Being Human And a Thanksgivukkah Salmon Dinner

Thanksgiving
November 28, 2013
For The Record

I woke up at 5:30 but forced myself to stay in bed until 6:00.
6:00: I grabbed my knitting and my lap top and headed out to the kitchen to put the tea kettle on.

As I settled into my favorite chair with my mug of tea, I did some Christmas shopping online.   I’m a sucker for the annual Lenox and Hallmark series ornaments.

It’s now 7:12,
Time to take my photo of the day.  It looks like the storm from yesterday has passed.  It’s a bright sunny day.

Rico and Ross are still in bed.









Between then and now - 9:15:

I knitted a couple of rounds of “The Never-ending Very Simple Scarf” that I am working on.  I found the pattern on Ravelry here. I am about half way through with it.

I put down my knitting and straightened up a little, you know made the bed, put stuff in order around the house, and threw in a load of wash.
We are having breakfast now, cheerios and banana for me, some kind of shredded wheat for Ross.

Between then and now - 11:35:

I showered, washed my hair and got dressed.
Ross went on the treadmill for 45 minutes.
I decided to make the meatballs for our Saturday after Thanksgiving day dinner.
A little over 2 pounds of ground beef from the German Butcher made 29 meatballs.
Ross was the taste tester.  He said they were Deelish!

Between then and now 5:30:
I straightened out my closet, it was getting out of hand.

After that I vegged out in front of the TV with my knitting.   I got interested in the National Geographic series “Life Below Zero”.  They were running a marathon today, playing all of the episodes.
According to their website:

About the Show

Life Below Zero follows six people as they battle for the most basic necessities in the state with the lowest population density in the United States. Living at the ends of the world's loneliest roads and subsisting off the rugged Alaskan bush, they battle whiteout snow storms, man-eating carnivores, questionable frozen terrain, and limited resources through a long and bitter winter. Some of them are lone wolves; others have their families beside them. All must overcome despairing odds to brave the wild and survive through to the spring.

I am fascinated by the people who choose to live this type of life.  My objection, though, was there were too many commercials.  That’s why I only watched a couple of the shows and then I switched over to the SyFy series Being Human.  

All three seasons are currently available on Demand.
A few years ago I watched the entire BBC version.  The story line for the American version is following the BBC one pretty closely.  Since I already know the plot, it is not as interesting.  So, I only watched two episodes.  I might go back to it.  

Then we watched the first episode of the new BBC series Atlantis.  It is pretty corny.  I am not invested. 

But with all of the televiewing I did today I managed to finish the scarf.  It's blocking now.  

Ross cooked our Thanksgivukkah day Salmon dinner.  It was pretty tasty.

 It was a quiet Thanksgiving Day for us today.  We didn’t visit with anyone.
Aunt Edie left us a Happy Thanksgiving message.
Jimmy, Jen, Derek and the kids, Anne and Domani had dinner at Ken’s.
It’s 10:00 and the end of this Thanksgiving day for me.  I’m tired.
Good-Night.

On The Morning of The Eve of The Day of Giving Thanks

Wednesday, November 27, 2013
The Day Before The Day Of Giving Thanks




Stormy








Like the mashed potatoes and gravy that will surely be on the table,  it seems that everyone starts to get all mushy and drippy the days leading up to the last week in November.  It is clearly obvious that on the eve of and particularly the day of the last Thursday of the month, like an overstuffed turkey, heart swelling sentiments cannot be contained.

It is generally requested, no, actually I believe it is mandatory, that one must be ready to share with those they are gathered among, if not a list, at least one thoughtful idea.

It’s so curious to me how serious and mindful individuals suddenly become.  Early on in the day, probably whilst still in the midst of a flushy homemade wine glow and then later on bloated by an obvious tryptophan induced stupor, sloppy introspective feelings are often revealed.

I know this post seems itchy and scratchy.  Frankly, I don’t get it.  Oh, I am sure there was a time when I did, get it I mean.  But then, like two week old left-overs, these last weeks of November have turned sour and bitter tasting to me.

Since I am old, I have gained experienceponentially wisdom, (yeah I made it up).  I recognize that I sometimes might be lucky enough to get the longer end of the wish-bone.  But, wishes, like gratitude, can not change seemingly random but excruciatingly painful circumstances of life.   A life, which I undoubtedly and apparently, have no control over.

I miss my father, Romeo, who spent his last Thanksgiving trying to be hospitable to his sisters who brought him a full turkey dinner which he could not eat.  He died a few days later.

I miss my mother, Priscilla, who asked me the week before, if she would be here to share a meal with us.  She died two days before Thanksgiving.

I painfully, so painfully, miss my son Joe.  He tried to please us all by attempting to eat a few bites of his dinner to prove that he was trying hard to stay with us because he promised, “We still have time.”  He died on December 5, only a few days after that Thanksgiving.

One of the last times I spent with my brother Adam, he was “scared”.  “Bad things happen at Thanksgiving,” he said.   He died last Wednesday.

Today, on this morning of the eve of The Giving of Thanks day, it is dreary.
My senses are dulled by the warm blustery, gusty wind, the dullness of the gray skies, and the steady driving rain.

But that like the storm and the lady caught in the rain walking her dog (who sometimes won’t walk so she has to bring along his stroller),  there is movement.  And with movement comes change.









I, as a wizened old lady, know that I can’t change what was.  Today, on this day of the eve of Thanksgiving, I am sad.  I will cry and sob like a new born baby for my dad, my mom, my son and my brother.

How Cold Is It Going To Get? Stay Tuned...

November 24, 2013
Sunday
It’s about 7:00 A.M.

I was amused last night watching the 10:00 news.   I guess marketing studies show that viewers will hang on through the “news” reports of shootings, fires, or the ridiculousness of the latest outrageous politician’s antics to find out what tomorrow’s weather is going to be.
I love how they tease the weather at the beginning of the broadcast.
“It’s going to get cold, folks.  So prepare to bundle up.”
“How cold is it going to get?”
"Stay tuned for that and more later on in the broadcast.”

Why? Why do I have to wait until later on in the broadcast?  Why can’t you tell me now?

Okay I admit it.  My ears perk up when I hear Sam Champion’s voice.  I will look up from my knitting to catch a glimpse of the weather map with the various swirling color coded areas indicating low/high/steady pressure systems and cold/warm/stormy fronts.
None of it really makes any sense to me.
Ross takes a quick glance at the map and with his apparently acquired amateur meteorologist’s knowledge, seems to understand the darn things.
He’ll say, “See? That dot right there?  That’s us. It’s raining.”

 If I wanted to,  I can always instantaneously find out the weather.  No, not by tuning into the weather channel.  Because the weather channel teases the weather too.  We have to endure the horror stories of  extreme weather events before we get our local weather on the eights.
What does "on the eights" mean anyway?

And no I don’t mean by checking the weather.com app on my phone.   Although, that is probably the most concise way,  it doesn’t always seem to be the most accurate.

I can do what I did this morning.  First, I looked out of my window. Next I stepped out of my door.  When I had to  pull my robe a little tighter around me and my hair was blowing I knew that it was cold and windy.

Then I looked at my great big thermometer and guess what?  I was right.  It's a cold day today, folks!


By the way, it is the end of November and we are in the North Eastern part of the country.  So, why do the weather forecasters get all euphoric when the wind blows?

I Love You Jimmy Blackberry

November 23, 2013
Eight O'Clock A.M.

I have been faithfully participating in NaBloPoMo  (National Blog Posting Month) for November.  That means I have been attempting to post each day in November.
Well, I almost made it.  I didn’t post yesterday.   
It’s tough to be able to think of something to write everyday.
To fill a blank screen, I could have blathered on and on.  But, then all I would have wound up with is a bunch of  gobbledygook.  And even I wouldn’t want to read that.  
Instead of writing I could have just posted a photo or two, but that doesn’t require any effort and I wouldn’t feel that I really participating.
So, my journey with NaBloPoMo ends here.  I will go back to posting whenever I get the unstoppable urge to blow a kiss into the blogosphere. 

Dear Son,
I woke up this morning thinking of you.  It’s going to be a beautiful day.  Sunny and warm.  I was a little worried when I didn’t hear from you last night.  Always, at around about 8:30 each night, I have come to expect your call. 
It’s funny, because you have had a couple of different phones and phone numbers during the past 6 months, I have you listed in my contacts more than once.   So, in order to distinguish between the different numbers, I have associated your various phone numbers with different names.
The phone you most often use to call me is your Blackberry. 
I have my answering machine set to  “Talking Caller ID”.   When the phone rings,  I wait for the computerized voice to announce “Call… from… Jim…Me… Black…berry.”  
I missed hearing that last night.
I know you were anxious about today.  I am proud of you for taking this step.  My heart is filled with hope for you because I know how much this means to you.
This morning, at 5:30, I had thoughts of jumping in the car to go with you.  
Even though it goes against my maternal grain,  deep down inside I know that this is something you have to do on your own.  I will worry about you, I can’t help myself.  But I know you’ll be okay.  After all you have the two most important motivators in the world.  Keep those two little guys close to your heart.   They may not understand right now, but someday soon they will.
I will keep you close to my heart.  
Grandma Ciaf passed away four years ago today.  She held you close in her heart and I have a feeling she is watching out for you too. 
Thank you for calling me this morning, Jimmy Blackberry.  I love you. 

Lollygagging The Day Away

I have decided to participate in the National Blog Post Month for November.  That means I am going to be posting each day in November.

November 21, 2013

















I lingered in bed and muddled through the morning.   I lollygagged away the afternoon and I never got around to changing out of the clothes I wore to bed last night.   Now I am vegging out in front of the TV.
I appreciate and savor the quiet and peaceful days like the one I had today.  

On November 19 Oxford dictionary announced the word of the year:

Selfie

Partying Like Jessie Pinkman

I have decided to participate in the National Blog Post Month for November.  That means I am going to be posting each day in November

November 20, 2013

Most of the years that my brother was a part of my life, I believed that his life’s story was a sad and tragic one.   
In my reflections about him though, I have come to understand that because of his eccentricity it became a necessity that he learn how to survive in a world which was just not quite the right fit for someone like him.
Sometimes I think he genuinely thought that he wanted a “normal” life, like the ones we all had.  I suppose by that he meant a mate, a couple of kids, a dog, a house and well, everything short of the white picket fence.
I’m sure I only know a fraction of the reality of what was Adam’s normal.  I suspect that the blowout that was his life was so much of a seductive addiction that it was one which he would not and eventually could not free himself of. 
He would periodically drift in and out of our lives.  I have to say that I was ashamed and frankly embarrassed by him.  I admit that I was even afraid of him.  I couldn’t imagine how he could live where he lived, and do the things he did.
In May of this year, we were notified that he was hospitalized and in a coma.  We, his family, who had given up on him, suddenly came together to gather around his bedside.
He miraculously recovered and we, his family, began to forgive, heal and forget. 
One day, a couple of months ago, Ross and I took him out for lunch.  He was not very steady on his feet, but he was anxious to go.   When he stepped out into the sunlight he took a deep breath as he so obviously savored the freshness of the cool air. 
He wanted to go into the neighborhood that he once called home, his old stomping grounds. 
He picked the place, a stark no frills Chinese eatery.  The front door was propped open and we had a view of the pedestrian street traffic.  As we sat on plastic chairs and ate our egg rolls off of paper plates,  every once in a while, someone would stop and sit down on the front stoop of the restaurant.  Adam kept looking at those walking by, apparently trying to see if he recognized any of them.  
He said that he must have been away too long because he didn’t spot anyone he knew.
He pointed down the street and told me that he lived in a building not too far from where we were.  He recalled how his place was the party house.  He talked about the time the party went non-stop twenty-four seven for a whole week.   His description reminded me of a scene from Breaking Bad and Jessie’s blacked out pad. 
To tell you the truth I was curious.  I wondered what that must have been like.  Although I knew that I would never have an experience like that, especially not me,  I tried to imagine how it would feel to lose myself in a hazy stupor for a whole week.  
And for the first time in our lives, for a brief minute I mentally changed places with my brother, something I could never picture myself doing.  

My brother, Adam, passed away today at 2:00 a.m.  He lived for 53 years and three months. We, his family, are very sad.  

He Hears Us I Just Know He Does

I have decided to participate in the National Blog Post Month for November.  That means I am going to be posting each day in November.

November 19, 2013

This morning I spent time with my grandson whose life is bright and new   I cuddled and held him and stroked his soft, sweet smelling head. 
I rocked him and softly hummed a song with no words until he closed his eyes and fell into a peaceful sleep. 

This afternoon I visited with my brother Adam, who is no longer able to communicate.    
I wonder if my brother feels pain.  Luke, the nurse who was taking care of Adam assured us that he, Luke, would be able to tell if Adam was uncomfortable in any way.   I suppose I have to trust that Luke, who has had much experience with terminal, end of life patients would indeed be able to tell if Adam was in pain and would compassionately care for him by administering the proper medications as needed. 
I spoke with Adam’s hospice doctor today.  I asked if Adam would ever come out of his unresponsive state.  She shook her head and quietly said no.  
I was once told that a person’s hearing is the last sense to go and that when someone is in a coma their loved ones should talk to them because they could hear what is being said. 
I wondered out loud if that was truly the case.  The doctor said no, that Adam could not hear us.   
I believe, though, that the doctor who has had much experience with patients who are at the end of their life, was not listening or hearing what I was asking.  Perhaps what she meant to say was that Adam could not totally process what he was hearing. 
After the doctor left the room, I knelt down by the side of my brother’s bed.  When I said his name, he opened his eyes. I touched his shoulder and he scrunched his face in a grimace.  I think his skin hurts.  
I stroked his forehead and told him to close his eyes and rest. And he did. 

No I don’t believe that anyone, even the so called experts, truly knows what it feels like to be in the final hazy, hushed and silent hours of life. 

Life…
This morning I felt the wriggling warmth of new life in my arms.  
This afternoon, I felt the pain filled struggle of a fading life. 

Try A Little Tenderness

I have decided to participate in the National Blog Post Month for November.  That means I am going to be posting each day in November.

November 18, 2013 
A Bright Blue Sunny Day 

Photo taken at 2:30 this afternoon

Rising Moon Through The Pines

Temperature at 11:00 p.m.

Harvest Moon at 11:00 p.m.

 Under The Full Moon

My brother’s health continues to decline.  He is now under the care of hospice.  
The last time I visited with him was one of the most upsetting and emotional moments of my life.  
This was about two weeks ago.  He had been brought back to the hospital yet once again and was being cared for in the ICU. 
On our way to the hospital I remembered that he would be breathing with the help of a respirator.  But,  I was not prepared for the condition he was in.  There were tubes, wires and IV’s.  
When we walked into the room his eyes were open, however he appeared to be in an awake trance.  He just stared straight ahead.  I called his name and asked him to blink if he knew that I was there.  And he did.  
The nurse came in shortly after I got there.  She began the complex routine of the maintenance of his care.  I instinctively knew that if I were in that condition, I would want my privacy.   I would also definitely not want my brother to be in the room while the nurse attended to the most personal of my care.   
So, even though the nurse insisted that it would not be a problem if I stayed in the room, I knew that my brother would probably be more comfortable if I stepped out of the room until the nurse was finished. 
As I waited out in the hallway, I thought about the nurse’s casual attitude.   I had to remind myself that this was her job, a job that she does day in and day out and one that she is specially trained for.  
But I wondered if part of a medical worker’s curriculum should be the valuable lessons of  sensitivity regarding the dignity of the patient and awareness of the feelings of the family.  I also believe that these lessons should be continually reinforced.
While I understand that it would be impossible for a professional caregiver to continue to treat their patients if they became emotional about every patient, I also believe that it would add an important layer to the level of care they administer if they kept in mind that  the person helplessly lying in that hospital bed is someone's  husband, or brother or son and most importantly a treasured loved one.  
Tonight, my visit with my brother was not nearly as upsetting as that day a few weeks ago.     When I walked into the room I saw my brother, his eyes closed, comfortably sleeping.  There were no tubes, wires or machines. He was being treated with comfort medicines. 
Except for the sound of his breathing, the room was quiet and he seemed peaceful.   
When I called his name,  he opened his eyes for a brief second and I knew that he knew I was there.  

Happy 80th Birthday To My Uncle Bobby

I have decided to participate in the National Blog Post Month for November.  That means I am going to be posting each day in November.

November 17, 2013

We attended a party last night for my Uncle Bobby.  He will be celebrating his 80th birthday on November 20.  
My grandparents were born in Italy and immigrated to America when they were young adults.  When they arrived they reunited with their large extended family of first, second and third cousins. 
They had ten children, five boys and five girls.  Bobby was the youngest of the five boys. 
I was his first niece and he was only fourteen when I was born.  
We frequently visited my grandparents’ house and he was the fun young uncle.  He let me drive his ’55 Chevy well before I was eligible for a driver’s license. 
At one point last night, the guests were asked if they wanted to share a special memory or story about Bobby.  I do have many memories of time spent with my uncle, but I didn’t have any one specific tale to relate.  
The thing about Uncle bobby is he was and still is the story teller.  He always has one.  He was a traveling salesman, gregarious, and has met many people over the years.
He also fancies himself to be the family historian.  
And that is really the nature of my Uncle.  It is endearingly obvious that family is most important to him.   He jokes with all of his nieces and nephews, and there are thirty of us, that each one of us are his favorite.   What is truly amazing is that we each probably secretly believe that we are the one, his favorite. 
At the start of the evening, as he made his way around the room full of about 100 guests,  he spotted me.  We greeted each other and I noticed that he had a quizzical look on his face.  He said that he wanted to ask or tell me something, but he couldn’t remember what it was.  
When we were getting to leave, I went up to him for a final chat.  We said good-night and I as I turned towards the door, he touched my arm and told me that he remembered what he wanted to ask me.
“How’s the family?”  He asked.  “Is everyone doing okay?”
My uncle’s little granddaughter said in a few brief words what best describes the essence of my uncle.  When asked why she thought Poppa was special, she replied,“Because he loves us and takes good care of us.”

I Made Easy Fingerless Mitts and I Moved a Heavy Old Victrola

I have decided to participate in the National Blog Post Month for November.  That means I am going to be posting each day in November.

November 16, 2013 
A dreary rainy morning,  These photos were taken at around eight.

I'm getting an early start on today's post.  No late fees for me.

Since I've been feverishly and obsessively knitting lately, I have accumulated quite a number of  completed projects.  Last week I asked Dolores if she would take two shopping bags filled with scarves, hats, shawls and mittens to her church for a donation.   
When I saw her on Tuesday, she apologized to me.  She told me that she never got to take them to the church.  I told her it was okay, and that whenever she could get there would be fine.
But, then she told me that she had been showing her daughter,  who is my cousin, the stuff I had made.  Apparently my cousin and her children loved the items.  And they actually wanted to keep them and wear them.  Wow!
If you are not a crafter, you might not understand how thrilled we are when our work is desired and appreciated.  
Needless to say, it made me smile and brightened my day.  And that particular day, let me tell you, I needed a pick-me-up.

Recently, I have discovered how easy it is to make fingerless mittens.  They have become my newest obsession.  They require very little yarn and work up almost instantly.  And I don't even mind that once I have completed one, I have to make a matching one.

The pattern I found is from Staci at Very Pink.com.  Her website, her patterns and especially her video tutorials are exceptional.  Even though I have been knitting for a while now, I still consider myself a novice.  Staci has videos on a wide range of techniques which are geared to various expertise levels.  Her explanations and demonstrations are clear and easy to follow. 
Her pattern designs are available for download and she offers a number of freebies.  What I like about her patterns is that there is usually a video tutorial to go along with the pattern.

These are the two pair of fingerless mitts I made a couple of days ago.

The yarn is Cascade 220 DK weight 100% wool.  I had a small bit of left overs from other projects. 
Staci's pattern is called "Easy Fingerless Mitts".  The pattern with accompanying video can be found here.  Thanks Staci! 

After completing those, I decided to try a more challenging pattern, one with a thumb gusset. 

Gray yarn is Cascade 220.  The tan is Mission Falls Marino Superwash

The pattern is called "Old School Fingerless Mittens."  It was written by Cassie Clarke.  The pattern is a free download and can be found on Ravelry here or on her website here.  

NOTE: I did find an error right in the beginning.  
The ribbing directions read: 

Heavy Old Victrola

Row 1- k2 p2; Row- 2 p2 k2

It should read Row 1- k2 p2; Row - 2 k2 p2.

Right now I am at the thumb gusset part and after finishing this post I am going to find a quiet corner where I can concentrate.  

Yesterday, in the middle of my knitting, I had an overwhelming desire to re-arrange my living room.  And so I did.  I moved a sofa, a heavy old Victrola two chairs and a table.  
After I finished,  and quite out of breath, I sunk down in my newly positioned sofa, looked around and said Ahh.  

My Guardian Angel Lives in My Smoke Detector

I have decided to participate in the National Blog Post Month for November.  That means I am going to be posting each day in November.

My November 15, 2013 entry for NaBloPoMo is a little late.  That means I have to double up today, right?   You can do that can't you?  I'm pretty sure I didn't sign a contract or an agreement.  At least I don't think I did.  I know that I am pretty lax about those agreement things that pop up when you are signing up for stuff.  I never read them because I just want to get on with it. 

If I would have complied with my no-contract contract or my "oops I probably unknowingly signed it" non-agreement, my post, (I know, I know it should have been submitted yesterday) would have had words and photos.  For real. 

Anyway back to November 15, 2013
Photos looking out  from the front of my house.
It's about four something in the evening. 

 The sun looks like a fireball crashing into the trees in this one.

Lou's Electric's electricians, Chris and Matt had to come out again today.  This is the third time in almost as many days.  Originally we called them to replace our smoke detectors.  Since we were paying for the whole hour, and since they finished installing the smokes in half that time, Ross asked them to check out a few other things.  We have been having an issue with our kitchen lights.  They would only work properly sporadically.
So Chris or Matt found a "bad" outlet.  He/they told us the wires had come loose.  So they tightened the wires.  They suggested that outlets that we use to plug our vacuums in get the most abuse because most people tend to yank the cord out of the outlet.
When they left the lights worked.
The next morning, I went to turn the lights on, no lights.
When they came yesterday they decided to check out another outlet and found this:

Pretty scary, huh?  So was it fortuitous that our smoke detectors were non-stop chirping and that we therefore absolutely had to call Lou's Electric?  Or was it someone else, an intervention of perhaps the guardian angel sort, looking out for us, making sure we would be safe?

So onward and upward.  I am getting back on the NaBloPoMo wagon and riding it til the end.

OO-RAH!

Finding Your Color Through Therapy

I have decided to participate in the National Blog Post Month for November.  That means I am going to be posting each day in November.

November 14, 2013
Photos taken at around four pm.

















Today I had one of the best therapy sessions I’ve ever had.  I almost didn’t go.  I had an upset stomach and I didn’t feel like leaving the house.  But I had an appointment and I am not one to cancel at the last minute.

While I sat in the waiting area, I again had second thoughts about whether I was feeling well enough to be able to get through the next hour.  I practiced my controlled breathing and soon lost myself in a meditative state.  Okay it wasn’t exactly a meditation, it was more like trying to clear all the jellies so that I could move up to the next level in my Candy Crush game. 
I was so engrossed that I didn’t hear my name being called.  I think it was the third attempt to get my attention before I  came out of my reverie. 

So as I sat across from Judy, she asked how I was.  I grunted, grimaced, shrugged my shoulders and said “eh.” 

“What’s going on?” She said.

To tell you the truth, I didn’t much feel like talking.   I tried to avoid the question by asking her how her recent get-a-way vacation was. 

After a few more minutes of small talk, in a firmer voice, she once again asked me how I was doing, how I was really doing. 

So I gave in told her all about “what was going on”.   She made the appropriate hmmm’s, ahh’s and I understands.

Judy has a way of making me feel comfortable.   I trust her judgement.  I think that’s because she has confided in me that she has been through similar situations.  

She has the ability to lead me down a path that I hadn’t thought of taking.  She had some really good suggestions today on how I could make the next couple of weeks more bearable. 

The hour went by quickly.  My stomach felt better, and in fact I was actually hungry. 

Yes Judy is the best therapist I have ever had and a pretty good manicurist also.

A Gift and Deep Dish Pizza

I have decided to participate in the National Blog Post Month for November.  That means I am going to be posting each day in November.

As part of my commitment to NaBloPoMo this month,  I am also entering all of my posts on the BlogHer web site.   My posts on there are not getting much attention.  I have only had a couple of visits on each post.  Perhaps my topics are not controversial enough.  Perhaps I don’t fit into the desired demographics.  Oh my, I sound like I have a bad case of sour grapes.  But I am not discouraged and I will continue to persevere.

November 13, 2013 - The photos were taken about four something this evening after Ross and I came back from our 20-30 minute walk. 

It was pretty chilly today.  The temperature this morning at 7:00 was 26 degrees Fahrenheit.  The wind chill brought the temp down to 18 degrees.

I have a special occasion to attend this Saturday.  It’s the type of event which requires a gift.  I was going to go with the standard all purpose gift card but since the honoree of the party is quite special to me, I wished I could think of something more thoughtful and personal.   I came up with an idea late this morning that I think would be perfect. But, since it is last minute, and only a few days before the day of the affair, I’m not sure I will have enough time to pull it off.  I am already having second thoughts and might have to go back to my original, not so original idea of the gift card.

While I am writing this, I am watching Jon Stewart.  He is on a rant about Chicago style pizza, stuffed pizza, or deep dish pizza.   He’s very funny.  I love when he goes into his Brooklyn, New York accent.

From the website Eater.com:

In honor of New York City's One World Trade Center being named the tallest building in the U.S., besting Chicago's Willis Tower, Jon Stewart fueled NYC-Chicago rivalry with an epic rant against Chicago's deep dish pizza. "When I look at your deep dish f*ckin' pizza, I don't know whether to eat it or throw a coin in it and make a wish," Stewart says. "And if I made a wish, it would be that I'd wish for some real f*ckin' pizza."Stewart — who has ranted about poor pizza choices before — claims deep dish is not even pizza but "a f*ckin' casserole" and just tears into every aspect of Chicago deep dish, from the sauce being on top "on display like some sort of sauce whore" to the extra thick crust. He suggests that since it gets so cold in Chicago, maybe a thick pizza is needed so folks can "cut it open and climb inside of it like a Tauntaun to keep warm." "This is not pizza," Stewart rants. "This is tomato soup in a bread bowl. This is an above ground marinara swimming pool for rats." He gets a few digs in at the Chicago dog, too. Go, watch: