Twice as Thankful

Two Thanksgiving dinners cooked in three days, one here in Northern California and one in Southern California.  Can you say food coma?  What happened to my Weight Watchers plan?  Pumpkin pie for breakfast, really?

Here is the tally for the two meals:

44 lbs of turkey, 7 lbs of ham, 36 rolls, 4 lbs of sausage, 10 cups of rice, 16 lbs of sweet and russet potatoes, 2 pkgs of marshmallows, 2 quarts of gravy, 6 pies; 4 pumpkin, one pecan and one sweet potato. Plus all the assorted accompaniments.

Thankfully, we left half of one meal in Southern California.  But here in the North, there are looming leftovers. 

 

This Thanksgiving there were changes. I made my first ham ever and with a little help with the glaze, it was delicious.  I made port cranberry sauce that brightened up the meal and got rave reviews. I am most thankful that I can cook a meal and share it with the people I love.  

Ho’omaika’i no ka’u ohana

 

The translation from Hawaiian is "grateful for my family".  My son gave me this on a note last night after dinner.  It prompted me to write this entry today.  I get so busy with life that I forget to stop in the moment and reflect on what matters. Family and love matter.

Thanksgiving. I remember those who are no longer with me and with whom I have wonderful memories of Thanksgivings. Shasta Lake with my Papa and Grandma. The year my Mom picked up a hitchhiker and brought him home for dinner because he was not going to make it to his home in time. Learning to BBQ a turkey from my Mother-in-Law as I have done for the past 36 years.  I miss my Mom’s smoked oyster stuffing and her plate of pickles, olives, wheat thins and more smoked oysters.  The yeasty rolls my Grandma in Shasta made. The pies GG made. The time we took her pecan pie and played Frisbee with it in the front yard because it was so hard!  The year we had three turkeys; smoked, fried and barbecued. The huge family Thanksgivings at GG's with 20-30 family and friends. Now, without her, we all celebrate the holidays separately.   

We let go of  the one thing that kept my GG alive 93 years, family gatherings.   

It is time for new traditions like ham, traveling between North and South and smaller tables.  I will welcome the day when my family grows and the Thanksgiving table gets bigger. I already miss the laughter and the company we shared this year. I count my blessings tonight by remembering my Thanksgivings past and look forward to my Thanksgivings to come.

Remembering Dillon

Black dog.  He had many names, Dillon the Villain, Dillon the tomato-stealing dog, Bud.  He was the best dog ever.  Even that isn’t enough.  He was ours for nine years.  Black as the night we lost him in.  The darkest evening of the year, December 21, 2011.  Six months later, we are still grieving. 

The tears flow easily.  Why did he run and not come back?  What lured him out onto a busy street?  He never wandered.  Who hit him and left him lying there?  It only took a few minutes for him to run off and never come back.

It was after midnight when I opened the door and there was his master, telling me the story, I heard the words, and wondered how we would get through this.  Him especially.  They were close this master and dog.  Shock set in.  The next day and everyday since, I feel the sting of tears.  I forget he’s gone and open the door expecting to see him.  When I see another black lab, I feel the pain of loss.  When I look into his master’s eyes and see the sadness still, I want to cry. 

A dog comes into your life and never ever leaves.  They become a part of you and your family.  We’ve had our share through the years.  Losing each one seemed harder.  We swore we would never love an animal so much that it hurts like this.  But we did.

I want to rush out and replace him.  His master doesn’t.  But his heart does.  Because all a dog can do is, love you back.  Who doesn’t need more love in their life? 

There will be another dog.  However, there will never be another big black, birdy, tomato stealing, biscuit begging, boat fishing, duck hunting, truck riding, and best friend like Dillon.  He was one of a kind.

Coffee and Company

Coffee.  My way.  Hot, strong brew, dark, served with half and half, raw sugar in a mug.

What makes a great cup of coffee is the company.  I have many combinations that make up my favorite cups of coffee.  Sharing coffee with someone or savoring one alone are two of my most loved experiences.  Coffee and company. 

It’s 5:30 am on a Saturday morning.  I have had two cups, my limit.  Manna, nirvana and comfort for my soul.

I have shared thousands of cups of coffee with people I love.  The act of sitting down, looking eye-to-eye, sipping hot soothing liquid while speaking life’s secrets, hopes and desires is how I like my coffee.

Here are some of my favorite cups of coffee

My Mother-in-law’s coffee

My Mother’s coffee

Starbuck’s

Café Luxxe Café Nico

Bayside Church Granite Bay

Duncans Mills Award Winning Iced Coffee

Java City Mocha

Bella Bru Special

Kitchen Beautician Percolated Coffee

Blackwater Chocolate Cappuccino

My Grandma’s coffee

My Mother-in-law poured hers into a saucer to cool.  She drank from a cup with a saucer.  Sometimes instead of cream and sugar, she would put a spoonful of vanilla ice cream in.  I remember the cream and sugar set she used.  Sitting at the padded dining room table, looking out onto her lush landscape she tended, listening to stories of growing up in Hawaii. Coffee after one of her delicious meals.  Family. Laughing.  Singing.  I miss her.

My mother’s coffee.  Strong and hot. Always paper filtered Melitta style, made to order with freshly ground beans.  Usually French roast.  The only downfall was her skim milk.  The conversation centered on what books we had read, movies, music.  Since she moved out of state, I miss her and her coffee. 

Starbuck’s. Coffee with my girls.  Lattes, mochas, grande or venti.  On the go. When they built the first Starbuck’s in Sacramento, Town and Country Village, I remember thinking this would be our place.  And it was. Is. My fondest Starbuck’s memories?  Running through the streets of Nassau headed to Starbuck’s.  Going through the drive through on trips to the beach.  My best friend calling me every year when she has her first pumpkin spice latte.  I remember particularly the first day both of her boys were in school.  She called me from Starbuck’s.  Alone.  Joy.  I took her two boys when they were younger to the drive-through and bought cups of whipped cream with spoons.  Peace in the mini-van.

Café Luxxe in Santa Monica, totally trendy and decadent.  My new favorite cup is a Café Nico, a shot of espresso infused with candied orange and cinnamon. Coffee as an art.  The rosetta, milk foam art. Outrageously expensive but a truly artful cup.  You have to have it once.  I wish I had one right now!

Coffee at Bayside Granite Bay.  Hot and strong.  Starbuck’s brew.  A fitting prelude to the grace I leave with every Sunday. 

Iced coffee.  My Mom always drank iced coffee when I was growing up.  The best iced coffee is at Gold Coast Coffee in Duncans Mills.  Award winning.  They take a tall glass and put whipped cream and raw sugar in the bottom, spreading some up the side of the glass, add ice, pour over hot espresso then fill with half-and-half. 

It is so good.  Perfect.  I remember being there, reaching into a basket thinking it was sugar, and it was condoms.  I laughed all the way to Guerneville.

The first espresso coffee I ever bought came from Java City at 18^th and Capitol.  Driving downtown for mochas.  The old silver van full of kids, others and mine.  The bump on 16^th going out of town.  Summer nights.  The laughter.

With the “Ladies”, we used to go for coffee after dinner.  We tried to stay out long enough for the kids to be in bed by the time we got home.  Though that often meant, “paying the babysitter”.  One night at Bella Bru, someone ordered the Bella Bru Special made with chocolate milk, almond syrup, slivered almonds on top, whipped cream and served in a giant blue coffee cup with a saucer.  I remember how we laughed at the presentation!  It was the largest cup of coffee we had ever seen!  Now, we are home early and most of us can’t drink caffeinated coffee after noon!  But we still laugh when we are together.

I have a friend who calls herself the “Kitchen Beautician”.  She gives perms, dyes and cuts hair at her kitchen table.  She makes coffee in an electric percolator.  You hear it first, and then smell the coffee.  Sitting there with a towel wrapped around your neck, sipping hot coffee and the entertainment, the comedy, the stories, and the laughter.  She is the funniest woman I know and she truly missed her calling when she didn’t try standup comedy.  She is a great friend and all of us who know her count ourselves the lucky ones.  I love you Betty!

The chocolate cappuccino at Blackwater Coffee on Watt Avenue.  Small but so powerful.  Taking one to Mrs. Jenkins at Del Paso Manor was an excuse for me to stop and get one myself.  So chocolate and rich.

Last but not least, my Grandma’s coffee.  Weak, bland, lukewarm.  Flavored water really.  She never liked my coffee nor I hers.  But I drank it because I wanted to be at her kitchen table, by the pool, on the porch, anywhere, with her.  It was never about the coffee for me.  It was always about her.  She was a coffee hoarder too.  She always had extra cans on her shelf.  I used to tease her about her anticipation of a coffee shortage but I appreciated she always bought extra.  She never wanted to run out. Coffee was important to her.  No matter what time of day, she would offer you coffee with a piece of pie, cake, a donut, cookies.  Never just coffee.  I miss coffee with her the most.