Mt. Pleasant Classical Academy

I rose early this morning, taped off the trim in the living room and set right to work painting the living room.

UGH, it is gross.  The name is ‘Glacier Mist’ and it would look great in a baby-boy’s bedroom.  So blue does not describe it completely.    I wanted to stop painting but DH suggested that it might look better when it was dry.

I continued.   It just got bluer, and bluer.

My color blind  defective son came by and exclaimed; “This looks great mom!”  I shared that it was supposed to be gray, not such a vivid blue.   “IT IS MOM!    It is a great shade of gray.”  ugh.

I have pies to make, and clam chowder, and cakes, and filling and rolls and somehow I need to repaint this room to some nice shade of …… brown, or gray, or something that doesn’t look so BLUE.

Happy Thanksgiving!

And here’s a little something a friend sent me, wonder what color Martha would suggest:

Martha Stewart will not be dining with  us this Thanksgiving. I’m telling you In advance, so don’t act surprised.  Since Ms.  Stewart won’t be coming,  I’ve made a few small  changes:

Our sidewalk will not be lined with  homemade, paper bag luminaries.  After a trial run, it was decided that no  matter how cleverly done, rows of flaming lunch sacks do not have the  desired welcoming effect.

Once inside, our guests will note that  the entry hall is not decorated with the swags of Indian corn and fall  foliage I had planned to make.  Instead,  I’ve gotten the neighborhood kids involved in the  decorating by having them track in colorful autumn leaves from the front  yard.  The mud was their idea.

The dining table will not be covered  with expensive linens, fancy China,  or crystal goblets. If possible, we will use dishes that match and everyone will get a fork. Since this IS Thanksgiving, we will refrain from using the plastic Peter Rabbit plate  and the Santa napkins from last Christmas.

Our centerpiece will not be the tower of fresh fruit and flowers that,  I promised. Instead we will be displaying  a hedgehog-like decoration hand-crafted from the finest construction  paper. The artist assures me it is a turkey.

We will be dining fashionably late.  The children will entertain you while you wait. I’m sure they will be happy to share every choice comment I have made regarding Thanksgiving,  pilgrims and the turkey hotline. Please remember that most  of these comments were made at 5:00 a.m. Upon discovering that the turkey was still  hard enough to cut diamonds.

As accompaniment to the  children’s recital, I will play a recording of tribal drumming.  If the children should mention that I don’t own a recording of tribal drumming, or that tribal drumming  sounds suspiciously like a frozen turkey in a clothes dryer, ignore them.  They are lying.

We toyed with the idea of  ringing a dainty silver bell to announce the start of our feast. In the end, we chose to keep our traditional  method.  We’ve also decided  against a formal seating arrangement. When the smoke alarm sounds, please  gather around the table and sit where you like.

In the spirit of harmony,  we will ask the children to sit at a separate table. In a separate room.  Next door.

Now, I know you have all  seen pictures of one person carving a turkey in front of a crowd of  appreciative onlookers. This will not be happening at our dinner.  For  safety reasons, the turkey will be carved in a private ceremony. I stress  ”private”, meaning: Do not, under any circumstances, enter the kitchen to laugh at me.  Do not send  small, unsuspecting children to check on my progress. I have an electric  knife. The turkey is unarmed. It stands to reason that

I will eventually  win.  When I do, we will  eat.

I would like to take this  opportunity to remind my young diners that “passing the rolls” is not a football play. Nor is it a request to bean your sister in the head with warm tasty bread.

Oh, and one reminder for  the adults: For the duration of the meal, and especially while in the  presence of young diners, we will refer to the giblet gravy by its lesser-known name: Cheese Sauce.   If a young diner questions you regarding the origins or type of  Cheese Sauce, plead ignorance.

Before I forget, there is one last change. Instead of offering a choice between 12 different  scrumptious desserts, we will be serving the traditional pumpkin pie,  garnished with whipped cream and small fingerprints.  You will still have a choice; take it or leave it.

Martha Stewart will not  be dining with us this Thanksgiving. She probably won’t come next year either.  I am thankful!