on our own next, and if Linda ever wants to learn to make Shepherd's Pie or Scotch eggs, or trifle, or Christmas Pudding, she just needs to say the word! None of these things are as difficult to make as ravioli, that's for sure!

Forget the gardening!

I gave away, or threw away, all my plants on the plant shelf Harry built before we left for our five-week journey. However, I had no trouble this week filling those empty shelves with the Mexican treasures we brought back. So much for indoor gardening.

The new, beautiful, useless items fit perfectly on the empty shelves, but the Mexican dishes I brought back had to be stuffed in a bathroom cabinet. There simply was no room in the kitchen cabinets to store them, as they are replete with three sets of dishes already. The empty plant pots, such a nice collection indeed, are now stacked in the laundry room. Blessed be the shelf makers! Maybe next, Harry could attempt cabinet making.

I have found myself looking forward to December with great anticipation because it will be the time to bring up my tub of Christmas tchatchkis and dishes from our storage area in the basement garage. HELP!!

I really thought that with the need for three garage sales when we left the big house on Abbott, this urge to collect useless things would stop. But here I am once again, with no more space on the fridge for magnets, no more room in the spoon racks for spoons, shelves and cabinets all filled to the brim with odds and ends, dishes, and Mexican wine glasses (what a find these were, so adorable).

It's obviously time to pick up the phone and dial for help.....Tchatchkis Anonymous, a twelve-step program. I have at least taken the first step, admitting I am powerless in the face of a foreign gift shop.

I suppose I could throw out my husband and take over what little space I have allowed him for things. Certainly his bookshelves could be pressed into service ....

The Collector

Shortly after returning home from our trip, I sat reading an old People magazine and resting from unpacking my Mexican treasures, when I stumbled across an article where Diane Furstenberg, famous fashion and interior designer was quoted as saying, "Don't fill your space with useless tchatchkis. It will look too cluttered." Too late for me. She went on to say, "Know that your rooms are never done. It's where you live. So there is always more." Isn't that a contradiction? More is more and more is good has always been my motto. I never could abide that famous French architect either, LeCorbusier, who always said, "less is more."

As I continued to organize and find space for my new objects, my sister Julie called. I began to tell her about my cherished Mexican finds and she asked if I had ever watched the reality television show about hoarders. We laughed, but secretly I wondered what the tipping point on collecting things might be? Upon reflection, I know my predilection for collecting began early. My Scandinavian grandmother gave me a small china dog as a birthday present when I was about ten. I loved it so much and began to collect more dogs, so many that my mother said, "I think we should get you a shelf." The beginning of the end.

Scandinavian Grandma collected Royal Doulton figurines and the one that sat on the top of her television had my name written on the bottom of it for as long a I could remember. She would pick it up when I visited her and tell me that it would be mine someday. Today I have collected on my own several Royal Doulton figurines, Doulton dishes and a complete Doulton china tea set.

Upon further reflection, I remembered moving from the bedroom I shared with my sister Cathie to a room in the basement, shortly after my 12th birthday. I was never clear as to why, but now think it might have been that my predilection for collecting meant that there was not much space in our shared room for my poor sister. I took my collections with me when I moved and began to fill up the basement. Today I have filled up the condo with all sorts of collections and objects and it is indeed, as Diane would point out, cluttered. Harry turned out to be a collector of books (escaped academic!) and blue and white English china. We have a room of wall-to-wall books and a china cabinet we had specially made to house the old china from his mother's house in England. Quite the combo in a small condo!

Beyond reflection, objects can give a sense of security that may be lacking in a person's inner reality. My childhood could easily be described as unpredictable, at best. Maybe the objects I collected gave me the sense of order and predictability my reality lacked. Objects don't change in scary ways, they are safe and can be counted on to remain the same.

I do think, however, that there are signs I have reached the decline of my collecting days; and it is not just that we are out of space (even Harry has begun to clear out a few books). I bought a beautiful poster in Mesa Verde displaying magnificent pottery cups made in the ancient Pueblo style that were unearthed at the site of the ancient cliff dwellings. Upon researching the potter who makes these cups today, wanting of course to start a collection, I learned one cup can cost $5oo. Maybe less is more after all, more money in your pocket anyway.

*I told Alexis this week that she and Ivan and Joanna will have to orchestrate quite the garage sale upon our demise. And not to worry kids, I do recycle my People magazines.