A brisk but sunny Thanksgiving here on the outer edge of the Hub of the Universe. On Wednesday, I made bread, pecan pie and, once again, the Apple-Blackberry Pie. The recipe for Apple-Blackberry pie comes from the eternal doyen of the kitchen, ex-con Martha Stewart. But wait, it’s quite tasty! That’s not crust, Friends, that’s pate brise!This year, I noticed that I am supposed to cook down the juices of the fruit before sticking the pie in the oven. How very grand!
Beth is in her element preparing the turkey. Smells good, sausage and chestnut dressing. We’re listening to NPR. David McCullough spoke about his latest book, which concerns the lure of Paris on 19th century Americans. Well should McCullough be a historian, he tells a good story. I read his John Adams, who I really like, and Abigail too. The shine of Jefferson has become a bit tarnished, whereas Adams’ integrity and vision resonates more.
I am, moi-meme, writing my own story. Auto plus biography, that is. Sixty four pages in. Perhaps I bury the lead, because this feels really important to me. I’ve found the need to (re)read certain works, as backbone for this effort. Jung, certainly. And I am (finally) deep into Joseph Campbell’s The Masks of God. I have poked thru the four volumes but never made a concerted effort. I’m nearly thru Primitive Mythology. I’ve read Hero with 1000 Faces, and other works by Campbell. This one is his masterwork. The development of mythology, and the psychic importance of them, underlies my writing here, I mean in the book I am writing. Started Clan of the Cave Bear again, as well. Just one of those books that I enjoy but never seem to finish. Storywise, it’s decent enough. Jean Auel’s well-researched evocation of primitive human life is very fine. I recall Darryl Hannah’s swing at the book. In terms of capturing the plot or anything else about the book, it’s a miss. Okay, Hannah was blonde just like Ayla.
Since we have eschewed cable this past year and more, no Macy’s parade and no football. I miss football a little bit, but I always tended to think I wasted my time watching football. And the fiasco at Penn State just reminds me of the fearsome great stupidities required to foment such autocracies as football teams. Greed and pride, the program, the program,the program.
It has been something like 5 years since we’ve had Thanksgiving at home. Just our nuclear embrace of three, but that’s fine. The cat performs his quiet vortex of attention in the middle of the room, which surely ought to inspire us to give him more food. The betta flickers in excitement whenever I come near his bowl. I guess he’d accept me as provender if I did not drop the food pellets into his home.
I should mench that I saw a Christmas tree, decorated and lit, in a window more than 2 weeks ago. In my childhood, the tree went up around the 23rd (December!), and came down on New Year’s Day. The tree that I saw is probably an imitation. I don’t know where you could buy a live (chopped down) one at that time. And if it were live, it would be kindling by the time the holiday arrived.
The meal now past. One downer: The cream bought for the mashed potatoes turned out to be hazelnut flavoured, a fact not noticed till pouring had begun. The hazelnut factor wasn’t so bad tho it competed with the gravy. The sweetness factor skewed things. Three wines, two unfinished: Pinot Gris, Villa Maria (New Zealand), Pinot Noir MacMurray (Cal), and Rudesheimer Berg Schlossberb Spatlese by Molitor (rolls off the tongue).