A thanksgiving to be thankful for

Growing up, Thanksgiving was one of two major productions in our household.  My mother cooked for up to 25 people for both Thanksgiving and Passover, and she did it virtually by herself.  I was in charge of things like setting the table, peeling eggs, and separating vegetables into containers so that people could make their own salad (God forbid someone dislike mushrooms, and thus be deterred from the entire salad).  We always knew we were getting away with murder, because while we were in the other room playing or watching TV, my mother would yell from the kitchen how we were the only two kids not helping.  But it was okay, she added, as long as we understood that we'd better say thank you, and not complain when dinner was running a little bit late.

As we got older, we did start pitching in more, and not just with my Sapta's famous Passover chocolate cake (licking the spoon was well worth the work), but I still hadn't learned how to do anything.  Now, at this point, my mother tried.  She even wrote out the recipe for roast chicken, which was the basis for all of our Friday night dinners.  I still have that piece of paper, I just haven't done anything with it yet.

And then about five years ago, Sal and I decided that we would escape the hell of Thanksgiving travel and create our own tradition of celebrating with friends in New York.  This is where karma was supposed to kick me in the ass, but, lo and behold, I married a very capable man.  We found a citrus turkey recipe (I highly recommend it) from Giada DeLaurentis, and Sal's tendency toward specificity came in handy as he basted the sucker every 15 minutes with results that were tender and delicious.  Our friends came over, and we made all the sides together, thus resulting in delicious food at a party in which I was the host, and once again, got away with murder.  We did it again the next year, and then went to other friends Thanksgivings for a few years, in which we brought my famous brussel sprouts, because it is the one thing I can do very well (thank you, Mom, I did listen to this one).

Now, amid Thanksgivings, we've had several dinner parties where my dear friend Rich came over to make his amazing, and truly famous (no pressure, Rich) baked ziti, so while I hosted, he cooked.  And man, that was good stuff.  So while I love to host, my abilities had yet to be challenged.  Then yesterday came around, and karma came a hoppin'.  Now, I still had secret weapon Sal, so the turkey was fine, so while I was helping with that (a few scary moments, but I think that goes with the territory), I had said that, on my own, I would make the stuffing and, of course, my brussel sprouts.  Our friends were bringing the yams, the cranberry sauce and the mashed potatoes.  Thank God.  I went online and found what was said to be a 15 minute recipe.  I started it at 4pm, guests not expected until 5pm, figuring I had plenty of time to keep dancing to the music and joking with Sal while I got on my way (and he scrubbed the bathroom clean).  At 5:30, we were still toasting bread, while I was burning the pecans.  And my friends got to witness the truth of my capabilities, and that is that I can make a lot of jokes while I'm messing up in the kitchen.

This is already too long a story, so I'll end it by saying that at 6:45 everything was done.  I had over re-heated the yams with marshmallows, though they remained tremendously yummy, burnt the brussel sprouts though they were still a hit (just had to pick out some of the darker pieces), and found that the hour and thirty minute recipe for stuffing was delicious.

And the store bought pie was fabulous.  Sour cream apple pie from the Little Pie Company will never fail.

I hope my mother will be proud.

A thought about positive energy

There is a commercial, regularly played on every network, in which a woman touts the genius of the Cancer Treatment Centers of America and it rubs me the wrong way.  Now, if you google Cancer Treatment Centers of America Commercials, you will find that I'm not alone in my distaste.  If you look them up in Wikipedia, you will find that at the very least, the FDA had issued them a warning letter in the 90's, and they are sparsely regulated.  Massage, apparently, is not the most effective and intelligent form of cancer treatment.

The thing that really burns my hide, however, beyond instilling fear in current patients of cancer that maybe they've been barking up the wrong tree, is the misguided claim that 'real fighters can beat this'.  My husband did survive Hodgkins twice, but it's not really because he was 'strong' and 'positive'.   Yes, they've done some research that shows that a positive attitude can help during difficult treatments, but the idea that "fighters win!", that's just stupid.  He had a great attitude that first year, made a web series during treatments, went on an exciting vacation in Costa Rica two months after treatment ended, and it still returned the next January.  They caught it very early that second time, went right into treatment, and he remains in remission.  Why?  Because A. they caught it very early, and B. in his case, for his particular type of cancer, a stem cell transplant gives him very high odds.  All in all, he was also very lucky.

I have known some extremely strong, beautiful and positive people who lost their battle to cancer.  It stomps on their memory to even suggest that their "attitude" led to their loss.  To manipulate the public to believe that GAP jeans are better than Express jeans is one thing.  To manipulate the public to believe they're not good/smart/strong enough to survive a devastating disease unless they call a 1-800 number, and ditch their current medical team is horrific.

I am writing this to say to anyone who has lost a loved one due to cancer, or any unexpected disease, that it was not their fault.  They were not "weak" or "less than".  They were stronger than I hope I ever have to be, and we are inspired by their memory to lead stronger, better lives, in their honor.

Voting today

Since this blog is called Standard Bear, LLC - the name of our little production company - I should start this second blog by announcing (trumpets please) that the rough edit for Season 2, Episode 2 has just been finished.  I think it's very funny.  I can't wait to see it with music and cleaner sound.  Compared to last seasons horse and buggy pace, Sal is moving like the most expensive Acela train out of D.C. 

But today I feel like talking about voting.  I have to walk approximately 10 steps to get to my voting location,  and I'm lucky, because, at this spot in Queens, the volunteers always outnumber the voters.  I've never waited more than 42 seconds to vote.  I love it there.  When I arrive, everyone seems genuinely happy to see me. It's not like a coffee shop where I'm a regular at, or the restaurant where they know our names and generally what we order (there are a few too many of those), because there is no financial exchange.  Everyone is filled with the sense that as regular people, we have the power to do something about the world we live in.  Now, whether or not this actually happens, whether or not that little bubble we scribble in really changes those things we feel needs changing, or we're actually just slugging through a system that is set up for eventual failure (I work with some conspiracy theorists, and sometimes they get to me) that's up for larger debate, and one I'm not qualified to enter into.  I just know that as soon as I prove my signature matches, I am allowed to directly affect our district, our nation, and possibly, if our theorists are wrong, our world. 

Maybe the conspiracy theorists get to me a little, or I wouldn't have mentioned it, but that's why I like Propositions.  It's not about a person, who may change their mind based on circumstance, or financial and party pressure.  It's a Yes or a No.  I can say NO!  Or YES!!!  And it passes or it doesn't.  Sometimes the result makes me cry.  Prop 8 was a clear disaster.  But then we have new elections, and suddenly there's hope for a future of acceptance and love.  And maybe that's why I love voting.  I'm a big fan of hope, and you can really smell possibility in the air on Election Day.

I should mention that the coffee shop in which I am most regular at is one I used to work at, and I make my own coffee when I visit.  Sometimes I end up working for a few minutes too, when they get a little crowded and I don't want our conversation to be interrupted by customers.  

 The above is Sal and I on Halloween 2008, at my favorite coffee shop.  I just have a pumpkin shirt on, while Sal is dressed as a creepy bowler.  I had to fend the ladies off of him all night long.

This Halloween party, 2009, (I was Supergirl/Clarkette Kent, and Sal was a Samurai Mime) I really did have to fend the ladies off of him all night long. 

This last Halloween (three days ago) I went dressed as Tuzia, from the play Commedia Dell'Artemisia, which we performed on Halloween.  We have two more shows next weekend, and if you're curious: http://www.stolenchair.org/ 

Happy Election Day!