You all know, I'm sure, the feast-or-famine nature of blogging. Either you have nothing to blog about because life has been so normal and unexciting or there is too much to blog about and not enough time blog it in.* (I have to say, I love blogging normal life. Mostly because then it entails just talking about myself. Which I love to do. Yap, yap, yap. Me, me, me. I get overwhelmed when I get behind on blogging actual events, which makes me procrastinate the blogging that much more.)
Anyway, after that ssoliloquy, I would like to share my Thanksgiving, which was a lovely one. Our dear friends, the Soelbergs of Fishers, Indiana, fame, came up to share our 4th Thanksgiving together. It was delightful. The girls began the morning by thoroughly bundling to play outside. Olivia and Libby had fairly conventional winter-play outfits, but Jenna and Mimi went the "no-pants-but-three-pairs-of-socks-or-tights" route. Whatever else you have to say, it is stylish.The Wheeler family also graced us wtih their presence for our feast. (Providing the mashed potatoes and pies--both essential and absolutely delicious!). It was my first time with a kids' table. That felt like a milestone in my life.Mimi ate all this and came back for seconds. That child can eat.
It was a fantastic feast, even if my gravy was too salty. (I hereby speak never to be in charge of the gravy again.) The rolls were soft and delicious (thank you, Sara), the turkey worked out (Thank you, Martha Stewart!), and the company was fabulous (Thank you, everyone.)
Growing up in Monticello, the Black Friday shopping was almost nonexistent. And I really think that I enjoy my family's day-after-Thanksgiving tradition of sledding down the ski road more than I like braving the crowds to get a good deal. In fact, the sledding would win hands down if it weren't for one little sale. Jo-Ann's flannel. For the past four years Sara and I have been fabric shopping at 6 a.m., jealously guarding our heaping cart of flannel (which is always used by the next year, so I don't feel the tiniest bit guilty). (I put this picture on for memory sake. For vanity's sake, I would burn it and any computer it had ever appeared on.)
I have felt a little conspicuous, laughing and piling and laughing some more. After this year, however, I will never feel conspicuous again. This woman (in the glasses--the other is her daughter) was the queen of the flannel. Both of those carts are hers, plus the stack to the right. It was truly inspirational, and this picture was taken as proof to John that there are people that would put my fabric stash to shame. (She makes and sells rag quilts.) She was the epitome of all the nice people you meet while fabric shopping. She smiled and giggled and talked about her grandkids and asked what we were making, and I felt like even if I couldn't interact with my grandma over Thanksgiving, at least I talked to someone almost as sweet.
I'm done, but as a preview to my next post--a shot of the inside of the South Shore Line train. So much fun.
*I often wonder, "If it wasn't blogged, did it really happen?" I find myself wanting to record everything we do, even to the point of wanting to do things simply to blog about them. It's a sickness.