Thank you friends for making yesterday the best ever for Praying for Eyebrowz. I realize compared to many of you my numbers were still paltry, but for me they were a big deal.
Prior to yesterday my greatest number of views was 119 set in January.
Yesterday I hit 134 views. I might have done a happy dance.
I did a great deal of original blogging yesterday. My thinker was fully engaged. Plus, I reblogged some great pieces written by bloggers I follow. When Studly Doright asked how I’d spent my day I told him I’d theorized and plagiarized. (I don’t think reblogging counts as plagiarism, especially since I always credit the author.)
Finally my favorite of the stats is this one:
I really enjoy seeing where my posts have been read. It’s almost as if I’ve traveled to Turkey, handed my writing to a beautiful person sitting in a cafe and said, “Friend, tell me what you think.”
Then we laugh over our boza and bask in the warmth of the Turkish sun.
May your day be the best ever.
Praying for Eyebrowz Copyright 2015 by Leslie Noyes.
turkey on wheat bread
cornbread dressing stuffed bacon
cold pie for breakfast
some foods get better
on the second time around;
Studly Doright isn’t a big fan of leftovers except when it comes to turkey and dressing and pecan pie. The man loves cornbread dressing and won’t cease eating until he’s scraped the pan clean. It’s embarrasingly endearing.
I can’t say that I’m any better. After having three generous pieces of pecan pie yesterday I might be the first person in history to have overdosed on the gooey dessert. My stomach spoke to me in angry tones all night long in a way that was anything but endearing, yet quite embarrassing.
It seems that leftovers, like everything except possibly hundred dollar bills, are best enjoyed in moderation.
My mom was a kitchen perfectionist. She had precise ideas as to how most things had to be done, and I never quite was able to live up to those ideals. I never stirred correctly, never measured properly, never quite made anything to Mom’s specifications. I’ve always blamed her for my not learning to be a better cook, but truthfully I never enjoyed kitchen tasks.
Every year as Thanksgiving nears I wish I’d paid more attention to Mom’s directives. Even though I’ve now successfully prepared two dozen or more holiday dinners on my own I still have at least one hiccup in the preparation stage every single time. One year I almost forgot to buy a turkey. Another year I accidentally prepared sweet cornbread as the base for my cornbread dressing. That’s a definite no-no! No amount of sage or pepper could counterract the sweetness. There’s no telling what will happen this year. You see, I’m a bit of an imperfectionist.
On Thanksgiving morning I can always imagine my mom looking down from her perch in heaven shaking her head and saying, “Oh, sis, not like that!” But she’s also probably beaming in amazement that I manage to pull the whole thing off, and that so far no one’s been rushed to the emergency room after one of my meals.
Studly Doright and I wish each of you a Happy Thanksgiving. May your heart be filled with love and gratitude and your belly filled with good food.
Yes, I’m still cooking for Studly Doright. For those of you not in the loop here’s a brief recap:
1. I’m not a good cook.
2. I’m unemployed.
3. Studly Doright, my husband of 39 years suggested that I need not seek employment IF I began cooking our evening meals.
4. I agreed.
The quality of my cooking is like a roller coaster with big highs and stomach emptying lows. Recently I’ve relied a great deal on Marie Calender and Stouffer’s for our entrees, with Digiorno’s pizzas thrown in on occasion. And while those will never qualify as haute cuisine, at least they’re always edible. Mine cannot always make that claim.
Then last night, out of the clear blue Florida sky, Studly decided he wanted a full-blown holiday-type meal: turkey, cornbread dressing, cranberry sauce, fruit salad, rolls, etc., on a week night. That’s just sacrilege! Illogical!
But of course I’m slaving away today making Studly Doright a holiday meal. Dammit. I wouldn’t mind it so much if there was a present with my name on it under a tree. Any tree.