THE NERVOUS COOK...COOKS

It's been a hard week for The Nervous Cook.  On Monday she shopped.

On Tuesday, she cleaned house, beginning in the master closet.  The Nervous Cook is not in analysis, although she senses there could be great benefit from that.  But, even without an analyst she knows she cleans the master closet before guests arrive because it gives her a certain, sense of control over her life.  "I may be a nervous and uneven cook," she thinks to herself, "but this closet looks darned good."  Two mornings later the alarm signals that T-Day has arrived, and it's still dark outside.  You can't begin too early!

The turkey patiently waits for its stuffing next to its little friends, the rolls, who seem to be growing a bit quicker than their package had suggested.

In the meantime, the Nervous Cook's "Sweet Babboo" is having another cup of coffee and checking out the newspaper.  It's a holiday, you know.

Enough of that holiday nonsense in the house robe--there's serious work to get done and get done now!  Life is earnest...life is real, and you can't begin too early.

Yes, The Nervous Cook is just fine, thank you.  May she have some champagne now?

The guests begin to arrive.

It's one of those gorgeous Arizona afternoons when the patio is the perfect place to be.

It just makes you think Norman Rockwell, doesn't it?  No--I understand--an overcooked turkey in pieces is not a pretty sight.  It is beginning to look as if a person actually can begin too early.  The Babboo got away from The Nervous Cook or he would never be out displaying this poor creature to guests who are bravely smiling through what some suspect may be waves of nausea.

They came, they ate, and they have lived to tell about it!  They are dear people.   

Thank you friends!

  

THE NERVOUS COOK PLANS

The Nervous Cook's mother did cook (under protest) but wasn't what you would ever call comfortable in the kitchen.  She much preferred sitting on her shady, cozy patio with book in hand, ashtray at her elbow and, if it was after five, a small glass of Chablis.  She took her younger daughter to the library every week, made her listen to the Metropolitan Opera's broadcast each Saturday afternoon, and dragged her to the Community Concerts four times each winter.  She did not teach her how to cook a roast, bake bread, can vegies nor assemble stuffing for a Thanksgiving turkey.  The young girl could, however, shake up a mean whiskey sour strong enough to mellow many a '60's Mad Man.

The Nervous Cook and her Sweet Baboo have invited six friends for Thanksgiving Dinner.  So, the Nervous Cook is thinking to herself, what in the h*#l have I done?  This event will obviously call for serious cooking skills which might include baking, stirring, crusting, mashing, basting and stuffing--with a bit of sheer hysteria folded in.

So, the Nervous Cook plans...

Despite being a Nervous Cook, our gal has quite a cookbook collection.  She has gathered a representative sample to begin the planning process.  But somehow, even to her, it seems sick and wrong, if not completely Un-American, to cook a Thanksgiving dinner for eight in fifteen minutes.



The Nervous Cook has now jumped from the sublime to the ridiculous.  While the Women of Great Taste cookbook from the Wichita Junior League generally yields quite tasty dishes, it is usually a long and winding road to get there.  The Nervous Cook doesn't have that much time.

The Nervous Cook has now called on Williams-Sonoma's Christmas cookbook--you can sense the tension building.  The Nervous Cook is scanning stray printouts of untried recipes from the computer and seeking the comfort of The Pioneer Woman's calmness.

The Nervous Cook is now finished.  She has checked drawers and shelves for ingredients, she has used up the computer's battery, and her list is complete.  She is going to lie down now.

 

   



A CERTAIN AGE

When I drove in from the airport after my California trip it was dark, which occurs pretty early now that Arizona autumn is officially here.  I was kind of down in the dumps after leaving the kids...Collin's little sad face had stayed with me.  Lauren was pretty oblivious at the time, but her Mother did report that she screamed "GG" for ten minutes after they left the airport.  What a sweet little girl!

I gathered my bags, collected the mail and set about the reorganization that always follows a trip--even a short one.  I unpacked a bit and then sat down to open the mail.  I've always loved mail--even in today's world where most of it can be recycled before reaching the front door.  I'm standing in the kitchen sorting--pitch here, recycle there, open that...when an envelope caught my eye--and why not?  "Win a Free Cremation.  No Purchase or Obligation."  Whoa!!

I had to open that one.  "Dear Margie," (lucky guess, right?) followed by a page and a half of "no sales pressure", "no obligation", and then the bottom line:  "Sometimes death happens before you have had a chance to put plans in place.  We stand ready to assist at a moment's notice should you need immediate help."

Suddenly, I needed to sit down.  I may not feel well.  Perhaps a sore throat?  Yes!  I'm awfully tired?  Yes!  A pain?  Sharp or dull?  Yes!  A headache?  Dizziness?  Is this a moment?  I think I might need immediate help immediately!!

Then I carefully tell myself to calm down.  I'm reading an advertising piece sent out, no doubt, to all of Sun City Grand.  I'm fine, I'm young for my age, I exercised two weeks ago, I drink a glass of red wine every evening.  Actually, I think I'll have one right now.

OK, I'm good.  In fact, I'm kind of amused.  Win a cremation!!  I hadn't expected that even in this neighborhood.  So, I take a little sip and slit open the next envelope.  "Dear Margie,  Do you find yourself asking others to repeat themselves more and more often?  Are you feeling left out of conversations?"   "Digital hearing health care...Call today for an appointment...be sure to bring a friend or loved one--someone whose voice is familiar to you ."  Why would I need to do that?  Will I be having a moment?  Will I be needing immediate help?

I'm leaving the rest of the mail for tomorrow.

 

A PERFECT DAY

What they said:  "WAKE UP, GG.  It's time to get up.  The tick-tock said 7."

What I know:  The tick-tock didn't say 7.  The tick-tock said 6.  Good-bye Daylight Savings--Hello Standard Time! 

What they said:  "Mommie lets us watch TV...This is a good program."

What I know:  Mommie DOESN'T let them watch TV and this is NOT a good program.

 What she said:  "GG ookla merkostks GG, wprgclt spqlklacog."

What I know:  She can say "GG".  Heart melt time.

 What I know:  This is one of the few times today there will be cooperative play.  AND--she's running the remote control for the Geo Trak and running it well.  She is 22 months old.

What I know:  It's a beautiful picnic day and this little one is an easy eater.  A turkey sandwich, apple slices, milk and she's happy.

What he said:  This sandwich is yucky!

What I know:  Big brother wanted McDonald's for lunch, and even though this is a great sandwich, we'll never know it.  Plus--there's a practice bat in the background and he's here to smack the ball off of that T.

What we all know:  It's time to clean up and head home for naps.

Later:  Daddy's fixing his famous Carne Asada Tacos--GG's favorite!  Mommie's downloading photos for her blog, the kids are outside playing and the perfect day is coming to a perfect end.

Thank You for a wonderful visit!