Midnight Musings

Years ago, my family celebrated Thanksgiving without me. Not that my family is such a joyful, thankful group, mind you. It was just that I wasn't included for some reason. My family was always more about the food than the concept. The wonderful woman who worked for my grandmother was the best down-home cook anywhere, not to mention one of my favorite people in the whole world. I feel confident saying so even knowing there are millions of great cooks whose product I will never taste. The best fried chicken in the world (yes, there was turkey, but who cared when that chicken was on the table?), baked macaroni and cheese (not elbows and cheese sauce. This is the real thing that no one makes anymore - real chunks of cheddar, the browned bits being buttery and tangy enough to fight over), stuffing, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, homemade biscuits, canned jellied cranberry sauce for contrast, the ubiquitous side dishes that make me cringe just to think of them (especially those scary baby onions in cream sauce that no one thinks of putting on the table or in their mouths at any other time of year) and those amazing homemade pies. I wasn't allowed to have any (as if a slice once a year would kill me) but there was always a piece of pumpkin pie hidden away in the kitchen for me. So I was going to be deprived of the traditional annual deprivation and I was depressed. My significant other made a lovely spaghetti dinner for us that year. It's not quite as depressing as it sounds because the man made a mean spaghetti sauce, full of fresh mushrooms and garlic and ground beef and I did have much to be thankful for. But it was sad. This year topped it by far. I drove almost five hours (I hate driving with a passion, by the way) to a home whose owner passed away last month. She was a lovely woman who knew what Thanksgiving was about and the food, though always good, was almost incidental to the company. We sat at her table among her things and talked about things other than her. There was talk about who was going to get what. There was talk about our being the last guests to stay in the house before it's sold. We were thankful to have the place for as long as they did, thankful to have known her and for the wherewithal to meet and food to eat, but it was the saddest Thanksgiving ever. Her ashes were sprinkled on the property. And then I got to drive the five hours home. I hope our presence served some purpose for the others in attendance and that they know what they have to be thankful for. I am going to heaven when I die and I hope that's where she is. All these loose ends left and properties to divide is so...mercenary. I'm just glad to be home and know I have that home, a job, minimal debt, a car and people who love me. And hopefully nothing to fight over when I'm gone. 'night.

I love awards shows. I miss them almost every chance I get. Sincerity is such a novelty and melodrama is so boring. This is my acceptance speech:

(as I adjust the microphone 'way down) You'd think by now there would be a Martina McBride setting on this thing.

This is so surreal, to be the one on stage with all the famous people focused on me! You know, all my life I've been told I'm not pretty enough, not thin enough, not good enough and I never will be. Even when there was no one there to say those things, I said them to myself. This award means so much because it's temporal proof that a significant number of people believe that I *am* good enough, at least for this song for right now. But I'm also grateful to those who think I'm not, because they will keep me humble. There are so many people I would like to thank that I know I won't remember them all. I don't think at this point there's any point in trying. The one I'd most like to thank is God, because everything comes from Him, anyway. I'd like to thank my family and friends, those who supported and believed in me and especially those who did not. And I'd like to thank those who related to my work and were touched enough by it to bring me to this place tonight. Thank you for your kindness, your encouragement and your support. And thank you for entrusting me with this very sharp, heavy object and giving me this opportunity to embarrass my children on national television.

What do you think?

'night.

Your Iron Chefs!


I love this show. It makes the people around me seem more normal. A Japanese millionaire, played by a man who dresses like Elvis, acts like William Shatner and sounds like a kung-fu movie, has his stable of top Japanese chefs of different cooking styles and finds a "challenger" with a famous reputation to "battle" one of them in his "Kitchen Stadium." The theme song is the theme to the American movie, "Backdraft." Honest. Two grown men, all up-in-arms over cooking up a better menu using the mystery "theme ingredient" according to three judges, sometimes none of whom seem to have any qualifications whatever for the position. Usually, it's a former government official, an actor and a psychic. Yes, a psychic. She never seems to know what to expect, though, so she's not a very good one. I didn't know Japan held psychics in such high esteem. Or maybe it's just the bad ones. One woman, an actress, was so thin I thought she should be disqualified on the grounds that she didn't appear to ever have put any food into her mouth. And they complain if the food is too foreign. I love that when the challenger is an Italian chef. Give me Italian food, please, but know that I won't like it if it's too Italian. These are the same people who get excited if the dish features internal organs or roe of any kind.

The chefs have a dream pantry and every amenity at their disposal except time: they must complete their dishes in one hour. Their imaginations run from the sublime (perfectly roasted duck sandwiched between homemade focaccia and portobellos) to the ridiculous (vanilla ice cream topped with fried manta ray cracker). They have two assistants each, and invariably at the end when asked how the hour went, the response is, "It was very short." There are commentators as if it were a sporting event, and all the speakers are dubbed in English except Elvis-san, who is subtitled for some unexplained reason. And, if the Iron Chef wins, he almost always cries. It is truly bizarre and I have no idea why I hate to miss it.

'night.