Happy holidays to all, from my family to yours. I hope you have a joyful holiday filled with the people and traditions you love. And may the season shine a warm, caring light on you, your families, and the animals alike.
I believe it is becoming a Thanksgiving Day tradition — and if it’s not, I hereby make it one — for me to share my favorite movie scene, one that embodies the Thanksgiving Day spirit… or at least the spirit that dwells in my house. So while I wish you all a truly blessed and happy Thanksgiving, without further adieu, may I introduce Ms. Wednesday Addams…at her best. Happy Thanksgiving from me to you — Addams Family style.
So how long must one carry forth with a yearly ritual in order for it to be considered a tradition? I’m not sure, but I do know that I’ve posted this Thanksgiving morsel for
my your, your, I meant your entertainment since I started this blog and personally I feel such exhaustive dedication should count. So. I’m proud to present my traditional holiday offering of the delectable Addams Family Thanksgiving à la Wednesday Addams . Enjoy.
Easter is only a day away now and you know what that means. Well, now I think about it, I guess it could mean a lot of things. A renewed sense of religious piety. The cyclic nature of life, death, and resurrection. An observance of a community-building holiday founded in the goodness of fellow citizens. What does it mean for me? Besides loads of candy — eggs, of course!
It’s true. I hear the word Easter and the first thing I’m reminded of is not a crucifix. I think of the overabundance of candy that saturates the day with sugary goodness…those of you who may remember this jingle can hum it with me (and your welcome for the earworm!) — “Mary Sue Easter Eggs, Mary Sue Easter Eggs, Here’s a treat that is sunny for your Easter Bunny, the creamiest candy that’s made. Mary Sue Easter eggs, Mary Sue Easter eggs, Brighten you Easter parade!”
Next at the top of my list for Easter reflection are eggs. The hunting variety, that is. Oh, they weren’t always my first thought. When I was a little girl the word “Easter” meant that it was time to dress in a pretty new outfit and slip on some beautiful new shoes. Boy did I love that tradition.
But then I grew up and, after I had my son, Easter Sunday became much more about the basket, the eggs, and the competitive quest for the brightly colored symbols of Spring. I loved putting together the baskets with the chocolate bunnies and the pastel colors shining from the fake grass inlay. I loved it so much I still decorate Easter baskets for my kids to this day. No lie. I know that my kids are well past the age of believing in the Easter bunny but it doesn’t mean we don’t still enjoy the magic of the holiday. Or at least the candy. And my daughter and I still dye eggs together. Albeit we’re a bit more creative now in seeing what crazy things we can do with colors and trimmings (this year I’m determined to talk her into a horror theme). So what? She may be a teenager and I’m, ahem, just a tad older than a teenager, but Easter doesn’t have an age limit, right?
Of course hand-in-hand with the coloring of the eggs comes the annual Easter tradition of the classic Easter Egg Hunt! When my son was growing up, this was an Event with a Capital E. We would hunt eggs, oh maybe a billion times each Easter afternoon after dinner. Rain or shine. He never tired of searching for those cleverly hidden holiday icons that we had so painstakingly colored just the night before.
The tradition was subsequently passed down to my daughter. They’re seven years apart so when Jake was already a seasoned veteran in his egg hunting career, Sarah was just a rookie starting to ascend the ranks. Don’t think for a minute that he taught her anything or showed her the ropes though…it was a fierce competition from the get-go. Egg hunting has always been a very serious undertaking in our household, with those partaking in the game guarding their stash with a watchful eye as they scanned the horizon for yet another victim poking its neon-colored head out from under a blade of grass or leaf or perhaps sitting there precariously upon a bird-feeder perch. Until recently that is.
You see, the age of retirement from a career as an egg hunter in my family is NEVER. No one gets out of the Easter Egg game in my family. I don’t care if you’re 16 or 75. You’re either hiding eggs or finding eggs. Case closed. It’s always been a family affair and we do more than just have the adults hide the eggs then set the kids loose across the yard. We like to mix it up.
Back in the day, it used to be a kids vs. adults hunting royale. Now that the kids are older, it’s evolved into more of a men vs. women battle of the sexes hunt.
There’s only one problem: age. We’re all getting older and our collective memory just isn’t quite what it used to be. So nowadays one team will go out and hide their batch of eggs, then the other team will put forth the good search and find, oh, we’ll say most of them…but when it’s time to reclaim the ones that weren’t found, so much time has passed that the team who hid them in the first place now can’t remember where those “they’ll never find them here!” spots are that were so deviously chosen to befuddle their beloved family members just 30 minutes prior. So, often times, our two teams have to merge into one superteam just to find all the eggs. And even then, it’s never a given all of the eggs will be found. We’re still missing an egg from 2013.
Yes, every Easter Egg hunt has the potential to turn into a messy expedition through the grassy lands of colorfully-dyed forgetfulness, but it doesn’t stop us. Oh no, not us. Why? Because it’s too much darn fun, that’s why!
This year I’m going to propose something different when egg hunting time comes around. I say, we just ALL go ahead and hide the eggs together. No teams. That way we skip the foreplay and start this year’s hunt where we know it’s going to end up anyway. After we hide the eggs as one group, we go back in the house, have a little coffee, sip a little wine, nibble on some cake, then after 20 minutes or a half hour goes by, head on back out to the yard. I guarantee that none of us will remember where we put our eggs. Then a truly great hunt can begin! It’s all about turning a negative into a positive. Genius right?
I love scones. What’s not to love? They’re delicious. When done right, that is. According to Grocery Budget 101, “Scones are a simple, forgiving treat that even an inexperienced baker can throw together easily.” Well. That should make things easy. Any one of you should be able to toddle on over and just whip me up a batch or two or three of these to die for looking scones I found a recipe for the other day (Pumpkin Raisin Scones!) without a problem in the world. Don’t look at me like that. I know my limitations and I simply don’t have enough Baileys to pull this recipe off. But, I’ll leave the light on…AND preheat the oven!
Hey, the article even says, these delightful pastries are: “are perfect for those back to school mornings on the go.” (emphasis is mine)
I’m looking at you here M-O-T-H-E-R…your granddaughter needs sustenance. Of course don’t let the fact that her picky eating habits would never ever allow anything even slightly resembling a raisin much less something called a scone (gasp!) pass her lips even bother you for a moment. They are a back to school necessity, I tell you!
Oh! And I bet they would go really well with that Irish potato soup recipe I emailed you last week. What? Do you think I just send you these things for no reason?? That’s what happens when you cook so well. Guess you should’ve thought of that all those years ago when you started spoiling everyone and we all got so used to it. Bet you wish you had burned more dinners now, don’t you?
And as for anyone else who wants to try their hand…I’m more than happy to be a guinea pig. Just send those scones on over to me! I’ll get the Devonshire Cream!
My Mom is an amazing cook. She always has been. Back in the day, she cooked West Virginia style which meant lots of heavenly home-made gravy, melt-in-your-mouth scratch biscuits and some of the best fried chicken you’d ever stick a fork into. Although seriously, who uses a fork with fried chicken? Dinner was always an occasion in my house growing up although I didn’t appreciate it nearly as much then as I do now. Like my Grandmother before her, my Mom’s cooking is southern perfection.
Sadly, times change. Several years ago my Mom started cooking a bit healthier, but she still retained her original Top Chef skills. I do feel sorry sometimes for my Dad though – he sure does like his food…it’s a true, deep down enjoyment with him. A soulful experience if you will. And now he’s relegated to healthy lifestyle inspiring menu items, which we all know what that means. Luckily he has my Mom to put her touch on what could otherwise be some pretty boring and unappetizing dishes.
Pretty much everything that came out of my mother’s kitchen was “from scratch.” It’s only in very recent years that she has stooped to using things like instant rice or canned “cream” soups as a base…but that’s about as far as she’s willing to go with these newfangled food ideas. She tried to pass down her cooking techniques to me and did in fact teach me some nifty little tricks in the kitchen. I can create succulent dishes with the best of them, thanks to her. BUT…and maybe it’s nostalgia or maybe it’s idolatry … BUT I swear no matter how hard I try I can never get anything I cook to taste as good as my Mom makes it.
It’s not for lack of trying. In fact, I might be trying too hard! I follow her instructions obsessively, but no matter how disciplined I am I can never get the fried chicken or potato soup to reach that “Mom” level of yumminess. I’ve begun to think that it’s my strict adherence to the rules that has kept me from achieving those upper echelons of cooking mastery.
My Mom gives me these recipes that I follow to a T but I know for a fact that even she doesn’t follow them that closely. She’s flat out told me so. She treats her recipes more as a useful list of suggestions rather than a set of requirements to check off. The end result is that every time she cooks something it’s a tiny bit different from the last time. Perhaps there’s a bit more pepper or a bit less salt or tarragon instead of thyme (because she was out of thyme and another seasoning that starts with the letter “T” is probably just as good). Is this the reason her concoctions always taste so good? Are the small changes she introduces with each new iteration of a recipe what keep my taste buds titillated?
That all sounds reasonable, but I’ll confess to thinking a bit irrationally at times and have begun to seriously wonder if she leaves out an ingredient on purpose. Is she intentionally switching up the baking time because she knows three minutes more or less is going to alter the taste just the little bit that she needs? You may be thinking, “Well, maybe you’re just a mediocre chef.” Ridiculous. I’ve literally stood next to my mother and watched her every move when she’s cooking and I still can’t duplicate what I watched her make with my own eyes.
There’s some sort of deception involved here and I’m going to figure it out. Until then, I’m going to need my mother to live as long as it takes for me to be as good of a cook as her. She simply cannot die. Period. Not just because I’d lose my best friend in the world, but because I really need her fried chicken.