Hmmm, haven’t blogged in awhile. Here’s an update: still have walking cast on my foot. Still not running. Ughh. I keep having these dreams where I’m running, and I know I’m not supposed to be, but I keep going because it feels okay, and the whole time I’m thinking, this is totally going to screw my recovery. And I wake up wishing I could run.
But life’s not all about that. My parents were in town a few weeks ago, and we had a great visit. They very generously did some massive work on my house, which I’m quite grateful for. New paint in the guest bedroom and bathroom, new shelves, fixtures, pulls, gutters cleaned…the list goes on. We had a nice time, and I was sad to see them go.
I can’t believe the holidays are approaching so fast. Wasn’t it just summer, like yesterday? Suddenly, all of the buzz about turkey day approaching, which, BTW, is my least-favorite culinary holiday. I find it interesting that Americans, typically so adept at modifying and customizing EVERYTHING (I once worked at Starbucks; I know), will not get out of the eat-only-turkey-stuffing-pumpkin-pie rut. Really. I normally am not a picky eater, but I really find turkey to be always dry and tasteless, the stuffing to be only marginally okay—despite Martha Stewart’s attempts to improve the dish for her beloved readers—and cranberries? Why were they ever paired with turkey? Is it really appetizing to eat a fuchsia object that retains its cylindrical shape long after it’s been shaken from the tin? (Always accompanied by an odd slurping/sucking sound.) I think not. Desert isn’t even good. I don’t care for pumpkin pie—if it’s apple, fine, but if you’re going to eat pie, praise the Lord and throw some chocolate in. Or peeled fruit. But then, you would be veering from sacred tradition, and that would be sacrilegious.
For two blessed Thanksgivings, my family defied the crowd and we ate Paella for our Thanksgiving feast. The Spanish have much better culinary taste. Despite what the history books say, I'm willing to bet that those first pilgrims ate a dish as flavorful as Paella instead of celebrating around a dry, overstuffed gobbler. But I digress.
Since I’ve moved across the country, and because I refuse to fly home, or anywhere, during the busiest travel day of the year, I am now resigned to spending my Thanksgivings as a guest. Last year, I had a true-southern Thanksgiving in Virginia. This year I’ll be in Florida.
Which means? I’ll be eating turkey, and not delicious Paella.