Thanksgiving Day...
... is not Turkey Day at my house.
It doesn't compute satisfactorially: two people + twenty pounds of roast poultry = more days of leftovers than I care to think about.
So instead, duck. Long my festive meal of choice for the more intimate festive gatherings. Plus root veg roasted with grainy mustard and thyme, and a fine pumpkin pie. Turns out the good ol' Joy of Cooking has a very good recipe for same, so at last I'm freed from the tyranny of the Stokely recipe which is printed on the can, but not online, and wouldn't you know the local grocery store was fresh out of that brand.
But I digress.
Yesterday we made the drive north to the Bruce, where Rob's parents were closing their summer place. We took them out for dinner, to a restaurant in town that featured a Thanksgiving special. So we got some turkey after all. I asked the waitress if she could please check on how the gravy was made, because I'm allergic to corn and wouldn't be able to indulge in a sauce thickened with cornstarch. She returned from the kitchen with smiles: "there's no cornstarch in the gravy."
And moments later, brought my dinner, which included mixed vegetables. With, yes, corn mixed in with the peas and carrots.
Le sigh.
My mother-in-law hasn't seen me in some months, and commented at once at how good I'm looking. My father-in-law did too, saying that the difference in my face was striking since he saw me last... which was less than two weeks ago. He was here to do some roofing with Rob. I remember that I wasn't feeling especially well that day. It's a good thing I never play poker- everything I feel, inside and out, is right there on my face. Apparently, on that day, what I was feeling was "pale and bloated". Yuck.
It was lovely to see them, and a beautiful drive besides. We were passing through some of the richest farmland in all of this fertile province. On one stretch of road north of Harriston, we drove past a small procession of Old Order folks in their horse-drawn buggies. The wife always sitting on the left in a black poke bonnet and shawl, the husband on the right with reins in hand. No women drivers allowed. I wondered briefly how they knew that God didn't want them to drive motor vehicles, but didn't mind at all that they wore sunglasses. ("My child, you may protect thine eyes, but not with the trendy brands like Ray-Ban nor Oakleys...")
It's been such an unusually warm autumn so far that the trees have barely started changing colour. Some early maples appear to have just given up in disgust, turning brown and shedding their leaves without bothering with the usual displays of flaming glory. We haven't really had a good hard frost yet- that's probably why the colours are lagging.
Right now, Rob's out deciding which of two gyms he's going to join. One is farther, but more laid-back, and offers month to month membership. The other is much closer, but very corporate, and requires a one-year contract. It works out a little cheaper over the year, though, and gives him access to all other gyms in the chain, which is a popular one. Both have longer hours than mine; as we share both a car and an mp3 player, it looks like I'll be sticking to my morning routine, and he'll be working out in the evenings.
So off he went, moments ago, with his gym bag and a chequebook. Wonder which one he'll pick?
My gym's closed for the holiday, so I have a day off. Whether I want it or not, which I don't. Yesterday, I was there for two hours- a good, long upper-body workout, followed by a sauna and shower. I don't know why the shoulder-press remains THE most difficult of all the exercises I do, and why it just never seems to get any easier. I'm only lifting ten pounds, but by the end of the final set of reps I'm almost mewing in frustration as I struggle to get those bars up one last time.
My goal, really? One day I'd like to be able to do a push-up. Just one, I'm not greedy.
It doesn't compute satisfactorially: two people + twenty pounds of roast poultry = more days of leftovers than I care to think about.
So instead, duck. Long my festive meal of choice for the more intimate festive gatherings. Plus root veg roasted with grainy mustard and thyme, and a fine pumpkin pie. Turns out the good ol' Joy of Cooking has a very good recipe for same, so at last I'm freed from the tyranny of the Stokely recipe which is printed on the can, but not online, and wouldn't you know the local grocery store was fresh out of that brand.
But I digress.
Yesterday we made the drive north to the Bruce, where Rob's parents were closing their summer place. We took them out for dinner, to a restaurant in town that featured a Thanksgiving special. So we got some turkey after all. I asked the waitress if she could please check on how the gravy was made, because I'm allergic to corn and wouldn't be able to indulge in a sauce thickened with cornstarch. She returned from the kitchen with smiles: "there's no cornstarch in the gravy."
And moments later, brought my dinner, which included mixed vegetables. With, yes, corn mixed in with the peas and carrots.
Le sigh.
My mother-in-law hasn't seen me in some months, and commented at once at how good I'm looking. My father-in-law did too, saying that the difference in my face was striking since he saw me last... which was less than two weeks ago. He was here to do some roofing with Rob. I remember that I wasn't feeling especially well that day. It's a good thing I never play poker- everything I feel, inside and out, is right there on my face. Apparently, on that day, what I was feeling was "pale and bloated". Yuck.
It was lovely to see them, and a beautiful drive besides. We were passing through some of the richest farmland in all of this fertile province. On one stretch of road north of Harriston, we drove past a small procession of Old Order folks in their horse-drawn buggies. The wife always sitting on the left in a black poke bonnet and shawl, the husband on the right with reins in hand. No women drivers allowed. I wondered briefly how they knew that God didn't want them to drive motor vehicles, but didn't mind at all that they wore sunglasses. ("My child, you may protect thine eyes, but not with the trendy brands like Ray-Ban nor Oakleys...")
It's been such an unusually warm autumn so far that the trees have barely started changing colour. Some early maples appear to have just given up in disgust, turning brown and shedding their leaves without bothering with the usual displays of flaming glory. We haven't really had a good hard frost yet- that's probably why the colours are lagging.
Right now, Rob's out deciding which of two gyms he's going to join. One is farther, but more laid-back, and offers month to month membership. The other is much closer, but very corporate, and requires a one-year contract. It works out a little cheaper over the year, though, and gives him access to all other gyms in the chain, which is a popular one. Both have longer hours than mine; as we share both a car and an mp3 player, it looks like I'll be sticking to my morning routine, and he'll be working out in the evenings.
So off he went, moments ago, with his gym bag and a chequebook. Wonder which one he'll pick?
My gym's closed for the holiday, so I have a day off. Whether I want it or not, which I don't. Yesterday, I was there for two hours- a good, long upper-body workout, followed by a sauna and shower. I don't know why the shoulder-press remains THE most difficult of all the exercises I do, and why it just never seems to get any easier. I'm only lifting ten pounds, but by the end of the final set of reps I'm almost mewing in frustration as I struggle to get those bars up one last time.
My goal, really? One day I'd like to be able to do a push-up. Just one, I'm not greedy.