Giblet musings

We're counting the hours till it's time to niblets

The tasty turkey parts we call the giblets

The mere thought of them makes our vision blurred

Yum!! That tantalizing viscera of our big ol' bird.

How sad that some experience depravity

At never reaching inside a turkey's cold cavity

And grabbing a bag with the gizzard! The liver!

Such delectable thoughts make our legs start to quiver.

Then mincing it mightily with chunks o'the neck

Got celery? And salt? And bouillon cube? Check.

We simmer the mix till the smell from the burner

Starts our noses to hurt, our stomachs to turn(er).

Because, yes, we admit we've been telling a fiblet

We get slightly ill at the thought of a giblet.


HAPPY THANKSGIVING (anyway)

Leafing well enough alone

My Charlie is out of school for Thanksgiving break. I'm glad he has the whole week off; school is tough and his days long.

So sweet mother that I am, I smiled at him as he lay on the couch...at least until the 17th time I walked by. I gently asked what he was doing on the computer (FOR THE LAST FOUR HOURS). I let him sleep, trying very hard to vacuum quietly.

But long about 3 p.m., I'd had enough of sloth. I strongly suggested a little together time; namely, raking leaves.

An hour later, he was still in his PJs. I raised my voice (but hardly at all) saying it wouldn't take long and that it needed to be done.

So out we went. I started putting the piles into bags. He said he wanted to rake a huge one and jump in it. So that's what he did. But not till I found my little video camera and shot this. I haven't mastered the art of editing (or, admittedly, filming). So start this at about Second 11 and go from there.

Raining silence

I am sitting on the porch, hearing the rain before it starts. The air shivers; it rustles; it quivers a bit.

I call my son outside to affirm what I am, or am not, hearing.

"Listen," I tell him.

Charlie is quiet for a moment, then asks: "What?"

"Shhh. The sound. Do you hear it?"

"It's rain," he says.

But when he trots across the porch and stands on the sidewalk, he doesn't get wet.

He goes inside, and the rhythmic sound persists. Hearing it, yet seeing nothing but the orange tint of autumn's air, is an odd sensation. I feel as if I am somehow privy to the future, to a split-second secret of what is a breath away: The last batch of leaves to fall; stars to sparkle; wineglasses and hearts to shatter.

Within minutes, the rain is falling. Oddly enough, without a sound.

Volleybald champs!!

Oh my. What a win! Guess maybe rubbing the kid's head for good luck helped.

Short(er) and still pretty sweet

On Thursday, five days after the initial head shave, Charlie said his hair felt "uber heavy."

So back we went to Huey's barbershop. This time, Huey himself did the honors -- shaving what was left of Charlie's tresses. And not without asking several times if Charlie was SURE that's what he wanted.

Charlie was. So Huey shaved.

His parting words: "Charlie, the next step...is blood."

In the car, Charlie told me he wanted it short so, in case his team made the volleyball playoffs, everyone could rub his head for good luck.

We'll see how well that works. Playoffs are today at 4; the Lions are in 'em.