Thanksgiving

   

     Thanksgiving is a time of family and feasting. I host the day for my brothers and their families at my house. This year I made three desserts, apple pie, pumpkin pie, and a custard called “Spanish Cream Supreme. It was the last one I made the evening before Thanksgiving. I had the bright idea to snap a picture of my desserts together for Instagram. I arranged them for the picture and before I could snap the photo the apple pie started sliding off the edge of the counter. With quick reflexes I reached my hand out to catch it and stuck my hand right into it. It doesn’t look too bad, and I’m glad I was able to stop it because I used all the apples I had on hand to make it. We couldn’t  have Thanksgiving without apple pie!  It simply isn’t done in my family.
     This year wasn’t the first time I had a pie mishap. One year a juice glass fell out of the cupboard above where the pumpkin pie was cooling and fell right into the middle of it. On Thanksgiving I filled the hole with whipped cream before serving. No one would have known but of course I told them. We might as well all laugh together over dessert!
     In between our meal and dessert, we sit around the table talking and picking at the remnants, another spoonful of stuffing, or a little more of the sweet potato casserole; or maybe another roll topped with butter  and cranberry sauce keeps the conversation going. This year we were looking at old pictures that my cousin sent me the previous weekend. She had been sorting through some things for her grandmother, my aunt, and thought I might like them. There was one of our family, our mother, father, the family dog, all of my brothers, my sister in law, and my husband. It made for some lively chatter and laughter as well as some good-natured disagreement about the year and event where it was taken. It also gave rise to speculation as to what my father said just prior to the picture being taken. The most interesting part of it was my father, the smirk on his face and the way some of us were turned toward him obviously giggling and snickering all point toward him probably having made a comment about another relative, perhaps the one with the camera. It’s likely the shot was from a yearly family reunion at my parents’ house. Whatever it was, the photo brought back some good memories for us all, and our children (the youngest is 16) got to hear some stories about their grandparents and parents, aunts and uncles.

     I'm happy I have a good relationship with my brothers and their families.  I think the holidays would be no fun if we didn't get along.  Thanksgiving was wonderful, I hope it was for you as well.  On now to the next major holiday: Christmas!

This is the picture I described.  I am turned toward my father, on the end.

Warning Lights

          When I bought my first car, way back in the 1970’s, my father tried to teach me some basics of car care-- tire changing, checking fluid levels, and how to use jumper cables. I retained none of that information, but I love that Dad tried.  Something I do remember is what he called those warning lights on the dashboard.  He called them “idiot lights”, a term that now would be offensive to many, but he meant that if you can drive the car you should know when your oil and brake fluid are low because you should be checking them regularly.  Well, let’s not dwell on that! 

What I would like to talk about today is those warning, or “idiot” lights.  I think we have more of them on today’s vehicles, and there are actual words that come on as well.  Our cars now contain little computers that can tell us what needs looking at or fixing.  My van loves to communicate with me.  It does helpful things when I’m driving such as flash the low tire light with a warning “ding” while I’m miles from home, then another “ding” and the little picture of what I assume is an engine appears.  This prompts me to turn off the radio and listen to the sound of the tires on the road and the engine as I continue on through traffic in the left lane trying to assess, by sound, if I need to pull over somehow, somewhere, or if it can wait until I reach my destination.  Generally I turn the radio back on and continue driving. After parking, I do the old poke the tires with your thumb test to see if one of the tires is soft, and sniff all around the vehicle to see if anything seems to be burning.  Once I’ve decided that my van knows nothing and is fine I call my husband to tell him about the warnings and proceed with my errand and repeat the process before starting it back up for my return trip home, minus calling my husband. It has, in my mind, become his problem to solve.

          Other times, my van calls me “Gas Cap”.  I thought at first it was motor vehicle speak for “Fool”, but since removing the gas cap and tightening it didn’t solve the problem, I decided that it was a term of endearment, much like calling someone “Sweetie Pie” so now I don’t mind when it does that.  Most recently it is flashing the “change oil” words at me when I start it up, even though according to the sticker the nice people who changed the oil put there it isn’t due for a few hundred miles.  I think my van just wants some attention because it’s jealous of my husbands’ vehicle having been to the garage 3 times in the past month, like the sibling who sees another child getting attention when they’re sick and suddenly develops a “boo boo” that needs a band aid and a hug from Mom  or Dad.

Those warning lights on our vehicles are a handy way for us to know when they need to be checked out by a professional.  They can also be annoying when the reason they light up is because a sensor is sending a signal to the onboard computer, but the sensor is bad and nothing is actually wrong.  My father would be amazed at the array of warning lights on the modern dashboard, and shocked at the cost of having them checked out at a garage.  As for me, they are a source of entertainment.