Fickle Pickle

I wake up most mornings with the intention of updating my blog with some particularly witty or intellectual comment that is sure to garner boatloads of traffic, only to be sidetracked by things of equal, albeit less satisfying, importance. Things like, working the daily Sudoku or letting Moose out for his daily dump. Letting him back in again. Letting him out again. Letting him ... well, you get the idea. I have all manner of things of pressing importance wearing away the minutes of my day. There just seems to be no time left for the frivolity of writing.

If I were Vianne, I would have a grand tale of being kidnapped by a roving band of gypsies and forced to perform for crowds at county fairs by day and privately entertain a different gypsy man every night, escaping only when she began to feel guilty for enjoying herself too much.

But, I am not Vianne. The last I heard from her she was still holed up in some sleeze bag hotel with that scoundrel Mikey. Loving every aching minute.

Thanksgiving was pretty much the usual assemblage of Catholics, Christian Fundamentalists, Muslims, and me. I was visiting my younger daughter and her husband who live near Fort Hood, Texas. The three men and one of the women are all currently serving in the US Army and have all spent time in Iraq and/or Afghanistan. In spite of what might be apparent religious differences, the day was delightful. Most folks I know don't get into discussions of a religious sort just for the heck of it, and the topic didn't come up. There was some interesting sharing of cultural experiences, with the only really awkward moment occurring when one of the CF's asked one of the Muslims if he were pro-Taliban.

Seriously???

After the silence fell and picked itself back up again, and the young man being questioned graciously answered "no" without appearing at all condescending, conversation was diverted to other topics.

The only other issue that was remotely amusing was that my daughter has decided everything is better with bourbon, which she had added generously to several of the dishes. However, it was easy enough to tell which of those had been cooked enough to dissipate the alcohol, so no preferences were inadvertantly compromised.

The rest of the visit was spent eating leftovers and decorating for Christmas. I am home again, and preparing for birthdays(not mine) and Christmas. The carpenters have finished the work in my house; the bricklayers did what they had to do outside; and life on the bayou, while unseasonably cold, is once again quiet.

If you're passing this way, stop and get down for a cup of coffee and a chat, sha'!