And speaking of the holidays, I have to admit that this year my heart has grown three sizes, and I’m actually enjoying the holiday season!  However, I find it nearly impossible to get through Christmas without being just a tiny bit Grinchy, so I must convey my yearly gift-exchange rant.  Lulu likes to put a damper on all the fun.  I promise to do it quickly and move on.  Scroll down if you can’t bear to read it.

<Begin rant> 

GR and I made the decision this year that the gift-exchanging between our families at Christmas had to stop.  To me, I see exchanging gifts as merely an exchange of money.  I spend $50 on you, you spend $50 on me.  I have a very difficult time in seeing the point of it all.  I am by no means a stingy person, but it makes me wonder if going into debt to buy gifts for people really has anything to do with what Christmas is all about.  I think not.

However, Lulu has rules.  And exceptions.  For instance, I do make exceptions for token gifts, such as chocolates or small lotions, soaps, hand-towels, and other whatnots.  Handmade items and homemade goodies are also especially nice and treasured.  I also make exceptions for buying gifts for my son and 10-year old niece.  I also have a rule to not exchange presents with GR; except for that rule was obviously thrown out the window by GR, because I see several gifts under the tree with my name on them.  I guess I won’t complain. 

<End rant>

Anyhow, because I do not have to suffer through the stress of spending my life-savings this year on Christmas gifts, Lulu is feeling so much more Christmas-sy!  In fact, I actually put up and decorated my tree this year, and I made Christmas cookies…all while listening to Christmas music!  Someone fan me, quick!  I might have to lie down.

Earlier this week, my friend, T-Nut, and her little Bella-girl came over, and we had a grand time sprinkling my kitchen floor with red- and green-colored sugar.

We made a mountain of sugar cookies:

We made thumbprint cookies filled with the one, single jar of German currant jelly that actually made it through customs:

And we made delicious pretzel/Rolo/pecan thingies:

Next week, I’m embarking on baking these gingerbread loaves topped with a lemon-flavored icing, pecans, and crystallized ginger to give away as gifts to my special peeps (recipe from Better Homes and Gardens):

Mmm…gingerbread.  Reminds me of Germany.

I hope that you all have a very Merry Christmas!  I’ll be back next Friday with Pink Pig tales (or tails, as it may be) and other delightful holiday stories!  Happy Holidays!  Try not to miss me too much.  As if…

I made some new assessments about Nanny while on this trip.  She is definitely getting older, and she is definitely getting more and more ornery.  In fact, she’s starting to remind me a little bit of this woman, scowl and all:

Now don’t get me wrong.  My grandmother is a very caring and generous woman.  She would give you the shirt off her back if her back didn’t hurt her so much.  But let me just warn you, if you are a waiter or waitress, and you don’t give her piping hot coffee or butter for her bread, she’ll turn on you like a rabid beast.  Case in point:

On our drive back from Florida, I was so sleepy and was desperate for a double-espresso latte from Starbucks.  Now, my grandmother is from the old school of coffee (Maxwell House, Folgers, etc.), and she won’t have anything to do with what she calls the “stinky” coffee that Starbucks serves.  So, I knew that I was setting myself up for something big when I pulled off the expressway to order my latte.

We decided to go into the shop to use the restroom and sit for a minute while I waited on my drink.  My grandmother used the restroom first, and I went in after her.  When I stepped out of the restroom, I find Nanny yelling (because she is deaf and thinks everyone else is, too) at the male barista behind the counter.  I walked up to the counter, and here is what went down.

Nanny (to me in her loud, ornery voice): He said that they have decaf coffee and it’s not the smelly kind.  I think I’ll order a cup.

Me (in my loud voice so that she and everyone in the shop can hear): Nanny, you told me that you’ve ordered coffee from here before and you don’t like it.

Nanny: Well, he said it wasn’t the stinky kind!

Me: I know, but I really don’t think you’ll like it.  It’s a bit different from what you’re used to.

Nanny: Well, order me a cup anyway.

So, I place the order.  The barista hands Nanny the cup of coffee, and I walk over to the other side of the counter to wait for my latte.  When I turned around, I caught her out of the corner of my eye taking a sip of her coffee.  People?  See that picture up there of Granny from The Beverly Hillbillies?  That’s exactly how Nanny looked when she pulled the coffee cup away from her mouth.  Then, she took another sip.  Same look.

Three people are now in line, and one person is ordering.  Nanny marches up to the counter, completely interrupting the person ordering their coffee, and says loudly and with a scowl:

Nanny: Is this coffee fresh?

Barista: Yes, ma’am. It’s fresh.

Nanny: Well, it don’t taste fresh to me!  (She takes another sip.)  Blech!

Barista: I can make another pot, ma’am.

Nanny: Ah, shhht.  We don’t got no time!

She then proceeds to make her way to the trash can, takes one more sip, and throws it away while scowling and saying “shhht!” again.  Thankfully, I am far away from the scene and hidden from her sight.  When we get back into the car, she starts again.

Nanny: Is your coffee fresh?  Mine wasn’t!  Bleh, bleh, bleh!  I need a piece of gum.

Me: Nanny, I told you that you wouldn’t like it.

Nanny: Well, he told me it wasn’t the stinky kind!  I don’t think he knows what he was ‘a talkin’ about.

My dear, dear grandmother.  You just can’t take her anywhere.

Anyhow, my trip down to Florida means that I will get to spend a delightful 8 hours in the car with my grandmother, Nanny.  Lovely as she is, I’m kind of sad that I no longer have my grandfather, the Dukester, to entertain me with 8 hours of war stories and snoring.  Nor will I have the entertainment of my grandmother yelling at the Dukester in the back seat to discuss his bowel movements or waking him up every five minutes to ask if he wants a Mountain Dew or a cracker.  It will be just my grandmother, me, and a couple of dime store gospel CDs.  It will be a long 8 hours.  And, God help me, I will blog about it be thankful for it.

Speaking of being thankful, I am thankful for my blogging buddy, Mrs. W.  She has been a longtime sufferer of my blog, and she has tagged me with a Thanksgiving meme.  Thank you, Mrs. W!  And I must say that your Panettone French Toast looks amazing!

Which do you like better: hosting Thanksgiving at your home, or going elsewhere?
Considering that I feel compelled to deep clean my house before anyone steps foot in the door, I’m all for going elsewhere!  Lulu does not like to clean.

Do you buy a fresh or frozen turkey? Organic? Free-range?
I’m not sure that I would know the difference.  But I once stopped at Bates House of Turkey in Alabama to eat lunch, and their free-range turkeys are unbelievably delicious!  Plus, they’ll ship them anywhere in the U.S.!

Do you make stuffing or dressing? What kind?
This is a serious point of contention between GR and myself.  He thinks that his mother makes the Best. Dressing. Ever.  He will barely bring my dressing to his lips.  I make mine with cornbread, canned biscuits, and a mixture of other top-secret ingredients.

Sweet potato pie or Pumpkin pie?
Hmm…this is a tough one. I like both, and it’s sometimes hard for me to tell the difference between the two.  However, this year I will be having neither.  I will be having pumpkin fluff—a Weight Watchers recipe:

1 can pumpkin
1 small package fat-free vanilla pudding
½ cup skim milk
1½ tsp. pumpkin pie spice
Mix all ingredients well and fold in 1 cup of fat-free whipped cream

A 1¼ cup serving is only 2 points!  Have that along with one fat-free graham cracker sleeve and you have a guilt-free pumpkin pie dessert!

Are leftovers a blessing or a curse?
Cursed leftovers!  I can eat them for one day only.  I’m apt to change the rule for turkey or ham.

What side dishes are a must-have in your family?
If it were up to my mother, um, everything.  For me, it’s definitely dressing and deviled eggs.

What do you wish you had that might make Thanksgiving easier?
I’ll go with this baby right here:

If/when you go to someone else’s house for the holiday, do you usually bring a dish? If so, what is it?
I usually only go to my mother’s house, and I end up cooking while I’m there.  I would definitely bring a dish if I were going elsewhere.

What do you wish one of your guests would bring to your house?
A check written to me for $1 million dollars.  Or one of these babies right here:

What do you wish one of your guests would NOT bring to your house?
Fleas.

Do you stick with a particular menu from year to year, or do you mix it up?
There’s no mixing it up at my mom’s house.  She’s very strict about her 50-dish, Southern-style menu.  And no sage, onions, or steamed anything for her, please.  Must use plenty of milk, butter, and lard.

Is Thanksgiving a religious or secular holiday in your home?
Besides the “Good food, good meat, good God let’s eat!” before the meal and the “Oh, God, what have I done!” after the meal, I would say it’s pretty secular.

Share one Thanksgiving tradition.
People have Thanksgiving traditions?

Share one Thanksgiving memory.
There was one certain Thanksgiving in Key West that I spent on the rooftop of The Garden of Eden (by erroneous mistake, no less), but that’s probably something that I shouldn’t mention here or especially in the presence of GR.

Name five things you’re thankful for.
1.) My family and friends.
2.) My job.
3.) My teeth.
4.) My paid-for Buick that has a window held in place by masking tape, as well as a missing hubcap.  You have no idea about the thankfulness.
5.) That my son, Gus, is going away to college in January. Not necessarily thankful for the away part (I’ll miss him!), just the going part!

And since I waited so long to complete this meme (Thanksgiving is Thursday, right?), then I’ll skip tagging anyone else.  However, feel free to play along if you wish!

I hope that all of you have a safe and Happy Thanksgiving!

As for the crazy part, I’ve had no less than five funerals/visitations to attend to this past month—and while all of them have been truly sad, none were as heartbreaking as the sudden death of my cousin’s 24-year old boyfriend.  That’s just way too young to be checking out and leaving behind a young girlfriend who is just devastated…not to mention parents and a brother.

But, on a happier note, I am back and hoping to start writing blog posts a regular basis again.  I’m only taking one class this semester due to it being Summer, and I decided that working on my tan is of the utmost priority at this time lest I do turn into Morticia Adams.  Funeral homes and pale skin seem to go hand-in-hand, so I’m hoping to ward off any more visits by obtaining a healthy glow.  Of course, there is the chance that I will end up with skin cancer, therefore, defeating the point.  But I’ll worry about that tomorrow.

Anyhow, just wanted to check in to say a quick hello and that I’ll be making my normal rounds on the blog circuit again!

Auf Wiedersehen for now!  I’m in total Germany mode now…only 3 months to go!

For now, here’s a couple of posts that I previously wrote about my grandparents—memories that make me laugh even in the midst of such sadness. 

You Say It’s Your Birthday

Is That a Banana in Your Ear?

The Pony Express

Vacation, All I Ever Wanted

Polly Want a Cracker?

That’s Where I Come From

I am from my grandmother’s old house of memories.
From a home once filled with cousins
and Sunday afternoon food and laughter.

I am also from the small, ranch house with walls thin enough to hear
my dad snoring in his chair in the den while pretending to watch football,
my sister in her bedroom listening to Randy Owen sing sweet, Southern songs about his home state of Alabama,
my mother doing dishes in the kitchen.

I am from the rock salt used to churn ice-cream
on the back porch of my grandmother’s house,
the large oak tree in her front yard that had a knot hole
low enough to reach with your foot while swinging high
on the old, creaky swing set.

I am from family vacations to the beach,
the mountains,
the North, the West,
and card games of UNO and Rook played with cousins
on my grandmother’s kitchen table,
from Grace and Aunt Genk and Uncle Jesse.

I am from fried chicken and family jokes and idle gossip.

From Come Home Before Dark! and Don’t Argue With Your Sister!

I am from what was once a small Baptist church,
which has now grown into something of which I am not sure.

I am from a town with a courthouse square,
from my grandmother’s fried salmon patties
and homemade biscuits.

From the grandfather who tragically drowned
before I even got a chance to know him,
and before he even got a chance to know his own children,
the widowed grandmother who raised five small children on her own,
and from the parents who stayed together for 27 years
for the sake of their children, and then parted ways but still care.

I am from Sunday after-church gatherings at my grandmother’s house,
until the house grew too small and the family grew too large.
From traditions that soon became less important,
and from the old house and oak tree that really misses its family.

“Middle age is when you choose your cereal for the fiber, not the toy.” –Anonymous middle age person

Yep.  I’m officially elderly.  And to prove this, I’m writing a post about getting enough fiber in your diet.  Fiber, people.  Next thing you know I’ll start posting about Depends and hearing aids and whatnot.  I’m slowly turning into my grandmother.  Crackers or Mountain Dew, anyone?

Anyhow, back to the fiber.  Yesterday I was contacted by a person representing Eat Better America.com.  This is a site created by General Mills for people who are interested in healthy eating habits, getting fit, and learning how to live a healthier lifestyle.  And what I was asked to do is to inform you, my readers reader, that you can get a free sample of the original Fiber One cereal if you sign up for the Eat Better America newsletter.  The newsletter is an e-mail that is sent out once per month, which provides recipes and tips for people to start living healthier lives.

Obviously, I was targeted for this campaign for a reason—I am an unhealthy, sugary cereal lovin’ nut.  And I believe that somewhere in a past post I mentioned that I’m a big fan of the General Mills Fiber One bars.  Stookie bars, as I like to call them.  Because I’m classy—and like to say stookie.  Anyhow, I’m pretty excited about trying the original Fiber One cereal because it will work well with my daily, rat-size allotment of Weight Watchers points.  I have learned that the cereal provides 57% of the average adult’s daily fiber requirement and has 0 grams of sugar and 60 calories per serving.

But I think that even better than the cereal is the Eat Better America Web site.  There I found oodles of healthy recipes, tips on fitness, cooking techniques, and a nifty tool that can “healthify” any recipe.  I also found recipes that feature Fiber One cereal as an ingredient, such as:

Whole-Grain Buttermilk Waffles (5 WW points per serving)

Strawberry-Banana Parfaits (4 WW points per serving)

Caribbean Chicken and Pineapple Salsa (6 WW points per serving)

Needless to say, I signed up for the newsletter so that I can receive my free Fiber One cereal sample.  I’ll let you know how it tastes in about 6 to 8 weeks after I receive my sample.  Until then, I will continue living my unhealthy, fiber-free lifestyle.  Except for snacking on the occasional stookie bar.

So, let me just start by saying that my trip to Florida last week was quite the adventure.  And to top it all off, I foolishly stepped onto my scale yesterday morning and almost fell into a diabetic coma.  Not that I’m diabetic or anything, but I could very well be after all of the sugary nonsense that I ate last week, which included a giant, grape pixie stick (thanks, Big H and Phoo).  I’ll discuss the crackers in just a moment.

Y’all, never, and I mean NEVAH, step on a scale after you’ve been on vacation for a week.  It’s a disturbing thing.  So disturbing to me in fact, that I joined Weight Watchers yesterday and spent what’s left of my weekly allowance (wait, do I have an allowance?) at Publix buying yogurt and granola and dirt-flavored whatnot.  Bleh.  But I only have four more weeks until my next beach vacation, so I must, I must, I must increase my bust try to drop a couple or ten pounds before donning my bathing suit again. 

And speaking of bathing suits?  I somehow left mine at home last week and was forced to spend precious vacation hours and money searching for another one at a Florida mall.  I’m not sure, but I think that I ended up buying a maternity suit.  But it was flow-y and black and covered the vital body parts, so all was well.  And I’m thinking that I’ll start shopping in the maternity section more often.

So, my vacation actually started last Wednesday.  In case you don’t remember, part of my trip involved driving my grandparents back to their Florida home.  And if you’ve read my past stories about them here and here, you know that they are hearing-challenged, driving-challenged, food-challenged, direction-challenged, mail-challenged, and let’s just say intestine-challenged.  Bless their hearts. 

And to give you a brief glimpse into the test of my will, I’ll provide you with a timeline of events that day.  But let me start by saying that the night before we left, we agreed that the next morning Nanny and the Dukester would meet me at a church close to my house at 7:30am (because they don’t know how to get to my house, but they presumably know how to get to the church).  From there, they would follow me back to my house to drop off my car.  It’s basically a straight drive with one RIGHT turn from their house to the church.  So, here’s the timeline of events: 

• 7:00am:  Nanny calls to tell me that they are running about an hour late.  The Dukester is having bathroom “issues.”
• 8:00am:  Nanny calls to tell me that they are leaving their house and will meet me at the church in 20 minutes.
• 8:35am:  They are not at the church.  I am concerned and start driving the route that they would follow to get to the church.
• 8:40am:  Nanny calls my mobile phone to angrily ask where I am because they are at the church waiting on me.  Wha?  Apparently the Dukester told Nanny to make a LEFT turn instead of a RIGHT one, even though we went over explicit directions the night before.  Needless to say, they ended up on the other side of town and had to turn around.  The Dukester blamed Nanny.
• 8:50am:  I return to the church to find Nanny wandering around the graveyard “to see if she knows anyone.”  My grandmother—Social Butterfly to the Dead.     
• 9:00am:  We drop my car at my house, and then leave for Florida in their car.
• 9:45am:  We’ve been on the road for 45 minutes and we must stop for breakfast.  Err.
• 10:15am:  We are again on the road.  But not for long…
• 12:00pm:  We stop at a rest area for a break.  Nanny announces that she had a bowel movement, because, that’s something that we all must know.  She then tries to force crackers and Mountain Dew on the Dukester and me.
• 1:30pm:  We stop at the freakin’ Flying J truckstop for gas because we MUST get gas before we cross over the Florida state line even though we still have half a tank.  The Dukester decides that we will eat at the Flying J country buffet for lunch.  Dee-lish. 
• 2:30pm:  We leave the Flying J.  So far we’ve gone 280 miles in 5 1/2 hours.  Only another 270 miles to go.  We’re moving at warp speed, y’all.
• 3:30pm:  Rest stop.  Nanny tries to force crackers and Mountain Dew on both the Dukester and me.  Again.  She has sweet crackers, peanut butter crackers, chicken-flavored crackers, crackers that she bought at the Flying J, crackers that look like Little Debbie’s snack cakes, everything is a cracker!!  And she is not satisfied until we both have at least one.  And a Mountain Dew.
• 4:30pm:  Nanny announces that her stomach hurts, and that she might have to have another bowel movement.  I’m thinking that it’s probably all of those damned crackers and Mountain Dews.
• 5:00pm:  Rest stop.  More crackers.  More Mountain Dew.  The Dukester asks Nanny, “Baby?  Did you have a bowel movement?”  I look to the heavens and cry with a mouthful of crackers.
• 6:30pm:  Rest stop.  I don’t need to rest.  But I do need to get out of this car and run.  Crackers!  Mountain Dew!  Crackers!
• 7:30pm:  Arrive at Florida home.  FREEDOM!  Do you know how William Wallace’s tortured soul yells ‘Freedom!’ at the end of Braveheart?  That was me when we arrived.  Until I found out that the air-conditioning was not working in their home.  And much like William Wallace, I died. 

Long story short (well, actually I think it’s too late for that), they called someone to fix the air-conditioner problem, and by 9:30pm we were finally cool enough to enjoy a restful sleep.  As for the rest of my vacation, the next day I rented a car and drove to Tampa to my mother’s house to meet GR, Big H, and Phoo for a weekend at the beach and pool.  And that’s just an entirely different story that I don’t have the energy to go into at this point because I am still recovering from the Amaretto Sours and the giant, grape pixie stick.  And maybe the crackers.

And then on Thursday, I’ll drive to my mom’s house in Tampa to meet GR, Phoo, and Big H for a weekend of Amaretto Sours, crab legs on my mom’s kitchen table, the Go-Go’s, and some much needed debauchery on the beach.  And at the pool.

Anyhow, if you’re here looking for my Christmas in July giveaway, click here.  You can win the book of your choice (up to $20 value) from Amazon.  You have until Friday,
July 27 at midnight EST to sign up.  Move it, people! 

And if you really want something else to do while I’m away, go visit An Island Review.  Kailani will keep you busy signing up for many of the latest giveaways in the blogesphere.  And her personal blog, An Island Life, will make you feel like you’re on a vacation yourself in her beautiful state of Hawaii.

See y’all back here next week with the winner of the Christmas in July giveaway!

Frankly, I really don’t mind driving my grandparents between their Georgia and Florida homes despite the long trip of bathroom breaks and Cracker Barrel meals.  My grandmother, Nanny, turns 86 this week, and my grandfather, Dukester, is 92.  Obviously, they won’t be around much longer, and I’d like to spend as much time with them as I can.  And apparently there’s no better way to spend time together than in an enclosed car where you have no escape.

However, if it were up to my grandfather, he would still be doing the long distance driving himself.  He’s a very proud man, that one.  And desperately clinging to his last bit of independence.  He tells me (often) that he doesn’t want anyone to think that he’s old and feeble and can’t drive.  He says, “I’ve driven from here to Florida and back by myself many-a-times.  I did it then, and I can do it now.  When people start doin’ things for you is when you start gettin’ old.”  Fairly profound, but I must say that if I make it to the ripe old age of 92 and someone wants to drive me somewhere?  I’ll bake them a cobbler of blackberries and love and top it with ice cream.  But only if that someone can first wheel me into the kitchen and prop me up at the stove.

That being said, it always takes some coercing to get my grandfather to agree to let me drive them between states.  It’s never a given.  I have to start finessing things over about a month or two in advance so that the Dukester can get used to the idea that he’ll be the passenger—not the driver.  It’s not easy convincing a man who’s fought in two wars and can still do deep knee bends that he’s not capable of driving.   

And to top it off, this time I had to ask my grandparents to back out their return date by five days due to some work-related issues on my part.  This in turn caused a frenzied panic about what would happen to their mail.  They had already requested that it be forwarded to their Florida home on a specific date, and God forbid that the mail sits in the box for more than a few days.  Hmm, maybe I should buy them a mailbox like mine…

Anyhow, after I broke the news, the panic began:

• Dukester:  Lulu, I think that we’ll just drive back ourselves.  We’ve already set up the mail to be forwarded on a specific date.
• Me:  Can’t you get a neighbor to pick it up for you?  It’s only for five days.
• Nanny:  Honey, it’s all just junk mail.  Helen can pick it up!
• Dukester:  Well, I don’t want to have to bother Helen.
• Nanny:  Helen don’t care, honey.  Our mailbox is right beside hers.
• Dukester:  Well, I don’t know.  We’ve already put our forwarding card in at our post office in Florida.
• Me:  Dukester, if you want, I can change your address on the internet.  All that I have to do is access the Web site for the USPS and change your forwarding date.  It happens instantly. <well, almost>
• Dukester:  <momentarily stares at me like I’m speaking Chinese> You know that when you have your mail forwarded, the post office sends a card to every single post office in the country to let them know that your address has changed.  Lulu, honey, there’s not enough time to change our forwarding address.
• Me:  <blank stare>
• Nanny:  <shouting> We don’t get no mail, honey!  It’s all blasted junk!
• Dukester:  Baby, maybe we should call our post office in Florida to let them know what we’re doing.
• Nanny:  Shhttt!  Honey, we’ll just drive ourselves back then!  I don’t know why you’re so worried about the mail. 

And this is the kind of thing that I have to go through each and every time.  But the result is always the same—I’ll be driving them back to Florida in a few weeks.  And if anything happens to their mail, they might never leave Florida again.