Steven Harper's Blog, page 21
January 1, 2023
End of the Holidays 2022
Yule, Christmas, and New Year's were quiet this year, thanks to Covid. Although both Darwin and I were cleared of the virus before January 31, neither of us felt like making an effort at this point, so New Year's Eve was just the two of us at home. We nibbled on lots of snacks (including cheesecake with homemade cherry topping), watched NO TIME TO DIE, and smooched it up at midnight. It was nicely quiet.
Today, New Year's Day, was Undecorate Day. I always insist on putting everything away on New Year's Day because everyone has the day off and we're all usually tired of the decorations by then anyway. I put on anti-Christmas music (Lady Gaga, THE GREATEST SHOW, Fallout Boy) and we set to work. Darwin grumbled that it was going to take forever, but we've scaled way back in our decorating and putting it all away took less than an hour.
And the new year has arrived!
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Today, New Year's Day, was Undecorate Day. I always insist on putting everything away on New Year's Day because everyone has the day off and we're all usually tired of the decorations by then anyway. I put on anti-Christmas music (Lady Gaga, THE GREATEST SHOW, Fallout Boy) and we set to work. Darwin grumbled that it was going to take forever, but we've scaled way back in our decorating and putting it all away took less than an hour.
And the new year has arrived!
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December 26, 2022
The Covid Diaries 5: Free!
This morning Darwin and I took home tests and they came back negative. We're covid-free!
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December 23, 2022
The Covid Diaries 4: Pax!
By Wednesday evening, we still hadn't gotten the PCR test results, so no Paxlovid. I tried calling the lab, and stayed on hold for half an hour, and then the lab's system hung up. And remember, the clinic doctor had said we couldn't get Paxlovid without a positive PCR test. We'd gotten messages from our pharmacy that they were waiting for final authorization to release the drug to us, too.
But then I mentioned the problem to my family over text, and they expressed surprise. There's no reg that you need a positive PCR test to get Paxlovid.
The hell?
I drove down to the pharmacy, asked for the meds, and the pharmacist handed it over, no question. So either the doctor was stupid, or he misspoke. Take your pick.
We started with the drugs right away. Whooo! A common side-effect is a bitter taste in your mouth, and boy, did we both get that. And it happens even if you've lost taste and smell, like we both have. We chewed gum and drank sweet drinks and brushed our teeth a =lot=.
Thursday morning, I felt way, way better, and today (Friday), I'm better still. I tire easily, and have to be careful not to overdo, but I barely know I'm sick. Darwin improved even faster. He was two days behind me, and was a ball of misery on Wednesday, but by Thursday afternoon, he was feeling pretty good. So the bitter taste is totally worth it.
If you get sick, call your doctor and get Paxlovid, folks. It's the best!
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But then I mentioned the problem to my family over text, and they expressed surprise. There's no reg that you need a positive PCR test to get Paxlovid.
The hell?
I drove down to the pharmacy, asked for the meds, and the pharmacist handed it over, no question. So either the doctor was stupid, or he misspoke. Take your pick.
We started with the drugs right away. Whooo! A common side-effect is a bitter taste in your mouth, and boy, did we both get that. And it happens even if you've lost taste and smell, like we both have. We chewed gum and drank sweet drinks and brushed our teeth a =lot=.
Thursday morning, I felt way, way better, and today (Friday), I'm better still. I tire easily, and have to be careful not to overdo, but I barely know I'm sick. Darwin improved even faster. He was two days behind me, and was a ball of misery on Wednesday, but by Thursday afternoon, he was feeling pretty good. So the bitter taste is totally worth it.
If you get sick, call your doctor and get Paxlovid, folks. It's the best!
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The Covid Diaries 3: Smell
Wednesday morning, I noticed I'd completely lost my sense of smell. I tested with a bunch of stuff--ranch dressing, hot mustard, sriracha, peanut butter, vinegar. Nothing. It was like smelling empty air. And, of course, I could taste almost nothing. A PB&J sandwich had a slight sweetness to it, but otherwise it was no different from eating a slice of ham or some mac and cheese. I even baked a loaf of bread in the bread maker. Not a thing. Darwin couldn't smell it, either.
I did some research and learned that olfactory loss can go on for anywhere from two weeks to eighteen months, with two to three months being common. Holy crap!
Given all the other medical outrages done to my body, and given that these problems have sent me into anxiety spirals so bad I need therapy and anti-depressants, I thought for sure that I would be completely freaking out over this new loss.
Nope. Nothing. No anxiety, no freaking, no panic. Nothing. How about that?
I didn't =like= the loss, but I seemed to be filing it under, "Annoyances: Small."
Why was this? I gave it a great deal of thought and came to the conclusion that the other problems were caused by other people. They had done things to me that caused me pain, humiliation, and anxiety, either through their own carelessness, callousness, or malice.
Losing my sense of smell to covid, on the other hand, had no human agency. It's a virus. No one DID anything to me. It's just a symptom of illness. So no reason to get upset.
An interesting facet of my own psychology.
Meanwhile, my sister Bethany mentioned to me that a friend of hers tried some exercises when she lost her sense of smell due to covid. Every time the friend ate something, she concentrated on what it was supposed to smell and taste like. She also regularly sniffed various foods and concentrated on how they should smell. The idea was to retrain or reactivate neural pathways.
I thought, what the heck, right? May as well try. I decided to try with ranch dressing, sriracha, and Italian dressing, all pungent and evocative.
Nothing. And it's such a weird sensation! You crack open a bottle and you're used to identifying the contents instantly by smell. Now it was like the containers were empty. I squeezed the bottles to puff air up my nose. Nope, nothing.
Still, I did this at least twice an hour and also every time I ate, thinking about what I was supposed to smell and inhaling hard.
Thursday evening, I grabbed the bottle of ranch and . . . was that a whiff? It was! Madly I puffed the bottle at my nose, inhaling like a coke addict. It was there--a tiny hint of ranch spices. Encouraged, I tried the sriracha and the Italian. Also tiny, tiny bits. Cool!
I kept this up all day Friday, and noticed the scents were getting stronger for me. Then Darwin peeled a tangerine, and I realized I could smell it from a yard away. I peeled one myself, and got good smell results. Yes!
Right now, I think I'm at about 60-70% of full, and it's only been a couple days. If you've lost your sense of smell because of covid, try this method. It might help!
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I did some research and learned that olfactory loss can go on for anywhere from two weeks to eighteen months, with two to three months being common. Holy crap!
Given all the other medical outrages done to my body, and given that these problems have sent me into anxiety spirals so bad I need therapy and anti-depressants, I thought for sure that I would be completely freaking out over this new loss.
Nope. Nothing. No anxiety, no freaking, no panic. Nothing. How about that?
I didn't =like= the loss, but I seemed to be filing it under, "Annoyances: Small."
Why was this? I gave it a great deal of thought and came to the conclusion that the other problems were caused by other people. They had done things to me that caused me pain, humiliation, and anxiety, either through their own carelessness, callousness, or malice.
Losing my sense of smell to covid, on the other hand, had no human agency. It's a virus. No one DID anything to me. It's just a symptom of illness. So no reason to get upset.
An interesting facet of my own psychology.
Meanwhile, my sister Bethany mentioned to me that a friend of hers tried some exercises when she lost her sense of smell due to covid. Every time the friend ate something, she concentrated on what it was supposed to smell and taste like. She also regularly sniffed various foods and concentrated on how they should smell. The idea was to retrain or reactivate neural pathways.
I thought, what the heck, right? May as well try. I decided to try with ranch dressing, sriracha, and Italian dressing, all pungent and evocative.
Nothing. And it's such a weird sensation! You crack open a bottle and you're used to identifying the contents instantly by smell. Now it was like the containers were empty. I squeezed the bottles to puff air up my nose. Nope, nothing.
Still, I did this at least twice an hour and also every time I ate, thinking about what I was supposed to smell and inhaling hard.
Thursday evening, I grabbed the bottle of ranch and . . . was that a whiff? It was! Madly I puffed the bottle at my nose, inhaling like a coke addict. It was there--a tiny hint of ranch spices. Encouraged, I tried the sriracha and the Italian. Also tiny, tiny bits. Cool!
I kept this up all day Friday, and noticed the scents were getting stronger for me. Then Darwin peeled a tangerine, and I realized I could smell it from a yard away. I peeled one myself, and got good smell results. Yes!
Right now, I think I'm at about 60-70% of full, and it's only been a couple days. If you've lost your sense of smell because of covid, try this method. It might help!
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The Covid Diaries 2: The Flattening
Monday I was feeling fairly gross. Darwin was in better shape. We drove down to the clinic, and called in. We were put through to the doctor, who asked if we wanted a Paxlovid scrip if we were positive, we said definitely did. The doctor also told us that we'd need the positive results before the pharmacy would give us scrips.
We waited in the car until a Very Nice Man came out, administered the tests, and told us to watch our emails for the results.
Back home, I was getting more and more miserable. Terrible malaise. Extreme fatigue. Aches. I was downing ibuprofen and DayQuil. I spent the day half-asleep on the couch, occasionally watching TV.
The next day, we waited for the results so we could get the Paxlovid, but the email didn't come. I was starting to feel better, but Darwin was in a bad way. He could barely sit up. I took to checking his blood oxygen levels every hour. Fortunately, they stayed above 95.
Meanwhile, I was half-panicking over my teaching. My seniors are working their way through HAMLET, and it's something that a substitute can't really help them with. But I was going to be out for the entire week before break, and when we get back, we'll only have a few days before exams. I can't give them other work and still expect to get through HAMLET by the end of the semester. So I ended up telling them to keep working on the play on their own as best they could and I'll have to deal with problems when I get back. My freshmen I set to watching the movie OF MICE AND MEN as a review for exams, and my mythology class worked on a small project relating to the Hero's Journey.
I was actually cleared to go back to work on Thursday, the last day before break, but Darwin was still very sick on Wednesday evening and didn't want to be left alone. Additionally, I still tired easily and realized I'd probably be wiped out after only an hour or two at work, so I decided to call in. I've lost four precious sick days to this thing, and the district stopped giving us teachers special covid sick leave because the federal money ran out.
On the other hand, my winter break has been extended for a week.
Reluctantly, we called off our holiday celebration--again. This is the third year in a row we've canceled due to covid. But Darwin will still be contagious by Christmas Day, and we have too many people who really, really can't afford to be exposed, especially to a variant that can elude the vaccine, as this one has.
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We waited in the car until a Very Nice Man came out, administered the tests, and told us to watch our emails for the results.
Back home, I was getting more and more miserable. Terrible malaise. Extreme fatigue. Aches. I was downing ibuprofen and DayQuil. I spent the day half-asleep on the couch, occasionally watching TV.
The next day, we waited for the results so we could get the Paxlovid, but the email didn't come. I was starting to feel better, but Darwin was in a bad way. He could barely sit up. I took to checking his blood oxygen levels every hour. Fortunately, they stayed above 95.
Meanwhile, I was half-panicking over my teaching. My seniors are working their way through HAMLET, and it's something that a substitute can't really help them with. But I was going to be out for the entire week before break, and when we get back, we'll only have a few days before exams. I can't give them other work and still expect to get through HAMLET by the end of the semester. So I ended up telling them to keep working on the play on their own as best they could and I'll have to deal with problems when I get back. My freshmen I set to watching the movie OF MICE AND MEN as a review for exams, and my mythology class worked on a small project relating to the Hero's Journey.
I was actually cleared to go back to work on Thursday, the last day before break, but Darwin was still very sick on Wednesday evening and didn't want to be left alone. Additionally, I still tired easily and realized I'd probably be wiped out after only an hour or two at work, so I decided to call in. I've lost four precious sick days to this thing, and the district stopped giving us teachers special covid sick leave because the federal money ran out.
On the other hand, my winter break has been extended for a week.
Reluctantly, we called off our holiday celebration--again. This is the third year in a row we've canceled due to covid. But Darwin will still be contagious by Christmas Day, and we have too many people who really, really can't afford to be exposed, especially to a variant that can elude the vaccine, as this one has.
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The Covid Diaries 1: The Onset
After three years of masking and avoiding and vaccinating and boosting, we finally got covid. Here's how it went down.
On Friday, I was on the treadmill and ... just not feeling it. I had to force myself to run faster than 4.5, and usually I'm at a 6 or 6.5. I cut the workout short, showered, and had supper. By late evening, it was clear Something Was Wrong. I felt tired and draggy and lethargic.
On Saturday morning, I felt worse. Achy, exhausted. No congestion, no fever. I took a home covid test. Negative. Okay, then. Must be a garden-variety thingie. By afternoon I felt worse still, and I took ANOTHER home covid test. Still negative. So I settled in for a weekend cold.
By Sunday afternoon, I was pretty miserable, and Darwin was also getting sick. He was, in fact, getting sick faster than I did. I remembered that I'd had all the booster shots and Darwin had only had one. Darwin felt so awful, he didn't even want to sit up.
I gave him a covid test. Positive.
Well, shit.
I gave myself a third test. Positive.
Uh oh...
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On Friday, I was on the treadmill and ... just not feeling it. I had to force myself to run faster than 4.5, and usually I'm at a 6 or 6.5. I cut the workout short, showered, and had supper. By late evening, it was clear Something Was Wrong. I felt tired and draggy and lethargic.
On Saturday morning, I felt worse. Achy, exhausted. No congestion, no fever. I took a home covid test. Negative. Okay, then. Must be a garden-variety thingie. By afternoon I felt worse still, and I took ANOTHER home covid test. Still negative. So I settled in for a weekend cold.
By Sunday afternoon, I was pretty miserable, and Darwin was also getting sick. He was, in fact, getting sick faster than I did. I remembered that I'd had all the booster shots and Darwin had only had one. Darwin felt so awful, he didn't even want to sit up.
I gave him a covid test. Positive.
Well, shit.
I gave myself a third test. Positive.
Uh oh...
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December 10, 2022
Yule Planning 2022
Today Darwin and I revved up the Yuletide season, the first one in our new house! I baked a pile of piragi for our family gathering next weekend (including ones filled with Nutella and ones filled with raspberry, as well as the traditional ham) and some banana bread just because I could. Then we put up the tree and strewed the living room with lights and decorations. Afterward, thanks to the magic of streaming, we decided to watch SANTA CLAUS IS COMING TO TOWN ("Put one foot in front of the other, and soon you are walkin' 'cross the floo-ooo-ooor!') and the George C. Scott version of A CHRISTMAS CAROL, which is the best one, in our opinion. It was a cozy day!
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December 4, 2022
Shoulder Surgery 24 (The Best Laid Plans)
Last week, I drove up to my new shoulder specialist for the latest. I'd just had an MRI, and we were consulting. The results of the MRI were already loaded to my patient portal and I'd untangled the medical jargon enough to understand that the tendon was still inflamed, which was probably why I was still in pain. My prediction, based on what the doctor had said last time, was that he'd give me a cortisone shot and this would reduce the inflammation enough to end the pain--hopefully for good.
The best laid plans...
I arrived at the clinic well before the appointment, checked in electronically through the patient portal app, and ... waited. And waited. A nurse finally brought me to an examination room, where I waited some more. They were way, way behind. I don't object to this, per se. I know unpredictable stuff happens. But it seems like if they get more than half an hour behind, there should be a way, in this day and age, to send out an automated alert to the rest of the patients that day to say there was no need to rush to the clinic.
At last Dr. P-- came in. He showed me the MRI images and confirmed that the tendon was inflamed. He said he couldn't predict when the problem would end, only that it probably would. Eventually. Some time. This heartening news was followed with, "I don't recommend cortisone. I don't think it'll help much, and it might do some damage." The inflammation, you see, isn't really inflammation; the operation made the tendon rework its own tissue into a different configuration that mimics inflammation. So no shot. Live with the pain.
He also said I need to return to physical therapy.
My shock and dismay must have registered on my face despite the covid mask because Dr. P-- hurried on to say that there were options. I didn't have to go into the PT clinic regularly--I could "just" do the exercises at home and visit the clinic every two or three weeks.
I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. I hadn't realized how much I'd been anticipating a completely different scenario, one that ended with the pain ending and the words, "Your shoulder will regain strength on its own now--no need for PT." Instead, I was getting the exact opposite--more PT, more time lost, more pain.
I sat rigidly upright to keep myself under control. A while later, my ankles started hurting, and I realized I had hooked them both around the chair legs so hard, I was practically bending the metal. I made them relax.
"What do I do about pain, then?" I asked. "I'm already taking Meloxicam and ibuprofen."
"You shouldn't take more ibuprofen if you're taking Meloxicam. They're both nsaids. Does the Meloxicam work?"
"I don't know. The pain isn't constant unless I move my arm in certain ways, so when the pain fades, I don't know if it's because it just decided to fade or because I took meds."
He had no other recommendations for pain. He also said that I really didn't need to see him anymore--there wasn't much he could do. The physical therapist would be better at handling stuff.
This idea I flatly rejected and said I needed at least a check by the doctor every few months until I was completely healed. I already knew that if I didn't make another appointment right after the current one and tried to call for one if/when I had serious trouble, it would take months and months. Better to have an appointment on the books already. Dr. P-- reluctantly agreed.
"How often should I be doing PT at home?" I pressed.
"Most days," he said.
I didn't bother to ask how long. The answer would only be some version of "fuck if I know." Back at reception, I made another appointment for March and marched out.
It was in the car where I lost it. It seems like I cry and scream in parking lots a great deal.
We're now approaching the one-year anniversary of the surgery. Two days ago, I started the home exercises again. Half an hour of exercises, fifteen minutes of stretches. Yesterday during the planking pushups, I had to stop in mid-push to fight off a wave of anger and frustration.
And now I'm back at it. Again.
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The best laid plans...
I arrived at the clinic well before the appointment, checked in electronically through the patient portal app, and ... waited. And waited. A nurse finally brought me to an examination room, where I waited some more. They were way, way behind. I don't object to this, per se. I know unpredictable stuff happens. But it seems like if they get more than half an hour behind, there should be a way, in this day and age, to send out an automated alert to the rest of the patients that day to say there was no need to rush to the clinic.
At last Dr. P-- came in. He showed me the MRI images and confirmed that the tendon was inflamed. He said he couldn't predict when the problem would end, only that it probably would. Eventually. Some time. This heartening news was followed with, "I don't recommend cortisone. I don't think it'll help much, and it might do some damage." The inflammation, you see, isn't really inflammation; the operation made the tendon rework its own tissue into a different configuration that mimics inflammation. So no shot. Live with the pain.
He also said I need to return to physical therapy.
My shock and dismay must have registered on my face despite the covid mask because Dr. P-- hurried on to say that there were options. I didn't have to go into the PT clinic regularly--I could "just" do the exercises at home and visit the clinic every two or three weeks.
I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. I hadn't realized how much I'd been anticipating a completely different scenario, one that ended with the pain ending and the words, "Your shoulder will regain strength on its own now--no need for PT." Instead, I was getting the exact opposite--more PT, more time lost, more pain.
I sat rigidly upright to keep myself under control. A while later, my ankles started hurting, and I realized I had hooked them both around the chair legs so hard, I was practically bending the metal. I made them relax.
"What do I do about pain, then?" I asked. "I'm already taking Meloxicam and ibuprofen."
"You shouldn't take more ibuprofen if you're taking Meloxicam. They're both nsaids. Does the Meloxicam work?"
"I don't know. The pain isn't constant unless I move my arm in certain ways, so when the pain fades, I don't know if it's because it just decided to fade or because I took meds."
He had no other recommendations for pain. He also said that I really didn't need to see him anymore--there wasn't much he could do. The physical therapist would be better at handling stuff.
This idea I flatly rejected and said I needed at least a check by the doctor every few months until I was completely healed. I already knew that if I didn't make another appointment right after the current one and tried to call for one if/when I had serious trouble, it would take months and months. Better to have an appointment on the books already. Dr. P-- reluctantly agreed.
"How often should I be doing PT at home?" I pressed.
"Most days," he said.
I didn't bother to ask how long. The answer would only be some version of "fuck if I know." Back at reception, I made another appointment for March and marched out.
It was in the car where I lost it. It seems like I cry and scream in parking lots a great deal.
We're now approaching the one-year anniversary of the surgery. Two days ago, I started the home exercises again. Half an hour of exercises, fifteen minutes of stretches. Yesterday during the planking pushups, I had to stop in mid-push to fight off a wave of anger and frustration.
And now I'm back at it. Again.
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Dual Thanksgivings
This post is a bit late, but whatchagonnado?
My brother Paul and his partner Becky wanted to have a Thanksgiving that combined our family and hers, and they suggested we all meet at Zehnder's Restaurant up in Frankenmuth. The rest of us were amenable, so off we went!
Frankenmuth is a tourist town in mid-Michigan. The town was deliberately designed with a fairy-tale Bavaria theme. Lots of gingerbread architecture, a water park, Bronner's (a mall-sized store that sells nothing but Christmas stuff), lots and lots of shops, and two major restaurants: the Bavarian Inn and Zehnder's. The latter is most well-known for its family-style chicken dinners, and it serves hundreds and hundreds of them every day. Thanksgiving, of course, is their biggest day of the year.
Paul made reservations, and on Thursday Darwin and I drove up. The weather was amazing warm--50s and breezy--totally not the usual dreary Michigan autumn day! The parking lot at Zehnder's, which rivals those of many shopping malls, was packed, and it took us some time to find parking. Zehnder's itself is HUGE and covers two floors that include multiple banquet halls. The large lobby, which uses queue mazes like an amusement park, was stuffed with people.
We found Paul and Becky right off, and later the rest of the crew arrived. I met Becky's parents, two sons, and daughter, and I was a little startled to learn that my mother and Becky's mother were already well-acquainted. The reservation lady quickly led us to one of the downstairs banquet halls, where a long table was already laid for us.
Zehnder's, you have to understand, is a machine. You sit down, and the process begins. The server does a head count of the people who want dinner (turkey today) and a few minutes later, the food arrives on large platters you pass around the table. Empty plates and platters are whisked away and replaced with full ones, if you want more. It's a good place for Thanksgiving because they're used to big groups and can handle whatever you throw at them.
We talked and ate and ate and talked. It was very convivial and enjoyable. And when it was done, there was no cleanup!
After many good-byes, we drove home, and I continued prep for Thanksgiving II: The Gobbling.
See, on Friday we were having over the boys (who couldn't go to Frankenmuth), and for Darwin's side of the family. I'd already prepped the white potatoes and sweet potatoes, made stuffing from scratch, and baked pies and piragi. Now I had to brine the turkey.
I decided this year to try a dry brine, instead of bath of salt water. This basically meant smearing a mixture of kosher salt, a bit of sugar, and some herbs onto the turkey skin and setting in the garage overnight. It's less messy than wet brining, and would be easier to carve--wet-brined turkey exudes a LOT of juice and makes a big carving mess. This didn't take long, really, which was nice.
I'm experienced at Thanksgiving now, so my stress levels were a lot lower. We were also "only" having about eight people over instead of the usual twenty-some, which brought the stress even lower!
Friday morning, I stuffed the turkey, set it in the oven, and got to work on the rest of the food. Here I discovered a small tactical error--my gas stove cooks a LOT faster than any of the electric stoves I've had, and I miscalculated how long it would take to make the stove-top dishes. The potatoes and carrots were done FAST. Fortunately, my serving stuff is all heated, so everything could stay warm until everyone arrived.
And they did. Max and Aran and Shane and Mary and Noah and Fred (a close friend of Shane). Noah terrorized the cats and rushed about shrieking his excitement at visiting his grandpas until we got him to stop. I co-opted him into the kitchen as my assistant, which gave him a nice distraction. We ate and talked and ate and talked. And then everyone headed out.
Darwin and I cleaned up, and order was restored to the kitchen. It was a lovely holiday!
comments
My brother Paul and his partner Becky wanted to have a Thanksgiving that combined our family and hers, and they suggested we all meet at Zehnder's Restaurant up in Frankenmuth. The rest of us were amenable, so off we went!
Frankenmuth is a tourist town in mid-Michigan. The town was deliberately designed with a fairy-tale Bavaria theme. Lots of gingerbread architecture, a water park, Bronner's (a mall-sized store that sells nothing but Christmas stuff), lots and lots of shops, and two major restaurants: the Bavarian Inn and Zehnder's. The latter is most well-known for its family-style chicken dinners, and it serves hundreds and hundreds of them every day. Thanksgiving, of course, is their biggest day of the year.
Paul made reservations, and on Thursday Darwin and I drove up. The weather was amazing warm--50s and breezy--totally not the usual dreary Michigan autumn day! The parking lot at Zehnder's, which rivals those of many shopping malls, was packed, and it took us some time to find parking. Zehnder's itself is HUGE and covers two floors that include multiple banquet halls. The large lobby, which uses queue mazes like an amusement park, was stuffed with people.
We found Paul and Becky right off, and later the rest of the crew arrived. I met Becky's parents, two sons, and daughter, and I was a little startled to learn that my mother and Becky's mother were already well-acquainted. The reservation lady quickly led us to one of the downstairs banquet halls, where a long table was already laid for us.
Zehnder's, you have to understand, is a machine. You sit down, and the process begins. The server does a head count of the people who want dinner (turkey today) and a few minutes later, the food arrives on large platters you pass around the table. Empty plates and platters are whisked away and replaced with full ones, if you want more. It's a good place for Thanksgiving because they're used to big groups and can handle whatever you throw at them.
We talked and ate and ate and talked. It was very convivial and enjoyable. And when it was done, there was no cleanup!
After many good-byes, we drove home, and I continued prep for Thanksgiving II: The Gobbling.
See, on Friday we were having over the boys (who couldn't go to Frankenmuth), and for Darwin's side of the family. I'd already prepped the white potatoes and sweet potatoes, made stuffing from scratch, and baked pies and piragi. Now I had to brine the turkey.
I decided this year to try a dry brine, instead of bath of salt water. This basically meant smearing a mixture of kosher salt, a bit of sugar, and some herbs onto the turkey skin and setting in the garage overnight. It's less messy than wet brining, and would be easier to carve--wet-brined turkey exudes a LOT of juice and makes a big carving mess. This didn't take long, really, which was nice.
I'm experienced at Thanksgiving now, so my stress levels were a lot lower. We were also "only" having about eight people over instead of the usual twenty-some, which brought the stress even lower!
Friday morning, I stuffed the turkey, set it in the oven, and got to work on the rest of the food. Here I discovered a small tactical error--my gas stove cooks a LOT faster than any of the electric stoves I've had, and I miscalculated how long it would take to make the stove-top dishes. The potatoes and carrots were done FAST. Fortunately, my serving stuff is all heated, so everything could stay warm until everyone arrived.
And they did. Max and Aran and Shane and Mary and Noah and Fred (a close friend of Shane). Noah terrorized the cats and rushed about shrieking his excitement at visiting his grandpas until we got him to stop. I co-opted him into the kitchen as my assistant, which gave him a nice distraction. We ate and talked and ate and talked. And then everyone headed out.
Darwin and I cleaned up, and order was restored to the kitchen. It was a lovely holiday!
comments
November 23, 2022
A Different Thanksgiving
For Thanksgiving this year, my brother Paul really wanted to have the feast at a restaurant, specifically Zehnder's in Frankenmuth, and include the family of his lady friend Becky. The rest of us were amenable, so Paul made the reservation. You would think I'd be saying, "Hey! A no-muss, no-fuss Thanksgiving!"
Not quite.
First of all, The Boys wouldn't be able to go. Max and Aran have to work, could make it to Frankenmuth and back in time. Aran is usually Sasha's transportation. And Darwin's son Shane wouldn't know much of anyone well. Ditto for our grandson Noah and his mother Mary.
So we're having a second Thanksgiving at our place on Friday.
I started prep when I got home from work today. (See the previous entry.) My energy level was low, and it took some time to get myself moving, but I did.
First up was prepping home-made macaroni and cheese. I got part-way into it and discovered I didn't have evaporated milk. I asked Darwin, who was curled up with his iPad, if he would run out and get some. He was reluctant ("I'm all comfortable") until I pointed out that I was cooking an entire Thanksgiving dinner by myself, and if he wanted to eat any of it, he needed to get his butt moving! So he did.
While he was gone, I got the stuffing ready. (No a brand name, thanks--I rough-cut stale bread, drench it in butter, broth, sauteed onions, and herbs and mix it all together with my hands.) Then I peeled a huge pile of white and sweet potatoes and put them in cold water. When Darwin got back, I finished the mac and cheese. As I completed each item, it went into the garage to stay chilly until Friday.
After we get back from Frankenmuth on Thursday, I'll brine the turkey. I'm experimenting with a dry brine this year to see how it comes out. Basically, you coat the turkey in kosher salt and let it sit overnight, then roast as normal.
Then it was major clean-up time.
So a lot of the heavy lifting for Friday is done!
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Not quite.
First of all, The Boys wouldn't be able to go. Max and Aran have to work, could make it to Frankenmuth and back in time. Aran is usually Sasha's transportation. And Darwin's son Shane wouldn't know much of anyone well. Ditto for our grandson Noah and his mother Mary.
So we're having a second Thanksgiving at our place on Friday.
I started prep when I got home from work today. (See the previous entry.) My energy level was low, and it took some time to get myself moving, but I did.
First up was prepping home-made macaroni and cheese. I got part-way into it and discovered I didn't have evaporated milk. I asked Darwin, who was curled up with his iPad, if he would run out and get some. He was reluctant ("I'm all comfortable") until I pointed out that I was cooking an entire Thanksgiving dinner by myself, and if he wanted to eat any of it, he needed to get his butt moving! So he did.
While he was gone, I got the stuffing ready. (No a brand name, thanks--I rough-cut stale bread, drench it in butter, broth, sauteed onions, and herbs and mix it all together with my hands.) Then I peeled a huge pile of white and sweet potatoes and put them in cold water. When Darwin got back, I finished the mac and cheese. As I completed each item, it went into the garage to stay chilly until Friday.
After we get back from Frankenmuth on Thursday, I'll brine the turkey. I'm experimenting with a dry brine this year to see how it comes out. Basically, you coat the turkey in kosher salt and let it sit overnight, then roast as normal.
Then it was major clean-up time.
So a lot of the heavy lifting for Friday is done!
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