Stupor Bowl 2011

Jan 28, 2011


Stupor Bowl: 1) A game in which millionaires in shiny pants run after a ball; 2) An excellent cover to do some serious shopping; 3) A chance for advertisers to run deluxe new ads that will be reviewed and discussed on various TV shows through out the coming year.

Kathy, Carol, Tina and Margie, decide the StuporBowl is an excellent chance to do some very serious shopping.

SuperBowl Sunday; game time approaching...

Kathy: “Okay, everybody understand the plan, right? The men are in Carol’s man cave - she just let Brad buy a new flatscreen - we lift their wallets and make a clean getaway using a beer run as an excuse.”
Tina: “Can we review how we get their wallets again?”
Carol: “I’m going to ask them separately to help me reach for a pan on the top shelf in my kitchen when they come in to get something. As they reach up, Kathy will slid her hand in their back pocket and lift the wallet, which she hands to you and you quickly pull out cash and credit cards, hand the wallet back to Kathy and she slids it back in, all the while I’m distracting them.”
Tina: “And what about Margie, again?”
Kathy: “Margie’s hubby has a man cave and he’s not leaving. So we gave her the Super Bowl Twenty Questions list to use to get him to shoo her out of the house. She’ll call us as soon as she’s free, we pick her up and make a beeline for the South Ferry.”
Tina: “Are you sure it will work?”
Carol: “The sacred Twenty have always worked. I’ve never had to go past five questions.”
Kathy: “I’ve never had to go past two. Okay, places everybody, they should be calling for beer and nacho’s any minute now.”

Meanwhile, back at Margie’s house...Margie snuggles in next to her hubby as the game starts, and the SuperBowl as well.
Margie: “It’s nice that they start with the Star Spangled Banner. How do they chose who gets to sing it?”
Bill: “I don’t know. Now listen, this is serious, you have to be quiet if you’re going to sit here with me. This is the SuperBowl.”
Margie: “Who are you routing for again?”
Bill: “Neither is my team, now shush, they’re flipping for the kick off.”
Margie: “I wonder if that’s how the tradition of flipping a coin to make a decision got started? You know, I was watching a show about coins, how they’re made and the different....”
Bill: “Honey, not now. Listen, I love you, but if you can’t be quiet, you’ll have to leave.”
Margie: “Okay, I’ll go bring you some treats, then I think I’ll go over to Carol’s for awhile.”
Bill: “Sure, fine, whatever.”

Margie delivers a preprepared tray of Bill’s favorites, grabs her jacket and handbag, steps outside and makes the call.
Margie: “Carol? I’m free. I’ll start walking towards your house. I got Bill’s money and cards when he was in the shower.”
Carol: “Perfect! We just cleaned out the last wallet. Kathy’s making the beer run excuse now while Tina stocks the fridge with the beers we hid on the porch. By the time they realize we’re gone, we’ll have cleared out the Commons and be on our way home.”
Margie: “Now we just beat them to the mailboxes when the bills come in and we are home free!”
Carol: “I love the StuporBowl! I get my best shopping of they year done.”

Shelter Island and Beverly Hills: Less is More

Jan 21, 2011

I was watching a program recently that mentioned that Beverly Hills ( I call it Heavenly Bills) doesn’t have a movie theater or bowling alley, and all this time I thought they were better than us. We don’t have a movie theater or bowling alley either. We don’t have garbage or recycle pick-up or mail delivery, or a McDonald's or any other kind of chain store or franchise. We don’t have any public restrooms except at the ferry and the library if you are willing to pretend you’re looking at books. When it comes to town amenities, Shelter Island tops the Less is More list.

We have a reason to get up everyday, or every other day, depending on how often you need to check your mail. We have a reason to leave home every week, depending on how much garbage you can stand at your house. We have a reason to recycle; you are strongly discouraged from throwing out any recyclable items because the town dump is only for “wet garbage”. And our garbage is special, it must leave your home in a translucent yellow town bag - or you have to keep it! If you want to throw out cans and glass in your garbage, you do it early or late so no one can see through your translucent yellow town bag and see that you are guilty of environmental terrorism.

I recall when my kids had the chicken pox (they nearly had to close the school because so many kids were out), I was too tired from taking care of them to separate my garbage and someone caught me with cans in my town bag and proceeded to lecture me. The person was not a local, as evidenced from their out-of-state license plate, so I could have run them over with my van and put them in a translucent yellow town body bag, but I didn’t have the $10.50 for the body bag, so they got lucky that day.

We also have a lack of big crime, but this is compensated by a really great variety of smaller and more amusing crimes. About eight years, ago there was a couple who got inebriated and were making love at night, on their front lawn, with cars going by. After I heard that, I switched to halogen headlights so I wouldn’t miss anything exciting in the future. There has been clamrake theft, which is the same magnitude of stealing a car off island (no sense in stealing a car on the Island because the police just call and stop the ferries). The worst crime we’ve had in recent years is that some awful person hung someone’s cat in a basement. Cats and dogs are like people here, just smaller and furrier. All the trucks on Shelter Island seem to come with a Labrador in the passenger seat. And if you can’t afford a dog, you can always rub cooking oil on the windows for that slobber effect and spread carpet fibers on your front seats so that everyone thinks you have a dog.

The one thing we do have, that not even Heavenly Bills has, is our own moat. The short ferry ride always transports you back in time; back in time for dinner, back in time before the IGA closes at 6PM, and the liquor stores at 7PM. Yep, there’s never a dull moment.

New Year, No More Dental Fear!

I don’t really have any New Year’s resolutions anymore because so many of my ambitions have been resolved with time and maturity. Take going to the dentist for instance. It was rough when I was a child because it was before the high speed drill or the water drill. It was a hand drill for me, the “speed” drill was run by two hamsters on a wheel. The only carryover from that time was nitrous oxide, aka, laughing gas. Some dentists refuse to use nitrous because they say, and I guess I have to believe them, that it gives women wild sexual fantasies. I’ve never had that experience, but I’d really like to know what brand of nitrous they used.

I used to need nitrous to make an appointment, but now that I’ve matured, and so has dentistry, it’s nothing to go the dentist anymore. Take my last visit for example. I pulled up to the office and parked, and the receptionist, so nice, came out to greet me.

“Let go of the steering wheel, Ms. Flynn! I’ll walk you in. The dentist is already for you. You don’t have to wait in the waiting room and read old magazines and get nervous and run out before your appointment like last time.”
“How is she doing, Lulu?”
“Fine Dr. Smith. She let go of the steering wheel and I’ve pulled one foot out of the car. Start the nitrous.”
“Already started. Here, let me hold the door for you, let go of the door jam, Ms. Flynn. You’ll be alright. That’s a good girl, here we go down the hall. That’s fine, and slide onto this nice comfortable dental chair. See the little zoo characters on the wall? Just concentrate on them. Remember how we named them all last time? Lulu - grab the waterjet - damn too late.
Give us the waterjet, Sally, don’t squirt Lulu or me. Hand it over, be good now...what? Yes, I’ll give you an extra toy at the end of the appointment. That’s a good girl. Here, Lulu, secure this.
Okay, Sally, let’s get the nitrous going. No, I don’t want a hit, put the mask back on your face. Lulu, pass me the duct tape, she tends to pull off the mask when she’s under so she can hit the high notes.”
“What high notes, Doctor?”
“She loves opera and under nitrous she thinks she can sing. It’s sad, very sad, but her generation has a lot to fear about dentistry, they all revert to being six years old when they get in the chair.”
“She looks like she’s under now, Doctor. Does she resist the locals?”
“Nope, once we’ve got her plowed under, we can do a lobotomy on this one.”
“What is that horrible sound she’s making, Doctor?”
“That, my dear assistant, is Nessum Dorma from Turandot, under the gas and on my nerves. Did the new toys come in?”
“Oh, you’re not serious, she gets a toy?”
“She gets two toys and a sticker and we get her an appointment with another dentist on the east end.”
“Why?”
“Our local dental society agrees to share people like her. We each take care of her in rotation.”

Annual Family Newsletters...

I think I liked it better when Christmas cards (to be politically correct, Season’s Greeting’s cards) were just Christmas cards. A pretty picture on the cover, a nice sentiment inside and a brief note that indicated the sender was well and thinking of you during the holiday season.

With the introduction of the personal computer, we went newsletter crazy with all the fun fonts and pictures at our fingertips. America got into sending update letters inside the cards. I did it too for a while. It wasn’t bad if you had a good year and had lots of positive things to report. In a bad year I’d write something funny. In a really bad year, I’d just send a card and let them wonder, and hopefully assume, that I had such a great year I didn’t want to rub their faces by writing about it. I always hate it when I get a newsletter from a friend whose family seems to be getting along great and doing everything my family isn’t doing. By the time I get to the end of their report, I’m so depressed, I make a note never to send them one of my family newsletters because it would be pathetic by comparison.

This past season my mother got one of those “We are a perfect family” newsletters from one of her friends. It read something like; “Jeanie and I just love it here in The Villages Retirement Center in Florida. We feel like we’re on vacation all the time. We’re in Ocala, which is only an hour drive from DisneyWorld and other major theme parks. We love to attend the many concerts and fairs that are available to us here. And since we have such a good retirement package, we never have to worry about money. Kids and relatives come to see us all year and I have to say, I never thought life could be so wonderful.” There’s more, but that should sufficiently depress any normal person.

My mother, Joan, was certainly down after that letter. But then I pointed out to her that that letter was written by Tom, the husband, and men often have a different take on things. I told her I bet that if her friend Jeannie had written the letter, it might read differently.

“Hi Joan! I hope everyone is doing well. I’m hanging on okay down here in this swamp. I hate this place. I can’t believe Tom got conned into buying into this retirement village. It’s rows of townhouse apartments. The walls are paper thin. All night I can hear my neighbors apnea alarms go off. I never knew humidity could be so thick you could spread it on a cracker. Tom loves it here, but you know him, he’s half in the bag all time, so everything looks fine to him. We live an hour from DisneyWorld and Tom continually broadcasts this to his whole family. Relatives descend upon us all year, like a steady stream of locust, they land, consume all the food and resources and then leave. If I have to go to DisneyWorld one more time and hear, “Hello, welcome to the happiest place on earth!” , I am going to punch Mickey right in the mouth. Tom always likes to look like a big deal, so he insists on paying for everybody. I do the budget and I keep trying explain the concept of fixed income, but I’m not breaking through the wall at all. My solution now is to tell people who want to come that they might want to wait until our quarentine for flesh-eating bateria has been lifted. That’s saved me twice so far, once from his neice, her husband, and their two monster children, who are all pain in the ass vegans (“We can’t eat this, we can’t eat that”) living on air and lettuce, but smoking dope in the bathroom and thinking that the fan and pine scented Lysol is covering the smell.....and once from his very old Uncle Mel, who consistently forgets he can’t smoke cigars in the house. He wants to be taken to all the Doo-Wop concerts which are very big around here. It’s nice to hear the old music, but sad to see how our teen idols have aged. I can hear their hips popping to the beat. Many of them have the new pacemakers with the Dance Beat, Sleep, and Viagra Active options. It’s nice to be able to share this with you, at least I know you’re too broke to visit. All my love, Jeannie.”

Don't Give Up The Sleigh..

Another year is passing. The Patriot Act is now justifying body searches on nuns at the airport and privacy is all but gone in the name of security. On a good note, we did learn a good lesson from Viet Nam and we support our troops even if we disagree with the government. I love Mark Twain’s quote, “I support my country all of the time and my government when it deserves it.” The Island will be thinking of Lt. Thienert this Christmas and his ultimate sacrifice, and of the many other vets on the Island who paid their dues for freedom. Our world is changing so fast. Every ten minutes, there’s a new super-phone, another celebrity in rehab (who cares?). I miss Huntley and Brinkley News Hour, when the news was cogent and pertinent to all Americans, and not just cupcake sound bites of disasters all over the world with the latest embarrassing moments of famous people for icing. My small donation to accentuate the positive, is my annual Christmas column, revised and embellished of course. I hope it gives you a smile.

I believe there are people and things and ideas that don't belong to any one group, they belong to the world. Mother Theresa, Albert Einstein, Louis Pasteur, Monet, Judy Garland, all the great minds and great artists, belong to the world. The Pyramids, the Statue of Liberty, the Dome of the Rock, the Great Wall of China, the Wailing Wall are things that belong to the world. The Bhagavad-Gita, the Upanishads, the teachings of Buddha, the Torah and Talmud, the New Testament, the Koran, all belong to the world. Kwanzaa with it’s focus on family, Chanukah with it’s theme of rededication, Christmas with it’s message of hope, all belong to the world. And I believe, Santa Claus, the person and the idea, belongs to the world too.

We learn about Santa as kids. Someone who loves us and brings a present. We grow up a little and figure out the Santa conspiracy. As teens, we denounce our precious childhood belief. We become “cool” and pretty much know everything by the time we're twenty. It's beyond comprehension to us how our dumb relatives can lead such screwed up lives. We'll never repeat the mistakes of our parents.
Through our twenties, we shun our families. We don't need Santa, families, or the whole holiday mishmosh. We have our friends who think like us, we are all-knowing, but time will take care of that...
We spend our thirties correcting all the mistakes we made in our twenties when we knew so much more. We are married with children and suddenly we hear our mother's words coming out of our mouths. We worry alot because there is too much month left at the end of the money.
Our forties are great, aside from the fact that body parts start heading south, you know you have all of what you need and much of what you want. You realize that money ebbs and flows in life. Money only increases options. Chicken served on a paper plate tastes as good as chicken served on a golden one. And money doesn't insulate anyone from pain, loneliness or despair. Possessions become just “things”, and things come and go.

What's really important is time. The days are longer and the years are shorter now. You can never have one minute of your life back, ever. Suddenly, there's not always a "next time". You might as well do what you like while it’s still legal. You drink better wine, and use the good crystal glasses to boot.
Finally you realize that your own opinion is what matters most. Is it really going to matter in a hundred years what someone else thought of anything you did ? Nope. You've matured enough to know that you're not better than anyone else, but damn if you ain't just as good.
You rediscover your family. And what annoyed us before, now just amuses us. The fact that Aunt Ida still uses that cracked, chipped teapot she got in Arizona on her honeymoon in 1942, doesn't bother you at all. You respect the sentimental value of things.
Families and holidaze become important again. By now Santa has made a dramatic comeback in your life and you meet him again for the very first time, and he’s even grander than you remember. He doesn't dye his hair. He stays married to a woman who’s the same age he is. He's fat and wears red, so you can’t miss him. He loves his job. He decides to be happy even though he faces a long night freezing his jingle bells off in an open sleigh. He’s not impressed with technology, he's keeping the sleigh and his way of doing things. You find you need Santa more as an adult than you ever did as a child. You've seen enough tragedies and not enough miracles. But Santa is an annual miracle you can depend on. Santa lets us pause and reconnect with all our Christmas' past.
As soon as we hear Bing Crosby sing "White Christmas", we hear the sound of our own back door, the smell of our own pillow, echoes of our parent's voices. We’d give anything to be six once more and bound down the stairs on Christmas morning and see our disheveled parents in rumpled robes sitting on the couch watching us through a flurry of flying ribbons and paper.
Santa can’t bring you a car repair, or a mortgage payment in a sack down a chimney. You always need things like that. What he brings now is hope and joy. Hot chocolate with marshmallows while you watch Miracle on 34th Street or White Christmas, is a wonderful vacation back to what seems to have been a simpler time when kindness had a higher value.
And as for me, I no longer need Santa's presents, but God above, how I still need his presence...Happy Holidays to you all and God Bless Us, Everyone!

Last Minute Christmas Gift Ideas

For the person who has everything - heated, scented toilet paper spindle.
Toilet paper, and the need for it to be perfect for it’s purpose, has become an advertising gold standard as far as I am concerned. There are still people living today who used outhouses as kids and used pages from the Sears catalogs and other advertising papers as toilet paper. And that still sounds like a perfect use for junk mail today. We all hear about the brilliant moments when inventors like Edison, came up with the light bulb, but we seldom hear about the lesser flashes of genius, such as must have occurred in an outhouse one day. Some future inventor was sitting in the outhouse, finishing the paper work, when, FLASH! He had a break through moment. What if people would buy special paper for this purpose? Clean paper just to dirty up and through away? Could it be sold to the American public as viable? As necessary? Could it be sold at all? Did he see it all then? Soon the clean paper would be rolled, and then come in pastel colors to match new indoor bathrooms, then clean, rolled, pastelled and scented, then clean, rolled, pastelled, scented and cushiony soft...how far could this simple idea go? I say, heated. Clean, rolled, pastelled, scented, cushiony soft, and now prewarmed curtesy of hot air passing through the spindle. I believe if the American buttock is intelligent enough to discern clean, soft paper, pastelled, rolled and ready, it can probably detect minute differences in temperatures, and with further scientific study, can probably predict fluctuations in the Dow Jones and be taught to sing an aria as well.

On the Island, Ferry Tickets are gold, one, two, or a whole pack, is as welcome a gift as new socks or a bottle of fine wine. And if you don’t have tickets, a promise to pick you up for an off-island trip is just a valuable. When I didn't have anything else to give as a teen, I made up babysitting coupons and gave them as gifts. I tried to give them to young, married couples who didn’t have any kids yet. It made them say, “oooohhhhh....that’s so sweet” , I got full credit for giving a gift, but didn’t have to deliver. I didn’t have to babysit any rotten kids telling me, “The dog always helps wash the dishes,” or, “We’re allowed to call our uncle in Autrailia anytime we like after six o’clock,” or the best one I was told, “My mother always lets me wear her good jewelry to go outside and play.” Even I knew her mother’s jewelry wasn’t “good”, the pearls were fake, she just wanted everyone to think they were real, so she kept them in a black velvet bag in their own box. Which, by the way, has worked very well for me too. “Sally, you have a 24 inch strand of south sea pearls? Can I take them out for a minute? I’ll put them right back in the little bag, I promise.”

Library Book Sneak Backs. A little used, but great gift is a promise to sneak someone’s overdue library books back into the Library for them so they don’t get embarassed.

Somebody needs to invent a hot chocolate maker that can plug into the car charger. We all take coffee or hot chocolate to the ferry lines with us, but sometimes it just doesn’t last and we really need the ability to make a fresh cup right there. My mother always bought two cups of hot chocolate when she took the North Ferry on her way to work night shift at ELIH. One for her, and mercifully, one for the deck hand working that night. There’s a saying, If Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody gonna be happy.” I would extend that on Shelter Island to include, “If the ferrymen are’nt happy, ain’t nobody gonnna be happy, and ain’t nobody gonna go nowhere neither.”

But the best gift of all really, is still just showing up. Just coming to see someone’s tree is a gift. I try to collect one ornament from each tree I visit, as sort of a momento of the moment. And to honor that memory, I put that ornament on my tree. I love any little nautical ornaments, especially seahorses and mermaids, although people with seahorses and mermaids don’t seem to ask me over much anymore.....they must be too busy trying to think of a way to warm up their toilet paper for the holidays.

Guest toilet paper! I forgot all about special guest toilet paper. Just like all guest items, to be viewed, but never used. Yup, I think I have now completely covered my, um, topic.

Turkey: 1) An indiginous bird of North America 2) A temporarily insane person

It’s good to have an event or marker of some kind to mark the end of the Thanksgiving holiday and the beginning of the Christmas season. For some people it’s “Black Friday”, but on the Island a new tradition has been born. Last Saturday, the Island Library organized it’s first annual “Turkey Plunge” where Islanders, dressed in bizarre costumes to deflect you from thinking how crazy this is, ran into the freezing cold water, a la Polar Bear style, for money. So much for bake sales and car washes, when all else fails, be willing to freeze off body parts. $13,000 was raised, so this will become an annual event. The oldest - and I vote the bravest - polar bear was Mimi Brennan at 82 years young. Ava Czeladko won for Best Female Costume with her interpretation of how to look like a turkey using long clown balloons, the Island is submitting her as a float in the Rose Parade. Michael Badger won for Best Male Costume dressed as King Neptune with mop head for a wig and a trident. He spoke in a voice that sounded like Mickey Mouse during his acceptance speech, matter of fact, all the men sounded like Mickey Mouse for awhile. Without a doubt, this will become an annual event and the one-ups-manship will begin right away.

November 1, 2011 will hear conversations like this.
“What are you going to be for the Turkey Plunge this year, Joe?”
“Well, I’m not running into the water with a mop on my head looking ridiculous, I’ll tell you that! I’m going in as Godzilla. I’m going to adapt a wet suit and have red eyes that light up.”
“How you gonna do that, Joe?”
“I’m putting a little battery pack on my head inside the costume, and when I click a button, laser eyes!”
“Yea, but Joe, there’s something about electricity and water that don’t mix. What if you get a short in your shorts? Could be painful.”
“Nah, not the way I have it figured. I’m putting the batteries in a ziplock bag. What could go wrong? What about you, what are you going as?”
“Swamp Thing. I’m adapting a wet suit too. And I figure I can grab some skinny girl on the beach and take her into the water with me, you know, like I’m carrying her off to my underwater lair.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea? I mean the suit would weigh a lot with a Swamp Thing head on it and carrying a girl down the beach. I hate to throw sand in your shorts, but you had a four way bypass last year.”
“So? I’m fine now. I’ll make sure to grab a skinny girl, not more than a buck ten.”
“And you’re going to carry a hundred and ten pounds across the beach and into freezing water without stressing your heart?”
“What are you, my wife? If I want to hear that negative crap, I’ll talk to Karen. I’m going to be Swamp Thing. You just wish you thought of it first.”
“No way. Godzilla beats out Swamp Thing any day. Godzilla breathes fire.”
“Yes, but Swamp Thing got Adrienne Barbou.”
“I wonder if I could hook up a little propane tank to my thigh and run a tube to my mouth and breathe fire.”
“Joe, I think you ought to stop at the laser beam eyes. I’m not sure the propane in your pants is a good idea.”
“You just concentrate on carrying a hundred and ten pounds across a beach, leave my propane to me. I can’t wait to fire that baby up and let ‘er rip!”

What to do with Thanksgiving Leftovers

Nothing tastes better than a turkey/dressing/cranberry sandwich the day after Thanksgiving. Everybody loves the day-after leftovers. But then, there's the real leftovers to deal with, like turkey stock....

"Hi Mom, I'm boiling the turkey carcas for soup, do you want some turkey stock?....You have three quarts of your own? Well who can I give some to? I hate to see it go to waste."

"Hi Jo, this is Sally. I have two quarts of turkey stock for give-away, my mother doesn't want it.....yeah, I'll trade for mashed potatoes, we ate all ours."

"Hi Susan, this is Jo. I have two quarts of turkey stock left over. Got any extra cranberry sauce to swap? ...Wonderful, swing by whenever you can."

Hi Maggie, this is Susan. Can you use some nice fresh turkey stock? I'll swap for a pumpkin pie. No, half is good...you got any new pantyhose to throw in?....Great!"

Hi Patty, it's Susan. I'm trying to move some really flavorful turkey stock. Two ferry tickets? Both North, South, or one of each? ... Two North? Did you make your candied yams this year? ......Okay, one ticket and candied yams."

Hey, Clarice, it's Patty. I have the best turkey stock you have ever had. You could add one carrot and one stalk of celery and have soup. What have you got to get rid of?.....No, I figured you didn't cook....half pint of rum is good, are you sure you want to part with it? ....hell, I can't tell the cheap stuff from the good stuff anyway, I'll take your word for it. I'll throw in my Iron Man II dvd. We already saw it, it's good for one viewing."

Hi Georgia, it's Clarice. You know I don't cook, but Patty gave me a huge container of her turkey stock and you know she's a great cook. Wanna trade?.....Oh, a slab of smoked ham would be terrific!"

Hi Lulu, it's Georgia. I have some scrumptious turkey stock to move....oh, I love your pecan pies, half is fine!"

"Hi Sally, it's Lulu. Listen, I have this incredible turkey stock to give away. It smells delicious right through the container, interested?"

"Yes! I made the worst turkey I ever made yesterday and the stock was so thin it looked like I added a brown crayon to hot water. I traded it early this morning to Jo, so I could really use some good stuff. I have rum balls and macadamia fruit cake to trade......rum balls it is!"

Stuffing and Giving the Bird

I thought I'd share my grandmother's delicious Rum Raisin Stuffing recipe with my readers.
Gather up these ingredients: assorted bread crumbs, parsley, sage and thyme, salt and pepper. Three eggs, two onions and two green bell peppers, one box raisins, one pint dark rum.

Open the rum, take good sip for quality assurance. Soak the raisins in straight rum for at least four hours.
While the raisins are soaking, crumble up all the uncrumbled bread bits, fluff in a tablespoon of dried parsley, teaspoon of sage and a teaspoon of thyme. Fluff around in bowl, take a pinch to taste. Add spices until crumb mixture tastes flavorful and balanced. Then add salt and pepper to taste. If you have trouble finding the flavor balance, sip a jigger of the rum to clear your palate. Let your mouth rest, then try the crumb mixture again. Wait readers - hold on - my phone is ringing.

"Hi Cathy......no, she's bringing the pies, you're supposed to bring the mashed potatoes. Yup.... listen, I gotta go, I'm doing a dressing recipes for Dan's."

Where was I.....oh yes, sip a jigger of rum.
Now let's chop something and saute the onions and bell peppers. Chop into dime sized pieces. Get your fry pan hot and toss them in. While they get going, check how the raisins are doing. Eat a teaspoon of raisins. We want to soak them in the rum until they're as fat a grapes again. Stir the um.... stir the onions and peppers. Watch for the onions to carmelize, which means turn light brown. Pardon me, the phone again.

"Hi Cath.....sure we can fit your sister in. Okay, and her husband too. What? Four kids? I don't think I have the room. I thought there was just going to be five of us, I didn't buy a huge turkey. .....I know, but that six extra people. I don't have a kids table set up.....but I don't want them to eat with us, that's why I didn't invite anyone with kids in the first place. Kids wreck a meal. You're up and down constantly and you never get to eat in peace......I'm sure you'll help, but I just saying, four kids....you and she will have to take care of them, I don't want to..... alright, goodbye."

Hello readers, well, the onions and peppers burned, so I'll start over on them. I'm pouring out a full jigger of rum and checking it for taste and texture while I chop something.....and okay here we go, carmelizing the onions and WHOAAAAAAA.....putting out the flames..... readers, don't spill any of the rum into the saute pan. However, I can say, the onions have a lovely carmel color now. And as soon as the smell of my cinged hair clears away, this will smell wonderful. And now add the sauteed onions and peckers to the bread crumb mixture, fold in slowly so you don't make a big mess. Hold on..... I'm sorry readers.....

"Hello.......Cathy, can you call me back in an hour? I'm trying to make the stuffing. I'll never get this bird in.....what? No! No lasagna instead of mashed potatoes, this is a Thanksgiving dinner! I don't care if the kids won't eat mashed potatoes, get them Happy Meals on the way over......nut allergies? I don't know what has touched nuts in my kitchen or not.....I use nuts in a lot of dishes, my house is not a nut free zone! Then tell her to bring over whatever her child can eat and keep it separate from the rest of the foods for him......I'm not yelling! I want a peaceful, calm Thanksgiving dinner! I'm hanging up now. I'll see you at 4....."

I am truly sorry readers. I know you are all waiting. Just let me steady my nerves a bit. Pausing to take a zanex and let's just wash it down with a swallow of rum to to activate it a little sooner for me. I'm trying to manage my anxiety. I have this friend who is fouling up my plans. I had such a good plan...

Back to the recipe, we're almost done. Add the sauteed crap to the crumbs and stir, and now add the eggs......okay, I was a little premature on the eggs.... pick out the shells.....nut allergy, she should leave the kid at home....and to put us in a holiday mood, I'll have a few sips of rum which is getting smoother with each sip. Now, add the raisins and a whole cup of rum. And mix the mixture until, until, it looks like something that is mixed.

And now get the bird out of the fridge and throw him in the sink. Reach in the chest and pull out that bloody paper bag of turkey organs and give it to your cat. Next, flip the bird and stick you hand up it's....other side and yank out whatever the hell Butterball has jammed in that end along with that obscene turkey neck. Rinse the bird....damn.... not with soap....I was on automatic pilot there for a minute.....rinse off these suds. Well, it's a clean bird now.

Get the bowl with the stuff and stuff that mother and throw it in the oven.
Now, take the bird back out and, we should have done this earlier, find a pan. Use the biggest pan you have and sit the bird up if he doesn't fit laying down. Use wire to stabilize it into a sitting Buddha position and you can tell your guests that it's a nut free bird and all nut free birds are cooked sitting up. Of course, as the bird cooks, the stuffing will expand out of the bird's bottom and this may not be an optimal visual for the table, so have some sprigs of parsley ready to throw between it's legs before you put it on the table. Maybe put a little party hat on the top of the neck too...why the hell not? Excuse me readers, it's probably my friend phone, Cathy calling.

"WHAT?......no, no, no, nobody's making fresh guacamole in my kitchen!.....No, there's no taco chips and guacamole at Thanksgiving! .....if they're health nuts, tell them to make that green mush at home and bring it with them. I don't like people in my kitchen.....it IS a big deal....if they don't like the traditional foods, why are they bothering with Thanksgiving?...Okay... you know what, just do what you want. Tell her I have nuts all over the kitchen and everything in my kitchen has been touched by nuts.....I'm hanging up now...."

Okay readers, that's the last interruption, I promise. Put the oven on 350 and put in the bird, with or without the pan, I don't care. Drink one cup of rum. Crush any remaining zanex you have and put it into a container of milk that may be used for children later in the day. The zanex in their milk will enhance your ability to enjoy your meal.

Happy Thanksgiving!

You Say Tomato, I Say Potato

Right now, across the country, people are deciding whose house to go to for Thanksgiving, or whether or not they will host the dinner, or whether or not they will just go to a restaurant.

All the grandmothers want all their children and grandchildren to come to their house and they all want the Norman Rockwell family portrait of the perfect Thanksgiving dinner. Everyone in the picture looks happy and grateful. All the children are sitting nicely. My mother still wants this perfect Thanksgiving. But, if your family is like mine, there are family members who won't talk to other family members, and there's no way our kids would sit calmly at a table, and there's not a single bottle of wine or any of it's affiliates anywhere in the Norman Rockwell picture, I checked it twice. Small pockets of family groups within the family will group together and have Thanksgiving at different homes. But, if by some stroke of luck, your whole family does gather around one table, here's my advice for safe topics of conversation and topics to avoid.

Topics to Avoid
On the basis that men usually compete with each other and women usually try to avoid conflict in family gatherings, I suggest avoiding the following topics:
The route you took to drive there; every man seems to know a shortcut that someone else doesn't know and little competitions break out over the fastest and shortest way to get there. It is the most meaningless conversation I have ever heard, but men will actually spend time trying to "one-up" each other on who got there by the smartest route.
Politics, religion, and I am adding sports as a sub-catagory of religion. Any conversation on politics goes south immediately and men don't discuss religion because it includes self reflection and/or (perish the thought) self examination, so avoid politics and religion. Sports cannot be discussed because the devotion and loyalty levels are too high and require verbal fighting over the table which can result in peas being thrown and maybe a potato. So, no sports.
Whose child is smarter; The answer is always that your children are the smartest and the others are just some DNA slop that got into the gene pool when the lifeguard wasn't looking. So, no one can discuss their children.
Who had the worst childhood; sibling rivalry never dies. The "Mom loves you more" crap never stops. If you're a parent and you are accused of loving one child more than the other, as I was one day, I suggest using the answer I gave to this delicate and sensitive accusation. My response was, "Shut up! I can't stand either one of you! You're both driving me nuts!" The accusatory child shut up and the topic has never been raised since. While children are busy looking for ways to blame you for everything wrong with them, they never factor in your sacrifices and forfeiture of money, time and goals. I always say, there are no perfect parents because there are no perfect children, and they can only blame me for their problems if I am credited with all their accomplishments, it's an all or nothing deal...the little creeps.
Thanksgiving recipes; women like to discuss and share recipe ideas, but the men always jump in and either 1. they know a better recipe for the item -which they have never cooked themselves, or 2. their mother made it better than you. So, recipes, although they seem safe, might be okay for about ten minutes of conversation, but then you have to move on.
Boats, dock fees, condition of moorings; if you live on the Island, don't bring up these topics around the Thanksgiving table. Boats are like children, they take and take, but we love them and will give them anything they want, until we've had it and then we sell them - which is alright if you sell to a stranger, but if you sell to relative, you will never hear the end of how you took advantage of them and the accusations will start approximately three minutes after some innocent person asks, "So, Bob, how are you and Susan liking your new boat?"
Can't talk about the dead, that's bad luck, unless it's to miss them or laud them.
Can't talk about about money, no one has enough, ever, period.

So what topics are safe to talk about?

Family members who are alive, but not present at that table are fair game. Everyone can spew verbal arrows and shards of glass in complete safety and no fights will break out until someone at the table tells the non-present family member what you said about them. But who cares - you're not talking to them anyway, that's why they weren't invited to your dinner.

Tomatoes. After long and careful thought I have concluded that tomatoes are the perfect Thanksgiving topic. No one has anything against them. Everyone likes them and can name their favorite kind. There's very little controversy over tomatoes. Can't say that about other veggies. Zucchini conversations inevitably lead to body part comparisons. Red vs. white potatoes can be debated. Bell peppers can be blamed for indigestion. Onions are way too controversial and someone with Irritable Bowel Syndrome is always present with a repulsive "Well, you know what happens to me if I eat onions" story. So, I have concluded that tomatoes are the only truly safe topic for discussion at any Thanksgiving table. Hope that helps.

Halloween on Shelter Island

Who Do The Voo Doo That You Do So Well?

Shelter Island is one of the few places left where kids can safely Trick or Treat and not worry about getting razor blades in their apples. However, is it Shelter Island, and other unusual things can appear in a kid’s Treat bag.

“How’d you do, son?” Jean asked her ten year old, Tommy.
“Great Mom. I got a ton of candy, some money, and some other good stuff.”
“I don’t see any fruit in the bag, didn’t anyone give you anything healthy?”
“Yea, I had some apples and stuff and some crappy granola bars.”
“Some healthy snacks? That’s good, where are they?”
“I threw all that healthy junk in the woods for the deer. Let them eat it.”
“That’s my boy....” chimed in Tommy’s dad, Big Tom.
“Hey Dad, Mr. Billings gave me some new fishing line, still in the package, he said you’d give me a buck for it and I got a floating key fob from the liquor store and some ferry tickets.”
“Who gives ferry tickets for Trick or Treat?” asked Mom.
“People who run out of candy and don’t want their deer fences around their gardens pushed down, that’s who,” answered Tommy.
“Give me the ferry tickets, Tommy,” said his Mom.
“Not so fast Mom, what’ll you give me for six tickets?”
“Nothing. You can’t drive, hand them over.”
“I’ll give you a buck,” said Big Tom.
“Don’t encourage him!” exclaimed Mom.
“The bidding starts at five dollars,” said Tommy, feeling like a real Islander negotiating his first deal.
“I bid six!” said Big Tom.
“Tom, stop it!” said Mom. “I’ll give you seven dollars, Tommy. That’s a lot of money.”
“I’ll give you ten,’ said Big Tom.
“Sold to Dad for ten big ones!” shouted the triumphant Tommy.
“You can give him the money, but I get the tickets,” said Mom to Big Tom. She said it in a soft voice and Tommy sensed some other negotiation was about to begin.

Tommy watched as Mother looked at Father and she raised one eyebrow. Father raised both eyebrows just a little. Then Mother looked down and up again, very slowly, at Father. Now both of Father’s eyebrow shot up high on his face and he had a slight smile. Mother pointed with her chin at the ferry tickets in Father’s hand and he quietly handed them over. Tommy wondered if it might be true that women were witches and could cast spells to control men’s minds. Mother took the tickets and left the room.

“Dad! What did you do? You just paid ten bucks for those tickets and you gave them to her and you didn’t even barter for lasagna or anything? Can she do Voo Doo? Did she put a whammy on you, Dad?”
“Son,” said Big Tom, as he sat next to his boy, “I’m gonna tell you something that won’t make sense right now, but it will in the very near future. Always remember, if a woman, or girl, doesn’t want you, there’s nothing you can do to get her, but if she decides she does want you, there’s no power on earth to save you.”
“Is that like the “friends with benefits” thing that the older kids talk about?”
“No, son, that’s just for the single men. Once you chase them till they catch you, and you get married, it’s called slavery with benefits.”
“I still say she put a Voo Doo on you, a double whammy, that’s why you just handed over the ferry tickets.”
“Ferry tickets are only the beginning son. Paycheck, keys, control of your life, it all goes over to them once they put the whammy on you.”
“Not me Dad, girls are gross, especially Kathy next door. I hate her.”
“I understand Tommy. You enjoy your candy. I’ll go check on Mommy in the shower. I don’t want her to slip and fall.”
“Okay, Dad, but I still say you got took.”