In true Rainbow Traveling Show style, there was much fireside sitting, heavy binge drinking, tearful goodbyes and storytelling belly-laughs at Papa Dollar’s Memorial and Wake in sunny Florida on Wednesday, February 25, 2009. With just about every one of the ‘usual suspects’ up to no good from start to finish.

Not the least of which was when the heir-apparent put my daughter Tash in charge of the blank-book in which we were all supposed to write something pithy about our old friend’s multi-storied life and times. She asked him what day it was so she could use her beautiful calligraphic skills to etch the title page, and he told her it was February 29, 2009. She (not paying attention to dates much) believed him. And now the precious family keepsake is forever dated Leap-Day in an Odd Year, something that’s never once actually occurred in the entire history of date-keeping!

But the best – better even than the formal Medicine Show eulogies – was the balloon launch, something Ras Papa was internationally infamous for. For this one it had been decided to launch Papa’s ratty old hat with the balloons. Which the 120 or so people present had to shuttle from his front porch helium tank to the mower polo field so they could be tied together into a freeform… thing. The animal balloons had sat in the sun too long, mostly exploded before they could be filled, but we did get a few. People drew or wrote things on the regular balloons with Sharpees before filling them, each with a personal note or charicature that related to Papa’s life.

As the old-timers and Jason built the construction, Odin the aero-engineer kept trying to tell them that they had to move to the other side of the field in order to launch, or they’d end up in the power lines. But NOOOOOO… mass of shape-shifting balloon sculpture and a ratty old hat finally was let loose, only to become hopelessly entangled in the power lines in record time. I was almost rolling on the grass with laughter, this was something Papa would have been absolutely livid about.

Not to be undone by grief-induced dumb-ness, the perps almost immediately decided to shoot it down so they could start over with fresh balloons from a more reliable vantage point. As we backed up in awe, they began setting off major fireworks right smack dab underneath the trapped balloons, missing them badly while causing the crowd to flee in panic (if they weren’t laughing too hard to move). Once it became apparent that the big boomers weren’t doing the trick, someone brought out the Roman candles. The sheer audacity of the cross-fire was amazing, considering nobody got hit!

More of us fell laughing to the ground, it was just too too funny. Eventually they managed to pop or deflate all but one of the balloons, but the mess was still firmly attached to the power line with a sad and ragged hat dangling forlornly underneath. It’ll be there for at least 20 years, I figure. Or until the next time the power company turns up. The face drawn on that last balloon standing was a tragic clown. Perfectly cosmically correct.

Back to the fire and more revelry, and everything went great until someone (who shall remain judiciously unnamed) set off a box of leftover fireworks on the bar of Papa’s Cantina. I figured it would burn down (and some of us were still sober enough to do a bucket brigade from the hot tub out front), but somehow it survived. The visual of major fireworks secondary boomers coming out from all directions as people were running and ducking is one that’ll stay with me forever. Not cosmically correct, but definitely cosmically incorrect enough to go down in history!

We’ll miss you being in the world every day for the rest of our lives, old friend. But you’ll never be far from our fond (and/or slightly singed) memories. Wooly Bully, Amen.

Three of my kids who will not be here for Thanksgiving have called in the past week to ask me what to do with the turkey carcass once everybody’s done eating the Big Dinner. So while there are about a million things you can do with the leftover chunks and slices of turkey meat (turkey sandwiches, turkey & gravy on a shingle, etc.), not that many young people these days know what to do with all those bones and the gelled goo and the fat and skin and stray bits of possible meat that may cling, other than to put the whole mess into a plastic garbage bag and toss it into the dumpster. Or bury it in the back yard. Heck, even the cats won’t clean it off well enough to bleach any bones, and you sure shouldn’t feed it to the dogs!

So here’s the basics to brew yourself up some good turkey broth from this leftover yuck, which in turn can be used to make future gravy, future soups (any kind), or just poured over the dry dog food and mixed to give Fido a feeling that s/he has a feasting holiday too. It’s not hard, you just need a stock pot (or canner) big enough to hold all the ’stuff’ scraped off the platter and roasting pan.

1. Scrape the carcass, loose bones and leavings off the platter and roasting pan into the pot. Add enough water barely cover.

2. If you’ve leftover crudités (carrot and celery sticks, roasted garlic cloves, etc.) put them in the water too. If you’re planning future soup broth, chunk up an onion and put it in with the rest, along with ~2 teaspoons of salt. Also add 2 bay leaves, some rubbed (or fresh sage), rosemary if you like it, and 1/4 teaspoon of white pepper.

3. Let ‘er boil, turning the bones occasionally, for at least an hour. Add water if necessary.

4. Lift out the bones and bits, package for disposal. Strain the broth into jars and refrigerate. Use within a month or so, for whatever dishes need gravy or broth. This can include collards/kale, hopping john and other dishes you’re likely to cook for the rest of the holidays, make a white gravy with some broth for breakfast biscuits. If you’re just planning to use the broth to flavor up dry dog and cat food, leave out the salt, pepper, herbs and onion, but do include the carrots and celery.

See how easy that is? Sure, it’s a project, but worth it not to waste anything from your big feast. And don’t forget as we move into flu season that Mom’s Turkey Soup is every bit as soothing and phlem-clearing (this is true, look it up!) as Mom’s Chicken Soup. In fact, every time we get a whole chicken around here I do the same thing, and use the broth for soup.

As the world financial situation looks to be bad and getting worse, there may not be much consumerist excess for Christmas this year. So the traditional feasting and other such food goodies are going to be even more appreciated than usual. My mother’s generation lived through the Great Depression by not wasting anything, and the better able our generations today are to do much the same things, the better we’ll survive intact. When you can’t just jump into the SUV and drive to the store for a single item, your best bet is to process your own items from what you’ve got, then USE them.

Turkey Broth and Other Leftover Turkey Recipes

In the immediate family circle are O’Sheas and Coins and O’Cains and O’Rourkes and other names so blatantly Irish nobody could confuse the issue by the number of Rastas and Buddhists and Presbyterians and atheists (and God-Knows-Whats) in the crowd. Even though we did outnumber them. After the mass there was a photo collage presented in the fellowship hall, probably 600 people stayed to see it.

The trip to Jamaica and those tough-looking Rastas who literally carried Rick for miles into the mountains to see a holy man. The Tibetan monks and their beautiful sand mandala who were so delighted by their host’s soaring spirit. The notable artists and musicians who never passed through without spending time with Rick. The children he’d taught through the years, now grown with children of their own old enough to go to college. The beautiful red-haired boy, the courageous and determined young man, the cultural guru, the thin and frail middle-aged man who looked an awful lot like Jesus if that holy man’s eyes twinkled nearly as brightly as Rick’s.

We cried buckets of tears, but were reunited in our grief. We had too often lost touch over the decades. All past petty tiffs forgotten, love of Rick uniting us all once again as if we’d never grown apart. Then, later that evening, came the wake…

It was in the city near Rick’s house, hosted by a wonderful couple with one of those Irish names and an acre of yard. All of it put to use for this event, and all the neighbors forewarned. There were two groups of fiddlers and harpists, a stage at the other end of the yard stacked with equipment. A couple dozen notable rock and reggae musicians jammed all night off and on. A drum circle filled in the breaks. There were children lined up for the tree swing and trampoline, guarded (and herded) by teenage volunteer sitters. There were rows of tables filled with food, watermelons galore, coolers of pop and water and more beer than anybody could keep track of, magically replenishing kegs of Guinness, and a picnick table bar on the deck stocked with more kinds of wine than I could identify as well as literal cases of Jameson’s Irish Whiskey. Parking overflowed the vacant lot a few blocks away manned by volunteers with light sticks, a constant crowd of about 500 constantly shifted through the night. It was still going when we checked in, 8 hours after driving home through three states!

My friend Rick enjoyed the love of so very many people, each of whom claimed him as his/her BEST friend. He could make you feel that way even in a crowd. What we all received from him is important enough to last these generations for many generations more, and comes complete with the power to change the world. We are so blessed…

The greatest gift Rick gave to those of us who loved him is each other. Our charge now is to hang on to those ever-widening, ever-proliferating circles of love and friendship. My family’s all for it (though we won’t be moving back to the city). I think a lot of others are too.

Kiteriggers Memorial Site

It’s true that one of the many ‘important’ jobs Moms do is to direct the proper nutrition of their families. Some Moms do better at this than others, as the growing obesity epidemic demonstrates. There are a surprising number of working Moms out there who don’t cook, and families that somehow manage to survive on pizza and hamburgers.

I was a singularly lousy cook back when I got married. Knew how to make exactly one thing – Campbell’s Bean with Bacon soup (add a pat of butter and a dollop of ketchup to the pot, eat it when it’s hot). I’ll never forget our first breakfast – I did so want to impress him! But I fried that bacon and fried that bacon until it shrunk to nothing and turned char-black, but it just never would get stiff! Brave and loving soul that he is, my hubby ate it anyway and even pretended to like it.

But pretty much all I heard while learning how to make Kraft Mac and Cheese, Tuna and Hamburger Helper and rice (reading the instructions on the box really helps!), all I ever heard from my husband and his mother was how great her steak fingers and French Fries were. Worse, I was fond of all sorts of vegetables, even Brussels Sprouts, and hubby wouldn’t touch anything green. My Mom was an excellent cook, always served meals with at least 3 or 4 vegetable choices, a bread (often her wonderful sweet cornbread), a salad and some meat. Only when she was mad at us did we end up with liver and onions, but I swear she could even make that taste good!

I did finally learn to cook. Even bought some cookbooks, and Mom gave me some of hers. When the kids got old enough to eat solid food, I decided it was the perfect time to introduce them to vegetables. Told hubby that if he got hungry enough he’d learn to like ‘em too. Surprisingly (to my Mother-in-Law), it worked! Before the kids started school we’d gone vegetarian – ovo-lacto, but no more meat main dishes. And managed to be both healthy and not obese anyway!

Of course, the teachers and administrator at the school my children went to didn’t think anything of informing them that we were trying to kill them – “everybody knows” you can’t live unless you eat processed meat 3 or 4 times a day! I actually purchased a great book on vegetarianism and nutrition, donated it to the school library after informing the teachers and principal that they should read it first – before saying another word to other people’s children about family food choices.

When the kids were teenagers they never seemed to be around for family dinners like they used to be, so I stopped cooking pretty much. Hubby or I would just open a can, throw something together quick, and eat it. I don’t know where the teenagers were eating, but since they weren’t dying I figured they must be eating something somewhere. Then I got grandchildren, and it’s been a regular cook-fest ever since. We sometimes have a house full of them (plus parents), and their favorite thing is the food – either eaten right there in the garden or made into some scrumptous dish.

All of them swear I’m the best cook on the planet, having figured out the best way to ensure Granny gives them extra helpings and lets them eat dessert first. The grandson who lives with us managed to get all the way to 6′3″ and about 155 pounds without ever having eaten meat as a regular part of his diet from the time he was born. He loves everything I make, never tires of telling me how much he loves my… sourdough bread, deep dish New York style pizza, clean-out-the-fridge veggie minestrone soup, black bean veggie burgers, grilled veggie kabobs, etc., etc., etc.

Daughter’s not much of a cook. She can heat up a can of beans , can read the instructions on a package of cake mix or pasta or red beans and rice, and can make some killer nachos. But basic cooking wisdom seems beyond her. How much salt per quart for a big pot of beans or soup, how to substitute what you’ve got for what the recipe calls for, how to add just the right herbs for just the right aroma and flavor are not things she’s ever paid much attention to. Probably because I do most of the real cooking. I know how that works, since I never learned to cook for as long as my Mom was doing it!

It seems like the older i get the more I enjoy trying new things. Plus, with hubby, daughter and grandson all here to give me kudos for the meal, it is a fine ego stroke.

At any rate, my newest granddaughter is due the first week of March. So while I’m working on the baby quilt and other goodies for the big day and its aftermath, I’ve also started collecting cookbooks to give my daughter. She is actually not a bad cook, at least for reading directions and being creative with ingredients. I do wish she liked vegetables more, or at least got more variety. So that’s what I’m going for, along with promises of exotics when she visits here with the baby. Baba Ganoush (eggplant) and pita with a side of serious tabouli and home made lemon and garlic hummus, creamed leek stuffed puffballs (or portobellos), fried kale and sage chips, lentils with olive oil and multi-colored peppers, boiled green peanuts on rice with piñon and saffron sauce, etc.

I don’t know about her husband, but my daughter eats meat very seldom and would like nothing better than to go vegetarian with her daughter. As I told my hubby all those many years ago, if he gets hungry enough, he’ll learn to like vegetables!

Links:

Gourmet Vegetables: Smart Tips and Tasty Picks

The Gutsy Gourmet: Vegetables

Organic Cooking Products

One daughter, her annoying (and very loud) boyfriend, one niece and her not-annoying boyfriend, two semi-sons and their wives, one grandson and three old Navy buddies (plus 2 wives). It’s been a busy week here at the lake house for Mama and Papa Elf, who always stretch out Christmas over the entire length of the holidays. That’s a perk we give ourselves after a grueling season at the mall contributing to the Pagan trappings of the consumerist frenzy.

I’ve baked cookies and managed two batches of fudge that ended up as chocolate syrup on ice cream instead. I’ve cooked lots and lots of meals and done more dishes than should be allowed by law. I’ve attempted to lay down the gated community ‘law’ to the annoying boyfriend who apparently believes we’re all deaf because he is, and have so far managed to prevent any real damage to my sister’s nice new retirement home. I did fall down the steps from the loft on my way to the bathroom this morning, thereby breaking my foot.

So now I’m ensconced on the wing chair in front of the fireplace with my foot on a pillow. I’m not cooking, not washing dishes, and not cleaning up after the barbarian hoards. They’re all leaving tomorrow, so hopefully I can get all the Christmas decorations packed and the sheets washed and the kitchen and bathrooms sanitized in time to make it home for dinner! The beautiful log McMansion no worse for wear and tear, myself a bit more battered (and gimpy) than I’d have liked. Pretty much par for the course.

I figured out awhile back that everybody’s family is dysfunctional to a certain extent, some more than others. A family as big as mine has more than its share of off-colored sheep, but I love ‘em all anyway. Did talk to younger daughter who couldn’t make it here for the holidays, and have been participating regularly in her “Virtual Baby Shower.” Our Marine warrant officer son called Christmas Day to tell us he’s transferring to North Carolina in May, which will put two more grandchildren within easy spoiling range!

I hope the holidays have been full of family, friends and fun for all my readers out there, and here’s hoping that 2008 will be a more hopeful year for everyone, all over the country and all over the world. Peace on Earth, good will to everyone regardless of age, sex, color, culture or beliefs!

It’s Thanksgiving week. I’m of course hosting two dozen guests – family and friends – for the day, and nearly a dozen for the whole week. This means the younger generations will be coming here for the feast. Someday I’m hoping one of them will invite me for the feast and I won’t have to cook a thing!

We do share the cost, the cooking duties and the clean-up (I like to make the guys do dishes, but sometimes it’s more efficient to just do them myself). We’ll use paper plates and plastic cups for the actual meal, but there will be lots of silverware, inevitable plates and serving bowls, pots, pans, storage containers, measuring doo-dads, etc., etc. that should preferably be washed as they come empty or used. Washing down work surfaces, serving surfaces and eating surfaces is always a chore I give to the grandkids.

I will be cooking two large turkeys this year (that I know of). One brought from Florida, one from West Virginia. I’ll cook one a day early, slice it up and refrigerate it for seconds and thirds, pick it for doggy Thanksgiving. There will be at least 6 dogs here, and they’re family too. The other I’ll roast so that it comes out of the oven just in time for dinner, let one of the macho guys slice it up.

It’s a sort of pot-luck too, people will be bringing their specialties. I’ll bake whole wheat dinner rolls, the mashed potatoes and yams will be cooked here too. Then there’s the crackberry sauce no holiday meal is complete without. That’s your basic whole fresh cranberry sauce with a bag of frozen blackberries (can mix raspberries, strawberries and blueberries too) mixed it, sweeter than cranberry sauce and very tasty on the ice cream we’ll put on top of our pumpkin pie later.

Oh, yeah. There’s the pies. Have to bake at least 10 pumpkin pies to get through the weekend, as two of my grandchildren will eat nothing but pumpkin pie for breakfast and at least two slices before bed. The leftover turkey and gravy will get glumped in together as turkey “shit on a shingle” to ladle onto open leftover dinner rolls, good for at least two nights’ meals. Basic turkey sandwiches for lunch, and leftover mashed potatoes for potato pancakes at breakfast on Saturday. Yams make excellent pancakes too, for that matter, so long as they aren’t candied. If they’re candied and you’ve leftovers, heat ‘em up and put them on top of the potato pancakes instead of syrup!

There will be macaroni salad, always good for a quick snack. And the hopping john, which is a meal all by itself. That’s collard greens, black eyed peas and rice cooked in vegetable broth, a staple for Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s around here. Of course you can’t serve hopping john without cornbread, so I usually bake up a couple of cake pans’ worth of that too. As leftovers just crumble the cornbread into a microwave-proof bowl and ladle the hopping john on top. Hit the Magic Minute button and voila! Lunch!

Once the turkeys have been fairly stripped you’ll want to pop those leftovers – including bones – into a freezer bag. If it’s cold in your area you could store it out on an elevated porch such as I have where animals can’t get to it and it won’t take up room in the fridge where bowls of this and that and the other compete with pies for space. As soon as the crowd thins out, put it all into that big ol’ enameled canning pot and cover with water. Boil it all the way down to broth. You can of course add carrots and celery and herbs and onions and such at this point, rough-chopped. After a couple of hours it’s ready to strain and put into jars. You can can these so they don’t have to be kept frozen or in the fridge, or not. Turkey soup stock is great starter for wintertime soups. Then discard the bones where the dogs can’t get at them. We usually hold them for a dumpster run the day I make the broth, just to make sure. They can kill your dog.

I am a big believer that you can’t have too much food for the feast. Anything that doesn’t get eaten Thanksgiving Day or evening will most certainly get eaten on Friday, Saturday and Sunday. It’s the Feast that Keeps On Giving, and that’s just as it should be. That way Mom or Grandma doesn’t have to do more than one day’s worth of hard core kitchen-sitting, everybody eats well, and nobody goes home hungry!