I haven't said much about our Thanksgiving Day this year but it was wonderful. Very quiet day of feasting with the BRD as our only guest. We started with those goldfish crackers, in tribute to Julia Child. (If you missed that reference, go back and read Wednesday's post.) Some fine wines, courtesy of the BRD. The main entree was a bacon-wrapped, stuffed pork tenderloin. Actually two tenderloins wrapped around the sausage and cornbread and other breads stuffing. Exquisite. Lots of good conversation, dining and family conviviality. I heard from my friend, Baseball Steve, early in the day that he and his lovely wife, Debbie, were preparing to feed and entertain somewhere between 32 and 36 family and friends! I couldn't imagine tackling that but he said the next day that it all went well and there weren't even any arguments or fights all day. Amazing! I was interested in hearing from a number of friends of the variety of dinner choices people had made. From our pork tenderloin to grilled lobsters to grilled steaks to chicken to slow cooker turkey breast to deep fried turkey. Quite a variety and I'm sure everything was tasty. Surprisingly I got no decent pictures of our food from that day. But I did sneak what I consider one of my best pictures ever of our guest.
Her hair has turned white over the years but I think it makes her more beautiful than ever.
And that's why I call her the BRD - the Beautiful Rich Daughter.
Ah, yes, Black Friday. Well surprise, gentle readers, your host is NOT in the stores. He's still contemplating the joys of Thanksgiving (unless you're a Green Bay Packers fan). I hope your holiday feast was memorable.
Well that's about it. Back now to watching television and the 2016 presidential campaign.
I like it when I turn the tv off and quiet descends on the house once again.
O.K. That's really it.
Except for the obligatory kitty, of course.
Stay warm, gentle readers, have a great weekend and remember to always keep a smile on your face.
People may suspect you're a moron but at least YOU'LL enjoy it.
Regular readers here may, and I say "may" because I don't preach much, know that I am sort of anti-gun. That is to say that I don't see the reason for anyone in this country to own a Russian assault rifle or anything of that type. But hunting guns, real hunting guns, like single-action shotguns and such are permitted in my world. Not much else. Sorry, gun aficionados. Which brings me to my youth. My very young youth. September 23rd, 1944, to be exact.
I am four years old and kneeling on the left, apparently holding onto a pheasant.
My 11 year old brother is to the right and our wonderful dog, Honey, is to the right of him.
My grandfather, B.W. Taylor, is standing on the left and my father, F.B. Taylor, is second from the right.
We have all been on a pheasant hunting expedition with what appear to be good results.
Years later, I went hunting for prairie chickens once with my dad and we discovered that I was a natural, crack shot.
But I didn't pursue it.
Incidentally, today would be my father's 112th birthday.
And, yes, it is Thanksgiving.
But seriously I am thankful for the relatively good health SWMBO and I enjoy and for the many friends and family enjoying this festive day whereever they are.
As I begin to write this the temperature outside is at 50 degrees F and the Weather Gods say it won't go much higher today. Or for the rest of the week. Typical winter "cold snap" with high temperatures in the 50's, here in the Central Highlands of Arizona. That beautiful red maple in the front yard has lost nearly all of its leaves now and what remains are curled and dried up and ready to fall.
SWMBO and I spent a couple of hours a few days ago raking and gathering up the leaves that were littering the yard.
We love our trees in the spring and summer and early fall when they fill the yard with shade and color.
We hate them in the late fall when we have to rake up leaves.
And at our ages we gaze longingly at our various neighbors that have yard services that bring crews of men with those damnably noisy blowers and their rakes and quickly clean up their properties.
Ah well. That's a convenience of the present day I guess. Our parents never had such services.
But we didn't have rules that prevented us from raking the leaves into a big pile in the street and then burning them either.
I can still conjure up the pleasant smell of burning leaves.
But I guess we don't have that smoke as a health hazard any more.
So it goes.
And tomorrow is the big day: Thanksgiving.
SWMBO still clings to tradition and insists on fixing a huge feast for the day.
Although I heard her tell her sister on the telephone yesterday that this may be the last one she does.
She's been cooking and baking and preparing for a couple of days already.
A freshly baked apple pie sits temptingly on the kitchen counter.
I will whip out a pumpkin pie today to stay with tradition.
But tradition be damned - no turkey this Thanksgiving.
I like turkey (and enjoy telling and re-telling her how when I was a kid we had a turkey on Thanksgiving, another one on Christmas and yet a third on New Year's Day!) but she is not fond of it and I don't really care any more.
So we will dine on one of her specialties and a meal I love - stuffed pork tenderloin.
The "other white meat."
It will be accompanied by all kinds of other dishes and one VERY non-traditional appetizer.
We had read an article about the French chef Julia Child recently and her Thanksgiving dinners.
The article said Ms. Child didn't cook "fancy" food at home very often, even when she had guests. Just plain simple food.
Good, but simple.
For example she wouldn't prepare a fancy appetizer to be consumed with pre-prandial drinks.
She'd just put out several dishes filled with goldfish crackers!
That appealed to SWMBO so she had me pick up a small package of the bar-food specialty at the grocery store yesterday. And that will be her appetizer as a tribute to Julia.
And really, it's the meal that counts, right?
Oh, one more thought.
I got an email this morning from a minimalist web site that I read from time to time.
He was talking about reclaiming Thanksgiving from the merchants who open their stores for the Christmas shopping rush as early as midnight on Thanksgiving Day.
He said "Only in America do we wait in line and trample each other for sale items one day after giving thanks for what we already have."
Actually he noted that stores are now opening all day on Thanksgiving and one merchant is even calling the day before as Thanks-getting Day!
As I said before, times have changed since I was a kid.
"All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth . . ."
Catalyst and his boys, Troy and Scott, in North Dakota around 1970. Poor Scottie had lost a tooth or two. Check out those trousers I'm wearing. No, they are not pajamas. I don't remember them but they must have been something from the hippie shop. And before beard but showing off some mutton chops. Man, the styles we all went through.
I don't usually do a second post on Throwback Thursday but when I do . . . . I was looking at Facebook awhile ago and noticed a picture of an old television news producer friend of mine from years ago, Rocket Rod Haberer, coming out of a directors' meeting. I commented that he was wearing a NECKTIE! Rod wrote back that he wasn't sure he'd even know how to tie one these days. My mind went PING! I remembered a thought I'd had as I was trying to go to sleep last night: I wasn't sure I even knew how to tie a necktie any more since it had been decades since I'd worn one. I told SWMBO about this and she said I had one necktie left but she thought the last time I'd worn it was at my granddaughter's first wedding. That was 19 years ago! And then there's this: for some reason some of the lyrics to a song from my youth have been running through my head today. (That's called an earworm, by the way.) I hadn't thought of those word since I was a mere kid but I looked them up. Listen . . . . and maybe YOU'LL get an earworm, too!
Mid 1980's - Ajijic, Jalisco, Mexico - on the north shore of Lake Chapala. This was my best friend during my Mexico days (well, next to SWMBO) - Walter Nixon. Native of Harlingen, Texas - long time resident of New York City.
Proudly wearing his Garrison Keillor-approved Powdermilk Biscuits t-shirt, Walter was attending the annual chili festival.
And no, I don't think it was Pepsi he was drinking from those cups.
For those longtime readers of this blog you may remember that Walter was the father of reknowned Broadway, television and movie actress Cynthia Nixon.
These pictures, as well as the new header photo, were all taken on Monday, when it snowed much of the day here in the central highlands of Arizona. The snow is gone now as temperatures have risen once again but it made a nice contrast with the fallen red leaves from our maple tree while it lasted.
Last year I think we had maybe one or two snow days all winter.
This year, with el niño lurking off the Pacific Coast, we've been promised more. We shall see.
It was 32 degrees F. this morning when the finches began arriving at my freshly filled birdbath.
One or two even got into the bowl to take a quick spritz bath.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
On a more serious note, what can one say about the horrific actions in Paris last night except to condemn them.
I was born in 1940 and grew up in the 1950's. In spite of the worry over "the bomb" and war in Korea, it was a much calmer time.
I did not agree with our "adventure" in Vietnam but even with all the lives lost in that misguided war, the 21st Century is turning out to be so terribly much worse.
The crazed terrorists who turned a beautiful city on end must be dealt with. Not the ones who committed the acts of carnage. They're apparently all dead, most by their own hands. But the ones who inspired them, in Syria or Iraq or wherever they are hiding.
In the meantime today I join citizens from all over the globe who shed a tear and join hands with our grieving friends in Paris.