So, my trip down to Florida with my grandmother over Thanksgiving was the typical cracker-and-Mountain-Dew adventure that we normally have…minus the Dukester.  Which was sad.  But we talked about him extensively and both agreed that he is in a better place, and not living through the Hell in which we were driving.

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.

I made it back from the Tampa Thanksgiving festivities unscathed despite the 9½ hour drive there and 9 hour drive back.  Obviously, many more people were traveling this year due to the lower gas prices.  It’s a typical 7½-hour-or-so drive, so the extra 2½ hours sucked. 

And unfortunately, I didn’t take many pictures while on my trip because I was bathing in a bottle of Corona Light most of the time, but I do have grandmother stories to tell.  And once I work through them all in my mind and try to make sense of them, then I will post them for all to read.  But for now, I cannot think about it.  I must think cocktails.  One of my many favorite subjects.

The Saturday before Thanksgiving, I attended a lovely Cocktails and Smores party at the home of friends, Lala and Jaçon (that’s a ç as in garçon, by the way…yeah, he’s gonna love that).

They have a beautifully remodeled 1920’s bungalow in Atlanta that makes me just a freaking boatload tinge envious.  I felt a little funny asking Lala if I could photograph her entire house, so unfortunately, I have no pictures to show you.  But take my word for it people…gorgeous!  What I didn’t feel funny about was taking pictures of all of us party-goers hopped up on smores and Cosmopolitans.  Some of us more so than others:

In the backyard of the house, there is a deck built around a brick fire pit where we toasted our marshmallows and gobbled our smores.  It was a bit chilly that night, so the fire felt awesome.

All in all, it was a lovely evening (what I can remember of it), and at the stroke of midnight…Lulu turned 38.  Officially old, y’all.

I am leaving on my trip to Tampa tomorrow for the Thanksgiving festivities at my mom’s house.  Of course, we’ll have the usual fare—13 desserts, 15 casseroles, a 20-lb turkey, and a vat of stuffing—because my mom envisions cooking for the entire city of Tampa and not just a small group relatives.  I’ve decided that next year I’m flying her to Atlanta so that she can cook for Hosea’s Feed the Hungry and Homeless program.  She would get great satisfaction from watching a silo of green beans being consumed by gracious, hungry people.

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!

Birds suck.  There, y’all, I just came right out and said it.  Birds do not like me, and therefore, Lulu does not like them.  They are devilish creatures who like to mock me, attack me, steal food from my hands, and take up residence inside my home.  Seriously.  For the second time in a month, a bird has made its way into my house to fly around, taunt, and horrify me (Angie, this is probably something only you can understand).

I swear that I do not have holes in my attic.  I simply think that a gaggle of birds have gotten together to stake out my front door, and when it opens, the suicide mission begins.  They’ve gotten lucky twice, but no more, I say.  We have an official police officer by day/bird catcher by night as our neighbor, and he comes heavily armed with a fishing net and Miller Draft.

Here’s Buford T. Justice searching for the perpetrator in the kitchen…

GR and Buford T. search the dining room…

Buford T. tries to trap the perp in the bedroom…

The perp starts swarming the room…

Finally, he’s cuffed!  Thank you, Buford T.  You are my hero, but please feel free to use your gun next time.

Let me just say one more time…birds suck.  As I was leaving Phoo and Big H’s house this morning after a night of cocktails and smores (more on that later…I can barely bring myself to make mention of the word cocktail right now), I was nearly attacked by a bird on her front porch.  I swear.  It’s like the gaggle conspiracy.

Big H says that she’s buying me the The Birds Barbie for Christmas…

Like I need a freaking reminder.