House of Eratosthenes

I left the office Friday, at high noon, to go fetch my son. I stayed overnight in Fernley, NV, then plowed onward to his mother’s place which is in Elko, which is almost Utah.

Listened to The Five Dysfunctions of a Team. I strongly recommend this. Think of it as, in the conflict between Architects and Medicators, this is a productive argument in favor of the way Medicators do things. And I note the irony: Of all the people I’ve met in business who were in greatest need of listening to this audiobook, they were all Medicators. They were trying to achieve the lesson taught here, and somewhere they got off-track and plowed headlong into the opposite direction.

People who live in Folsom, California, drive like idiots. Except for yours truly. But really. Of all the adventures I had over those nine hundred miles, the ones that truly flabbergasted me were on my back fucking porch. Especially that guy in the pickup truck ahead of me on the exit ramp who got a green light, pulled forward twenty feet, and fucking stopped. Dude. Seriously. What the fuck. What the fucking-fuckety-fuck. Just go to the DMV and turn in your license, I’m fucking serious. Fucking asshole. Die in a fucking fire.

Other than that, I haven’t much of an opinion…

Dad can’t make it down from Bellingham. His fleet of cars, most of which are older than me I think, cannot offer a single vessel that is functional. He’s 79 and his upper respiratory system is offering a seasonal challenge; those two factors, by themselves, are very often fatal. He didn’t book his travel when he was supposed to, so he is demanding a commodity demanded by countless others at the same time, which is fiscally impractical, and Whatcom County is at 23 degrees Fahrenheit. Highly unusual. Anyway, our get-together required more advance thinking than it received…so…it’s a bust. Major bummer. The older generation will have to stay holed up 800 miles away, but at least the younger generation is here.

The groceries were delivered today. We have the five pounds of bacon for the TurBaconDucken. We also have massive quantities of foodstuffs for a couple of old people who aren’t going to be here, including an abundance of White Zinfandel.

I see I’m on track to receive 400 blog hits from midnight-to-seven-p.m., which is what I usually collect all day long. During the holidays, I do not like to see this, people. There’s not much to talk about other than Sarah Palin…and you really need to get up off your computers and go spend time with family and friends. Time is fleeting. Come on, altogether now…Start Button…Shut Down. Call a relative, the older the better, get things coordinated. Book a hotel, fly-drive-swim-teleport, whatever, stop off by a local eatery or deli or grocery store and step across their threshold with something nourishing that smells good. Break some bread.

Dredge into some stories about things you lived through together, and share the thoughts you had about it. That’s the best. This thing the reality-teevee people do every fifteen seconds — “When [blank happened], it made me think/feel [thing]” — that’s what you should be doing. Think of some good things to say about those who are now six feet under, how they could’ve handled something, and how they did handle it. And then lift a glass. Leave ’em wanting more, but leave late.

You know that’s what this week is really all about. So c’mon…what are you doing here?

Update: Thanks to Gerard, some footage of traffic in Seattle. This is testimonial to why Dad can’t come…and also why Seattle is recognized less as a brain heartland than as a retirement haven for grown-up hippies.

Well, I agree about the getting off the computer and visiting family thing.

Thanksgiving is a big, big deal at our house. Christmas only beats it by a nose. In some ways, I actually like Thanksgiving better.

When the wife and I started this … well, frankly, I started doing this and she joined me a few years later.

To me, Thanksgiving is about Family, Friends, Tradition, and Food.

I grew up — for Part II of my childhood, in a poor household. But even before that, there wasn’t a lot of boxed food or pre-prepared stuff in the house. And I grew up cooking, taking over most of the evening cooking duties (and during the week all of the breakfast duties) from my mother, who was completely crippled with rhumetoid arthritis at 32.

I liked cooking. I don’t like it as much now, but mostly because it takes too much time and I have other things to do. [I can see this is going to turn into a philmon post already].

So Thanksgiving was an opportunity for me to practice that craft, and pour a lotta love into it for family and friends. At first, it was often just the wife, me, and stragglers in town who had nowhere else to go. The kids’ dad had “major” custody from July through December, covering both of the big holidays, and he used it.

But eventually, the kids pushed to come to our house, and by the time the younger one was a jr in high school, we were even inviting kidzdad for Thanksgiving. Have had him over I’ll bet for 8 or so of the last 15 years. To be with his kids, who are at our house, because they like it better.

But back to the story.

I made the pies (down to the crust), bread, mashed potatoes, yams, dressing, and cranberry sauce from scratch. Gravy from the turkey. Real whipped cream that starts out as cream and gets whipped, with sugar added along the way. I’d start about 10 in the morning. Maybe 9. And we’d eat about 4. Big white chef’s apron. Several batches of dishes done. Wine sipped along the way….

I got everything geared toward a mood from a fire in the fireplace right down to the acoustic instrumental music mix I play quietly in the background. There wasn’t even any football watched (though it’s ok if those interested go down to the family room to watch … but that hasn’t happened real often).

Over the years we’ve let a few more conveniences such as refrigerated pie crusts slip into the mix, but it’s still a lot of food prepared from the bottom up.

I love it. It’s an awesome holiday. And you won’t see a post from me that day.

However, until then, I have to work, and its business as usual until probably Wedesday evening. We’re not travelling. Which leaves us time to go out and see what Morgan has to say.

Besides, he’s a friend, too. 🙂

Fork up some turkey and cranberry sauce, bro, and lift a glass. If you listen very carefully, you’ll hear mine “tink” it.

Huzzah! Happy Thanksgiving!
- philmon | 11/22/2010 @ 21:17
I live in Amador County, worked in Folsom for about a month. Had to drive Latrobe ereday.

… I know what you mean.
- ajzimm3rman | 11/23/2010 @ 01:37

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Monday, November 22nd, 2010