Thanksgiving >
The word instantly puts a chill down the spine of my side of the family. Yes, there will be turkey, great food, and a swell party - especially for the blissfully unaware fifteen kids running amok in my parents' basement, but with the joy comes the quiet dread of getting ready. It starts in August when my mother pulls her notes from last year, and starts worrying. It ends about five minutes before five, when the first guest arrives and my Dad is harnessed to his leaf blower diligently chasing that last leaf off the premises. When car lights sweep up the driveway, the leaves will NOT be seen. (Never mind that the house is sitting on almost three wooded acres, and it'’s pitch dark by party time.)
You will find my mother sighing in the Kitchen- she has been up since dawn cooking, completely dressed and ready since mid afternoon, but there is always something- like Dad killing himself outside, buzzing around the patio, or the little incident last year when there was no hot water at zero hour because Dad forgot to over ride the timer. (He keeps Mom on a very strict schedule water wise.) My mother, the model of self control, grits her teeth and accepts that she has done all that she can do. She and my sister set the tables the Sunday before, strategizing over the one in the family room which could block the football game, and how many kids will actually sit in a chair. She started cooking in September and finishes just before six- dinner time.
Thanksgiving is one of three major family gatherings. My poor mother is down to one rather distant first cousin on her side, but my father's side is up to about thirty, not even counting our branch which is almost thirty by itself. Back in the dawn of time, like the early sixties, my grandparents had the whole family over to their house on Upton Street. When they got older, their three children took over. My Aunt Catherine got Greek Easter, my Uncle Nick took Christmas and my dad ended up with Thanksgiving. Back then the clan topped out at around twenty five; now we are approaching sixty. New babies and people keep coming. Last year we had twins, and this year my niece is getting married.
At this point, my mother would give her eyeteeth, her turkey collection and all her VCRS NOT to do this. (OK- maybe not the VCRS) But my Dad has laid down the law- if he's still breathing, we're still doing it. My cousin, John brings the cheesecake that his mother used to bring. My cousin, Anne, who is from Louisiana, brings a pecan pie. My brother, Peter arrives from Michigan and bartends. Uncle Nick brings the rum cake. My sister and I mash the potatoes. My brother, Roger started making Greek chicken soup one year, and now he can't stop. That's only a few of the many hands that get it done. It's over when my sister corrals her sons to take all the chairs and tables back downstairs until next year. It's usually around 8:00, but it feels like midnight.
So we go on, and despite all the holiday angst, I know we have a lot to be thankful for: our ever expanding family and my parents who keep us glued together-a basement full of children-all excited that they are cousins, turkey on the table, and hopefully -plenty of hot water. I know we are lucky, and at least this year, it's raining...no leaf blower.
This is what happens when you spend a Friday night alone with an eleven-year-old girl with too much time on her hands. I have one hand painted with ladybugs and the other painted neon yellow with black tic-tac-toe designs. I think I'll shake things up a bit and go to church tomorrow morning like this. 
I blame it onDom at Belleau Kitchenhe set the ball rolling before Christmas when he posted his brilliant Layered Mushroom and Caramelised Onion Suet Pudding. It was totally delicious, simple, yet spectacular. So it is his fault.
...it may look vile, but it smelt fabulous, instantly transporting us both back to our childhood days and stick to the rib puddings. However, this version was light as a feather and totally yummy.
Okay, so I now have to go and jog for an extra half an hour - but oh my goodness was it worth it. I don't even object to having to clean my teeth straight away, lest tooth rot set in. 
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(photo by bethhowe1 @ flickr)
This is a 'Pink Pride' daffodil, one of a dozen bulbs planted last fall. The bulbs made foliage but I'd given up hope of seeing a bloom.
The shipment had a rough ride from the organic grower in California but the rose recovered enough to make a couple of buds, in a pale peach color. 
Here's the first rose - not a pale peach, but a color like the inside of a melon, which blends perfectly in this border!
You've already seen the true color of the Schlumbergera/Thanksgiving cactuses - they all bloomed in the breakfast window last winter. Once the chance of frost was low, I moved three of them out to the veranda for the summer. All three plants made another set of buds which are now opening. Very unexpected!
The double lilac larkspur are blooming now and have reached new heights - I'm 5'6" on a good day and my larkspur are taller than I am. Having larkspur the size of delphiniums was a good surprise for me!
The next unexpected thing was what I ate for lunch today...a radish sandwich. I pulled a few radishes and washed them, then cut them up. I tasted a couple of slices and found them crisp with a good bite.
Next I buttered whole wheat toast, adding layers of thinly sliced radish and a little romaine lettuce. The sandwich was delicious, crunchy but mellow - not hot. The unexpected part isn't that the sandwich tasted good. The unexpected part is that I might never have tried this if another garden blogger, Yolanda Elizabet in Holland, hadn't described her lunch a few weeks ago. Thank you, Yolanda! 
Now in its 3rd Spring, the peach is taller than Jake's Dad, and it has chosen to bless my sister's family with a cloud of pink blossoms. 
Thanks for letting me use your photos, Jake! Whether or not this particular family tree ever bears edible peaches, it's a fine thing to see after a long hard Chicago winter.
