Thanksgiving Costa Rica Style
You know they don’t celebrate Thanksgiving here? It is just like any other Thursday, except hotter. Okay, we knew the holidays would be much different, that traditions would change, that our perception of what a holiday was would likely change, we were right. For as long as I can remember, Thanksgiving has been major tradition at our house, old friends and family we only see once a year, basketball games, fried turkey, same old side dishes, new dishes, dozens of pies, naps, games and then Black Friday, Tracy’s favorite holiday. That is what we did, every year. No questions asked as you can see from these past posts. (Tradition GAS Holiday Roads )Well now, at least this year, it was quite different. This year we attended a big feast and gathering at our church. There was a lot of turkey,side dishes, desserts, some games and a lot of fellow-shipping. It was certainly fun, but it wasn’t tradition. It was new, it was hot and it didn’t feel like “Thanksgiving”. It felt more like a very fun church potluck. Plus, there were no pies, other than the single serving apple pies Tra made.
some traditions can never go away! Speedy Buns Rule!!!
If you could only smell the finished product, your keyboard would be drenched in drool.
do you see any pies on this dessert table?
Furthermore, as I stated before, Costa Rica obviously does not celebrate Thanksgiving, so it was just a normal day. No festivities, lots of people at the beach, surfing, swimming, shopping etc. etc. Just like every other day. It appears that they did have their version of Black Friday in San Jose, but it was limited to a few stores. Besides it’s not really Black Friday if you aren’t freezing to death waiting to get inside the store. And 50% off of “way to expensive” is not really that great of a deal. However, I took the time to teach our friend and guard how to say Happy Thanksgiving in English, and told him to tell every Americano he sees. Within an hour he was stuffed. After two days he told me “too much Happy Thanksgiving” signaling that he could not eat another bite, as he held up yet another meal on a paper plate. It may take some time, but I will soon teach him the ways of the over indulging Americanos.
Now this looks traditional. It was very yummy as well!
Dave Olsen keeping the kids happy. There are no fiestas in Costa Rica without a Pinata.
one view of BCC with over 100 guests. Note BCC Feud playing on the screen.
another view.
Kassie patiently waiting for food.
Mom and Alli waiting to eat.
Kids table playing the feud.
So we had fun, but it wasn’t the traditional frenzied weekend that we have become accustomed to loving. It was quite relaxing, maybe a little too Pura Vida for our American souls. Perhaps over time we will change our view of Thanksgiving and become accustomed to wearing t-shirts and shorts, and spending the evening watching the sunset on the beach, as we did this year. Perhaps that will be our new tradition. One thing for sure, no matter what, next time there must be pie.
Here are some shots of our Thanksgiving late afternoon and evening at Flamingo Beach.
Jeremy waiting on one last wave
Jake and KassieKassieFlamingo
Dad and Dorian having a Thanksgiving boogie board battle.
Jeremy and Dad battling it out
Kassie
Alli searching for jewelry prospects.
Flamingo Breaker
Ben working hard on Thanksgiving for a wave with all that extra turkey weight.
Ben
Dad swimming hard
Never spent Thanksgiving in the Pacific Ocean before.
Any reason to party?
Back in the states Halloween was a pretty big deal. In fact, if I recall correctly, the very first date Tra and I ever went on was near that very holiday, at a harvest fest type of event. I recall having to be prepared every Halloween for the slew of kids to come parading through the neighborhood. With every open door a shot of cold air would rush across our skin, and handfuls of candy would be dropped in the bags of ghouls, ghosts, goblins and ???. In Costa Rica there is no Halloween. Perhaps it is because they have a plethora of other holidays, or perhaps it is because it was created by the candy moguls in America, or perhaps it is because chocolate can be very hard to come by for the locals. Either way we didn’t expect much of anything, we were wrong.
a rock star from NOW, an American army guy, and a flapper
Ben from "Not of the World" Note the tat.
Jeremy and his first victim of the night.
Ben and Brockzilla, two rock stars from different sides of the track, not standing out at all in a packed La Paz gym.
There is a pretty large contingent of Ex-Pats in this area, and they hold on to their American / Canadian traditions very strongly, as we are quickly learning. If there is a slight reason to celebrate or party, they will gather in droves. Superbowl, Thanksgiving, Halloween, Columbus Day, doesn’t matter, if it connects them to home, they embrace it. Halloween, other than being a floating holiday is no different.
our flapper girl
Kassie and Jake harvesting some subsistence candy.
In the area we live there are three primary english schools, La Paz, Country Day, and Gold Coast Academy. All three private schools, all full of Americans, Canadians and French ( don’t ask me). All three of them held festivities on Friday night.
Livy in her award-winning costume, the one in white.
all about the candy
Our evening began right at sunset; humidity still thick in the air, the hot night air enveloping those in monkey suits, ghost sheets and more. I saw more sweat stains than at a July jalapeno chili bake in Texas. We hit La Paz first, the school had a special area for candy gathering, and it seems every english speaking kid in the country was there, adding to the humidity. As we weaved our way through the blue mat maze of on-air conditioned classrooms, we were met by princess’s, gold people, Lego’s and many more homemade costumes. There is no Wal-Mart, so creativity had to be high. Although sheer torture for the camera wielding adults caught in the never-ending snake of children, it was fun for the kids as their bags weighed down under the girth of the mixed tico candy. The school also had a small haunted house, and a gym full of games for the kiddos with prizes and awards. To top it off they had a bake sale and hamburgers and hotdogs off the grill. It was an all out event that required traffic control and parking on an empty over grown lot next to the school.
still waiting in line for some more loot.
Like, who's this creeper pretending to be Shaggy? ( a good friend, the real creeper is over his right shoulder)
Next we made our way to Country Day School, where they had a similar event going on. However, their highlight was the haunted house, and that is what we set our sights on, at least those of us brave enough to endure the close tight humid quarters. As we made our way through the draping of dark plastic we were assaulted by every creature imaginable from every angle, our feet, our heads, straight on, they were everywhere, and it appears that they were heavily dehydrated. It was a fun adventure with blue lights, water , at least we hope it was water, and much more. And talking to some of the creatures afterward, it was labor intensive, hot and draining, but they did not complain, instead they did their best to elicit screams and cries, and I am sure I heard a few, even from within our own party. Again, there were games for the kids, bake sales and some BBQ pork sandwiches. Lots of decorations, and balloons that were getting heavily assaulted by anyone under 4 foot tall.
no parking on the dance floor baby!
We finished the evening as chaperones at the Freaky Tiki, and event semi-coordinated by Alli as the event planner for her school. The event was made for the older kids as a costume dance event. Now I don’t know what qualifies as a good dance, but if it is a bloody red pool and fountain, lots of sweaty kids dancing all together, loud never-ending music, pizza and very loud never-ending music, then this was a successful dance. Again, it seems every english speaking kid from every local school was there. Apparently things have changed form when I used to go to dances. In my day you asked a girl to dance, you went out to the floor together and danced next to your buds, making funny faces and did your best to be cool. What we witnessed was just a glob of people all dancing together. I never did see two people dancing. The smallest group was six. However, I could’ve been hallucinating because between the unbearable thumping, heat, strobe light, and extra curricular lightning storm, I am not totally sure what we witnessed. But I am pretty sure there were no nefarious on goings nor any grinding going on during our watch! The dance went from 7-11 and was thumping the whole time.
a pool of blood surrounded by tombstones.
The fountain of blood, created by Mr. S. the demented.
strobe light limbo.
It was pretty much packed like this the whole night.
The freaks come out at night.
I have never been so exhausted after a Halloween night. I am convinced that we met every Ex-Pat in the area on that Friday night, even the ones without kids. And the best part, Halloween is tonight. I have no idea what to expect, but we will be prepared with some melted chocolates for our little prettys, just in case. Can’t wait to see what Thanksgiving will be like. I plan to get a nap before that one.
I go back.
You know how they say a smell can bring back a flood of memories? For instance, if I smell some fresh-baked cinnamon rolls with raisins, I will flash back to my time spent commercial fishing, specifically, Togiak herring. Why? Togiak herring was a game of hurry up and wait; 3-5 days to get there and then wait, wait and wait for the herring to get ripe enough to harvest. And many years those herring like to take their time, often days to weeks. So to pass the time we would beach comb, read, talk, sleep, mend nets, clean engines, and Doug would always make a batch of homemade cinnamon rolls. Without fail, every year at least one giant batch of fresh-baked cinnamon rolls. When you are trapped inside a 10X15 cabin with four other guys for weeks at a time, it was the little things that made a difference, and those rolls, although not little, always made the difference. The smell would waif throughout the fleet atop the salty air of Togiak Bay. Needless to say, a flood of company would magically appear.
Well I have found the same truth sometimes in a song. Sometimes just a genre of song will bring me right back to high-school, my mullet, thin stache, jean jacket and Air Jordan’s. Instantly I feel younger and energetic. Sometimes it can be a specific song. I still remember after I bought Tracy’s engagement ring. I was so excited and nervous, again with the mullet, thin stache…… that I just couldn’t keep it in my pocket. I still remember to this day as I was driving back to campus in my 86 Black Pontiac Firebird with the reticulating headlights stuck in up mode, dark tinted windows and spoiler aiding the critical aerodynamics of the superb driving machine. Surprisingly, there was very little traffic in that dark warm evening in Springfield Missouri, and thanks to my leather driving gloves, I was able to drive a little faster than usual. I turned up the radio, a smile locked onto my face and the song that was playing was from 38 special. A song, prior to that day, that I thought was okay, but definitely not my top style, definitely not my favorite, and probably not appropriate for the moment, but a good song. Yet, on that day it became one of those special songs that takes me back to that night over and over, every time I hear it.
Or even (gasp, do I even dare admit this?) Milli Vanilli. You see it was only one of about six CD’s Tra and I had for our drive from Anchorage back to Missouri to school. So it was well used, over and over and over; girl you know it’s true. So now every single time I accidentally hear a Milli Vanilli song, I am transported back to that Nissan Pathfinder and the four-day drive. However, I don’t think that CD ever found the inside of a CD player after that trip.
It happened again, just a few days ago. I was driving out of Anchorage, just leaving a couple of days of work meetings, meetings where I had just turned in my two-week notice. I had a piping hot Americano, no hair, a very conservative Chevy Trailblazer, and like always from May to August, a ton of traffic on the Seward Highway heading out of Anchorage. It didn’t matter to me though, because my head was elsewhere, not on my driving or the traffic, or the two and half hour drive ahead. Instead I kept thinking over and over, what did I just do? Was I sure about this? Is this right? I had these tiny little doubts creeping deep into my pyschi, and I didn’t like it. My iphone was not plugged into the car, so I turned on the radio which happened to be on 88.5, and a song had just come on. It was a song I had never heard, a song I probably would’ve never noticed, but instantly it caught my attention, and without thinking I twisted the black knob to the right to confirm what I was hearing. Again, not my style of music, again not a song that would’ve ever ended up on any of my playlists, but at the right time in the right situation it was perfect. The lyrics I heard said, ” When the waves are taking you under, hold on just a little bit longer, he knows this is going to make you stronger, stronger”. Those lyrics slapped me like a flounder across the face, snapped me out of a funk and erased the temporary doubt that was trying to cloud my hope. I will admit, although I was driving at max speed limit, I was still able to download that song before Girdwood and play it over and over again on my drive home to prepare for our last month in Alaska.
Road Trips
Every once in a while a man has to get out of dodge and take road trip. In college a road trip consisted of; scraping up some gas money, spending most of it on snacks ( pickled red-hot sausage for me please), a car full of screaming teenage boys, very loud 80s music in the cassette, excessive speeding and not planning ahead for the trip home. They were spontaneous, reckless and usually fun fraught with a touch of danger and self-induced issues.
road trip scenes
Cook Inlet Turnagain Arm
Tern Lake
Now our road trips are just a touch different; Get through all the days appointments, PLAN for two days, pack for you the kids and for every contingency under the winter sun, take care of the dog, take care of the cars and leave about 2 hours later than planned, with no pickled red-hot sausage for dad because a 40-year-old gut can’t handle it. But probably the biggest difference is the purpose. In college, the purpose was not usually well-defined and sometimes not well intended. Now there is a purpose. Perhaps for a shopping trip, a family visit, or just some family time.
This past weekend we went out on one of our road trips to attend a family function. When my family has a function it is usually not an intimate thing. This time it was to congratulate my brother on graduating from law school and to celebrate my grandmother’s 81 (0r 82) birthday. After four years of working a full-time job and taking classes my brother was finally able to graduate with his law degree and take his bar exam, all while getting fantastic grades. We are very proud of him, and we just hope he doesn’t bill us when we call him, because he can be a little long-winded at times and we don’t have that kind of money.
A small portion of the gathering, Dorian, Jeremy, Jennifer, Brad and Wyatt
Brad " is that one of my kids crying or one of the 30 other kids?"
Just one of the kid's tables
These ones couldn't find a table
Grandma, well she keeps plugging along. She is the type of grandma that acts about 1/3 her age. My kids love being around her because she is so much fun, In fact Ben just did a road with her to Homer and he said he was laughing the whole time; it was his best road trip ever. So maybe she acts more like a 1/7 her age. Whatever it is I have learned that the older you get the younger you act the younger you will feel.
The adults beginning to gather after the cow bell for dinner was rung.
Olivia, Alli, Dorian, Tim and a whole slug of other eaters
Gerad about 1/2 hour into his thank you speech, with Deb and Grandma looking on.
The event itself was just that, lots of puroke, potato salad, turkey and desserts; new family members introduced, stories were shared, relationships rekindled, people were honored, and all were fed well. It was awesome. There were approximately 57 people in attendance. I could not give an exact number because approximately 30 of those people were under the age of 14 and they didn’t stand still long enough to be counted. We ended up having a grand time seeing family members we had not seen in years, and some new ones we had never seen. Unfortunately we were unable to stay as long as we would’ve liked, perhaps next time I will skip that pickled red-hot sausage on the drive over.
A Christmas to remember
Over the last few years we have molded our own Christmas tradition, friends over the night before Christmas, Church on Christmas Eve, a light dinner, the kids open presents from each other and from their grandparents, sleep in until 9 or 10 ( yep, it’s true our kids are NOT early risers) have some cinnamon rolls or dad makes eggs, read the Bible, take turns opening presents, and then play with any electronics as dad mumbles in frustration to himself trying to open plastic wrapped toys and wire ties. The afternoon is spent cooking a Prime Rib dinner while dad attempts to program, set up and debug all electronics while mom collects the leftovers of her endless hours wrapping perfection. I know it doesn’t seem like much, but it is ours. It is comforting, relaxing, stress free and fits us like a brand new Snuggie, with feet.
The Eve of Christmas Eve gathering.
Jo on the eve of Christmas eve gets a visit from Glanta
Jo concentrating for the 32 seconds it took for her to open pressies.
Jake loving the Christmas Eve Candlelight Service
nephew Levi sporting a tie at church
This year Mom invited us back to Anchorage to celebrate Christmas at her house. Considering that this may be our last Christmas in AK for a while, we accepted. This changes things a little. You see my mom does not do small and relaxing. My mom does big and grand. So I knew there would be excessive food and excessive people. Further, we had to load up the van with all the gifts and all the gear required for a Christmas weekend.
Action!
Jace n Jake sporting their Jammies
ripping time
Kassie and Callie and their American Girls. Too many women for me!
Now this is more my speed!
Upon arrival I quickly learned that I was not wrong, nor was I disappointed, there were about a dozen pies, several turkeys, lots of sides, home-made egg nog ( another of my favorite cholesterol fat inducing traditions) french onion soup and yes my french dip. Christmas eve included a candle light service ( and no Shine Jesus Shine) with an exchanging of a few gifts. The house was full of food, fun and folks. It went very well with a relatively early bed time. Christmas Day was another story.
Nana's girls posing for her Christmas present
Callie, Tiara, Kassie, Olivia, Alli and Bella
It started well, we slept in until we could her our little nephews and nieces pitter pattering around the house. Tracy and I eventually made our way downstairs clothed in our traditional Christmas Jammies. I should haveknown it was going to be a little off day when I went to make a cup of coffee and the Kuerig was stingy with the water. Something was amiss. Desperate, I ran a solution of vinegar and water through the system, to no avail. Glenn without his traditional cup of Christmas morning sludge is unacceptable to most and unbearable to all. So after cleansing the system I tried again. It dribbled out about 8 ounces of joe, at least it was something. However one sip let me know that the system was still full of vinegar as I puckered in disgust looking for a place to spit my sip, the definition of a sourpuss. It never did give up any acceptable joe.
Kinect Action
uncle Brad showing us how its done. He beat daddy in track and field.
So we decided to start the gift opening, with no coffee. Unfortunately we did not calculate the time it would take with the extra four openers in the flock. You see we open one present at a time, but we had 11 kids in the mix. About 4 presents in we decided that everyone should open one present at a time, but in unison, adapt and survive. Perhaps I was impatient due to the lack O joe, but it seemed to be an effective and efficient method and by my calculations we would have been un-wrapping until New Year’s Eve.
Christmas in the dark
Christmas dinner in the dark.......
..... and charades in the dark, best you don't see what's happening here.
Once the presents were opened, Uncle Brad and I were off in search of coffee, of which we found a couple of smart stands open for business. Needless to say a big tip was in order. The afternoon did not fair any better as minutes into the frying of the turkey and prior to the cooking of the sides, the power went out. The same power that we lost on Thanksgiving ( and we later learned was lost on New Year’s Day). Do you think somebody may be bucking for some Holiday OT over at the Chugach Electric Company? Once again we improvised and brought the remainder of the food over to Val’s to cook, and made do with what was already done. The power stayed off until 3 am the next morning, so in the interim we slept ( okay I may have dozed off on the couch) ate, played charades, played cards, talked and sat by the fire in an attempt to stay warm. The poor kids had to wait forever to play their new electronic games, including the new Kinect which eventually dad and uncle Brad broke in for them. However, all in all it certainly was a Christmas to remember.
Mickey D’s and Mother’s Day
I had a great mother’s day. I know, I know, who cares how my Mother’s Day was, how was Tracy’s? Well that is the point, for me to have a good Mother’s Day, Tra has to have a great Mother’s Day. I think she did.
The day started with great service in church, and Tra leading the morning worship, which I thought was pretty great. Then again I may have some biases, but I think even Simon Cowell would agree with me. After church we ran home, well we actually drove home as it is about 15 miles away, and changed for lunch. Changed for lunch? You ask. Yes Change. I know we have our Sunday best on, but that is far too dressy for this fishing town. Further, our lunch was coming via a drive thru, and I don’t want anyone spilling ketchup or special sauce on their Sunday best.
Present Time!
Dude how do we end up here every year?
I don't know, but this is what Mother's Day is all about
So after changing we headed out the door to McDonald’s, and I must admit I was shocked to see it wasn’t packed. I mean it was Mother’s Day, people should be taking their mom’s out to chow, and let em pig out a little. I can’t think of anywhere better to pig out the McDonald’s. I guess we are just an exceptional family.
Jo and Amber with her 5th cup of coffee
Peyton chilling at mom's feet
I hope this is not one of my boys
Yes we did go to McDonald’s, but the reason is that we have developed a tradition over the last few years for Mother’s Day, and McDonald’s is a key part of that tradition. Once we get through the drive thru, which is no small feat when you are ordering for 10, then we head south to Homer.
For the last three Mother’s Day we have driven to Homer to spend the day after church. We shop, play on the windiest beach in America, go to the park, and eat, after Mickey D’s wears off.
I smell trouble
Throughout the day you rarely see mom without her camera. I don’t know how we survived before digital cameras. I would have to budget 1/3 of our income just to buy and process film. I truly think her favorite part of the trip is to take pictures all day long. So we let her snap away, posing as she wishes, and gritting our teeth to keep them from chattering.
Mom and Jo
Mom and Jake
Ben with his slave
monkey boy
Finally, when we get to my favorite part, the food, we actually eat at a sit down restaurant, with tablecloths, silverware and waiters. This year we went with a whole bunch of friends, so we were a party of 22, and man our waitress at Fat Olives was very excited to see us. I mean she yelled the whole time we were there. Stuff like ” that’s impossible”, “We absolutely cannot do that”, ” We don’t do separate checks” for a minute I thought she was going to take Angie out, but Amber had her back. She was great, and made for fun conversation! I’m guessing she was a mom and her family didn’t take her to McDonald’s.
Ben's present, and he paid for it all himself
Jo beaching it
Sisters
Kassie the kollector
I can't say who the old guy on the swing is
But even with our cheery, loud, New York accented, negative waitress, we still managed to have a great time. But what made the day best for Mother Tracy was that Jo got to go with us. And not just for Mother’s Day, but the whole weekend! You can’t get a gift better than that, unless you count the “clunky” jewelry the kids picked out for her. So my advice to you husbands and sons out there, if you want to have a great Mother’s Day, start it with some McDonald’s to go, there is never a wait on Mother’s Day.
Angie and her brood
8/10 of Tra and Glenn Make 10
Peppernuts
Now, as an outsider, when you read the title of this post I can only imagine what you must be thinking. However, it is again about tradition and food, two of my favorite things. You see since as long as I can remember peppernuts have been a part of my life. They bring back memories of some of the most simple and pleasurable seasons of my childhood. For you to understand, first you must have an idea what they are; a cookie. Yes, a cookie. But not just any cookie. They are a very small, very hard, very gingery type of cookie. That may not sound so special, but to me it is very special.
the log of dough, not so appetizing in this form
Peppernuts have a very distinct smell, a spicy, ginger snap odor that when heated, fills the house and instantly screams Christmas. The only time we have peppernuts is Christmas time, and we have a lot of them. Mom, or now Tra will make a 10 pound log of peppernut dough, wrap it in Saran wrap, and store it in the fridge. Then, when the urge strikes there will be a rolling party. The rolling is the forming of the peppernut cookie, and it almost always involves a group of kids, gathered around the kitchen taking quarter size pieces of the dough into their thoroughly washed hands, and then rolling them in their palms until they form a perfect circle. Then the ball is placed on a cookie sheet, evenly ( not so much) spaced and ready for cooking. Once placed in the oven, magic happens. The cookies come out dark brown and shaped like a teeny dome, rock hard and perfect.
Shyla wants in on this peppernut rolling party
I wonder if Alli knew there was a camera near?
“A rock hard cookie?” I hear you screaming. But that is the beauty of the peppernut. It is not meant just to plop in your mouth, although that is quite enjoyable that way, but it is meant to be dunked. It is an activity food, like the fondue of cookies.
This is where the memories come in. I remember, as a child, the kitchen full of baking goodies, a fresh batch of peppernuts, and the four of us kids sitting around the table dunking our peppernuts in warm milk.I remember many times, me with my warm milk, grandpa or my dad with his coffee and cream ( enough cream sometimes that it looked like milk) sitting together at the table dunking peppernuts. There is something so perfect about the mixed aroma of peppernuts and coffee. I remember, year after year being taught the proper way to dunk and then eat a peppernut, even though by age 10 I considered myself an expert. Yet I never interjected, I just sat and watched the same presentation I had seen the year or week before, enjoying every minute of it.
brown buttons
a mound of heaven and spices
Now you can’t just throw them in the milk, there is a definite skill involved. You see the dome shape is made for dunking. the flat part of the cookie should be on the top of your dunking medium of choice, and you should let it sit there until it just about looses its buoyancy, and slowly began to sink. At that exact moment, you save it from the grasp of the certain death, and gently slide your spoon under the treat. IF you wait just a second too long, the dome will sink, and recovery of an intact cookie is as rare as the Godfrey home with no kids in it. Unless, of course you have years of training and skills, much like myself. More often than not, the sunk cookie will disintegrate, leaving chunks of mush in your beverage, which is pleasant for no one. But if you do it right, then from the cup, to your mouth, memories in cookie form.
getting ready for a dunk in some hot coffee, with hardly any milk in it.
the drop
Perfect time for the retrieval! I can smell the mixture of ginger, cinnamon, coffee and pure yumminess.
So there is very little that makes me happier than coming home from work and seeing my family gathered around the kitchen counter rolling peppernuts as fast as their little hands can move. I become instantly excited that soon I will be sitting at the table, dunking peppernuts and explaining for the dozenth time the essence of the perfect dunk to anyone who will listen, and even to those that won’t. Although I am sure they think they are experts.
oops, guess I'll have to eat the ones I spilled. Good thing they are carb, fat, and sugar-free!
Our version of the fruitcake
Holiday’s are filled with tradition, they themselves are tradition. Not all traditions are great however. Take for instance the 24 hour salad. The 24 hour salad is our families version of a fruitcake. It shows up every Thanksgiving and sits right in the middle of the table beckoning out for someone to scoop its unmatched combination of fruit, jello, marshmallows, vegetables and more onto their plate. I am not that man. To be fair, I think my mom, Uncle Mort and one other person actually eats the stuff every year. But their taste buds are old and worn out. In fact in the last 20 years I don’t think I have ever seen the bottom of the dish that stuff is melded in.
The 24 hour salad before dinner was served.
My main issue with it is celery. Why in the world is there celery in a gelatin dish? Then combine that with nuts. I don’t know about you, but it takes a lot for me to eat Jello with fruit in it, that is about the extent of the texture I enjoy in my gelatin. When you put nuts and celery in it, it is akin to drinking milk with chunks, your throat will not accept it. Believe me, I have tried. Yet year after year there it sits, usually right in front of me ( very funny mother). It always makes its way to the main table, because if it was on the buffet line no one would take it.
The 24 hour salad after dinner
However, I must admit I am comforted by it. If it was gone, I would miss it, and would ask about it and I would insist it be made, or we could just pull out the original batch from 19?? buried deep inside the deep freeze. Either way, I wouldn’t eat it, but I need it to ground me and to be the tradition that will unite Thanksgiving from 19?? to eternity, for that’s how long it last. Oh, I know you are wondering why it is called 24 hour salad, well I have several theories: 1. That’s how long it takes to make it. 2. That’s how long it takes to gain the courage to eat it. 3. That’s how long it takes to chew it. We accept all other answers or thoughts in the comments section.
I am not trying it, you try it! Where's Mikey?
four turkeys ( five if you count Sean) and no 24 hour salad. It has to be on the main table.
Holiday Roads
Traveling is always a chore with a large family. Shoot, it takes us 25 minutes to figure out how we are getting to church every Sunday, and we go every Sunday! Are we taking the van or two cars? Do you need to be there early? Do we have any extra kids? Who is riding with dad? Are you getting a coffee? No, you can’t all ride with mom! No you can’t all go in later! Where are we going to eat? Where did all these extra kids come from?
Now imagine trying to take a vacation. Just finding 10 seats is daunting, but then try and use your handy-dandy super simple companion fare in combination with you Alaska Airlines miles and find the cheapest fare. This always leads to a conversation with a ticket agent ( yes they still exist, near extinction, but those still alive have managed to maintain the skills their ancestors have passed down to them)explaining my fate and frustration of attempting to bring it all together. The result is always at least two separate flights. Two long separate flights arriving several hours apart, and arriving late, always.
Traveling is definitely a chore for a family our size, but it is almost always worth it. Our last family trip was to Orlando, and the end result was great, even though it did involve two travel teams changing planes twice each way and going through different cities and arriving at different times. I think it must be somewhat like childbirth. You forget the crying, the vomiting ( in the aisle of the plane), the nasty smells ( usually sitting by the bathroom) and the kicking and screaming in desire of breaking free from captivity, and then you have worry about the kids too. But alas, all that goes away as soon as you lay your head on the lounge chair by the pool.
I write this as we get ready to head to Anchorage for Thanksgiving, our yearly tradition. The kids love staying with Nana, going to the shootout, shopping, hitting up old Charles E. Fromage, and maybe even making an appearance at H2Oasis, a great place for a hairy old overweight man like myself to hang out. Alas, I have to keep this short because we are getting ready to leave and I need to open an Excel spreadsheet to figure out who is going to ride with who and who gets to bring what laptop, and who gets to sit in what seat, and where we will stop and potty, and where Tracy will want to stop and take some pictures…… oops we were suppose to leave an hour ago.
Have a great Thanksgiving weekend, and don’t forget to whom you are thankful.
My favorite story teller
I need to vent, and when I vent I usually like to write. So you all get to be the brunt of my vent.
First, this week we heard from OCS ( for the first time in forever) that Jo will be leaving us forever on July 19. This news came out of the blue and kind of took the wind out of our sails to start the week. If you don’t know, Jo has been our child since before her first birthday. In a couple weeks it will be her fourth birthday. Now they tell us she will no longer be our child. As you can imagine this has been an emotional nightmare for our entire family. We have been praying and praying and praying more for Jo to be with us, and right now we are in the 12th hour and barring a miracle, it does not look good. The last few years, our time with Jo has been an emotional bungee jump. I will not go into everything as I have bore my heart about her several times on this blog: That\’s what I (don\’t) love about Sunday & the one that started it all… At what cost. If you want to read the whole series, just click on JoJean in the category cloud to the right. Needless to say this has been like ripping our hearts out of our chest, and frankly I have been numb all week. Yet we have no choice but to be strong because we have 7 other kids that need us.
Then today at 3:05 Tracy calls me at work to let me know that my Grandpa just died. What? Is this some kind of joke? Now I must point out that my Grandpa has not been well for a while, but he was one tough hombre and every time we thought he may not make it, he pulled through and was sometimes better than before. Nonetheless, it hurts, and it hurts bad. I feel for my mom, my aunts and uncle and very much so for my Grandma, and for our family. I spent a lot of time with my Grandpa growing up. He taught me so much without trying. He taught me work ethic, perseverance, strength, fire and desire, he was instrumental in teaching me how to be a man. Something that a lot of this society now lacks. He didn’t set out to “teach” me these lessons, he was just himself.
I commercial fished with Grandpa since I was about 5 years old. I spent all my summers on boats out of Kodiak, and I took my first steps on one of his boats. I have so many memories, some hard, some bad, some tiring, but many great memories that are almost surreal. He showed me how to work a seine, how to drive a skiff, how to dig claims and fish for halibut. He showed me how to shoot deer, catch shrimp, carve, and much to my Grandma’s horror, how to chew snuff. I remember he used to smell like skoal and coffee as I sat on his lap on the flying bridge of his boat, just me and him traveling along somewhere away from anywhere, and I would revel in the smell. That smell was my Grandpa. It was with him I caught my first king salmon, my first halibut, drove my first boat, learned how to play cribbage and pinochle, all before the age of 10. All these things he did not set out to have me experience, I was just there, part of his life, and he was happy to have me there.
I have heard few better story tellers than my Grandpa. I am sure over the 10 or so summers I spent with him I heard all of his stories, and I would beg him over and over to tell me again. They were bigger than life, but all true. The details, until the day he died, they never changed, the names they were always the same. He could recall to the pound how much crab he had on board when it was rough that the waves took out his window. He could recall how much he got paid for loads of crab, and how he would get on Fish & Game’s case because they were wiping out the fishery. He could recall the looks on the face of the men in his stories, the crate of eggs the sea sick deckhnad sat on as Grandpa ate an egg sandwich in front of him for spite. And almost every story ended with laugh as he looked up into the sky, his piercing trademark blue eyes glistening with a slight tear; his mind back in his younger years and the multitude of adventures he had as a pioneer of the commercial fishery in this state. And I would be sitting on his lap or at his feet with smile as big as his in awe and wonder of such a man of strength and adventure.
I can probably write a book about my adventures with Grandpa & Grandma Gugel, but this is a blog not a book. Grandpa thank you for the stories, thank you for the lessons, thank you for the skills, thank you for the patience ( all though short at times, he was part German after all as he frequently reminded me) and all the experiences. But most of all thank you for being you and helping me to be the man I am today. You will always be a huge part of who I am and who I become and who my children become. You have left a great legacy. I know you are with God now telling him about the time you ate the maggot infested salmon; finishing, as always with ” and you know Glenn, that was the best smoked salmon we ever had”.
Grandpa, Jo and Glenn this past December
A Clammy Memorial Day
For Memorial Day 2009 we decided to take advantage of the tides coinciding with the holiday to go to Clam Gulch and dig us some clams. After all a man has to be the hunter gatherer for his family. After loading up the van, we headed s0uth with a brief stop at Freddy’s for some last minute supplies, including another clam shovel and clam gun. I feared we were running a little late, for tide waits for no man, and tide protects the elusive razor clam. But alas, my fears were unfounded as we showed up to a nearly empty beach void of water and fantastic sunny weather. Now I am a man of few clams, meaning I don’t like cleaning em, but I do like digging em, so I limit me and boys to around 40 clams total. The limit is 60 per person, and we never breach that.
Unpacking, and ready for action
Dad's not starting that fire right is he?
Our camp
For those of you that have not done it, clamming is hard work, especially when you are not good at it like us. In fact the last time we went we clammed for hours and I think we almost had 50. As hard as digging em is, cleaning is even more so, especially on an old man’s back. So I have learned from my past ways and have limited our take. This time I wanted only 40. After about 90 minutes I figured we were there. I was very impressed at the increased clam digging prowess of the boys, they were up to their armpits in the sand battling those little mollusks to the bitter end. Even though the razors were out weighed by well over 200 pounds, they still had home-court advantage, and they knew how to use it. They would tease us, just leaving a little portion of their shell or neck out so that we could feel it with our frozen fingertips, but not enough to grip them and break the bionic suction that their size 13 foot was able to create. But persistence often paid off and we were all able to contribute to the pot.
Heading out to the digging fields
the hunter gatherers in action
going for all the clams
check out those great looking toes
So while the girls sat by the campfire cooking and relaxing, the men battled for every morsel, encrusting sand in every nook of our hands, arms, and even teeth. When we were dripping with sweat, with back spasms and sliced up hands we felt we had enough. As we trudged up to the campsite, I glanced into the buckets and I surmised we had about 60 clams, a little more than I wanted to clean, but they were small so I was happy. At camp we started rinsing out the razors and I began counting, when I stopped I had said 100, yes 100. That is quite a few more than I wanted, and way more than I anticipated. I started to sweat again anticipating the work ahead. Fortunately, when we got home and I started to clean, the boys were eager to join in, and with knives in hand they began to slicing and chopping with the skill of a Samurai, a two year old Samurai. Eventually they got the hang of it and between the four of us and our cleaning chain, we got the task done in about 2 hours. So ultimate victory against the great razor was ours. We came, we dug, we rinsed, we cleaned and we conquered. It was a great day. The only way it could have been better is if 1. You had been there. 2. You had cleaned all the clams for us. But even as it was, it was an awesome family day, with some world class smores on display at the campfire.
Jerms and Alii on the rock
bluff climbing, this is not dangerous at all
Wading in Alaska glacier water... that's our kids
Ben & jake in action
Jake paying Ben back for making him look like a sissy in the last picture
Missing Jo, but the rest of the crew on the rock.
P.S. Although I thought we conquered the raucous razors, as I sit and write this and feel the cuts on my hands, the pain under my finger nails, and the aches throughout my body, I am not sure who had the last laugh. Perhaps I will feel better after some chowder and fritters.
The smaller rock, and the smaller crew
the cleaning crew doing what they do
Our prize trophies. Olivia wanted to keep em as pets, go figure.
Then and Now
By nature I am not much of a worrier, I am a bit of a go- with -the- flow type of guy. Like all personality traits, this can be a good thing and it can be a bad thing. At times it drives people crazy, but I don’t let that worry me. Besides, Matthew 6:34 says not to worry about tomorrow, and I always obey everything in the Bible ( ahem). In all seriousness, I have learned most problems are not worth worrying about, even though circumstances may say otherwise.
But when it comes to my kids I do worry. I don’t worry about now, I worry about then. Now they are in our house, now we can try and mold them in they way I think they should live, now we can fulfill their needs, teach them, comfort them,discipline them and train them. We can fix their owies, tell them it will be alright, confirm that a nightmare is just a dream, and that we will always love them no matter what. Although we talk a lot about the stresses and hardships of every day life now, now is relatively easy.
What I worry about is then. Then they must make their own decisions, then they will be own their own, then they will most likely do some seriously stupid stuff that now we told them not to do then. They must choose their lifelong mate and they must choose wisely, they must provide for themselves, and hopefully for others. The then possibilities are endless and often exciting to ponder, but truth is there is a lot out there, and not all of it good. As much as I would love to protect them from the bad parts of then, I know I cannot, and that worries me. I often wonder, am I doing the right thing? Was I too harsh, too soft, too mushy, too manly, what in the world am I doing?
Pastor Brown praying before the baptism
sweet Kassie was a little nervous in front of everyone
But I take comfort from now, now when one decision is made and one act is publicly displayed, because after that all else pales in comparison. As long as they are true to that act and believe, then no matter what, they will eventually be more perfect than I can ever imagine. That act is their own personal salvation decision followed by a public act of baptism. As the astute of you have already ascertained, we just had another baptism in the family. This past Sunday Kassie decided it was time and she got baptised. That makes eight of the ten of us, and as with each one, it is the proudest, most satisfying and emotional now moment. There is no bigger decision they can make now that will have more of an impact on then. Besides if they really loved me they will want me to be able to live out my mantra of “no worries”, not just now but then.
Just before taking the big plunge
Kassie post Baptism
Happy Mother’s Day
Happy Mother’s Day to all of you moms out there. I know of no one that worries more, loves more, works more, prays more, cries more, stresses more, or is more proud of their kids. I know in my house growing up and in my house now, mom is the glue, nay the concrete that keeps the family together. I know as the kids in our house grow older they navigate closer to mom, they trust mom and mom is their comforter. I really don’t know what the heck I am even doing here? Blogging? Maybe that’s my role.
We always try to make Mother’s Day special for Tra, but it seems to me that special to her is spending time with her family, driving, dining and just chilling. So one of our traditions is to drive to Homer, walk the beach, play in the park and eat of course. It is usually a relaxing and enjoyable day for mom, no dishes no mess. Unfortunately today we could not because today is the day we have to drop Jo off for her visit, a terrible Mother’s Day event. However Tra did not let that dampen her day, except for maybe a few moments.
We love ya mommy!
Mommy's favorite Mother's Day activity.
I know we have a lot of moms that read this blog, perhaps wondering about a family of ten and how they do it. But perhaps being a mother of one can be just as difficult if not more than being a mother of eight. Remember the rules of percentage! Rules of Percentage Although we may be a somewhat unique family in America, we are just a family much like all of you doing the very best we can by putting God as the center of our life and by trusting him to guide us in the raising of our kids. It is truly enjoyable to share our life experiences with all of you and to all you mothers out there, my hat is off to you and I truly do not know how you do it. May God Bless you on this your day, oh and maybe the kids can clean the house for you today, ours did. (with a little prodding from dad… hey that’s another role for me!)
Mom's House
Time for something a little lighter; A Superbowl snack?
Before we get started, a little housekeeping. I have added an email subscription link to the right. If you enter your email address once, then every time there is a new post, you will get an email to the post. I use this for several blogs I follow, and it is great for the lazy such as myself. Also, there is an rss feed, which I also use for my stock blogs. This is great if you have a homepage with Yahoo or Google or MSN, whatever it will be right on that page. Just wanted to let you know these are available and in the future I will do a tab demonstrating how to do this if you can’t figure it out. Now on to today’s topic.
I think it is time for a something a little lighter, so what is light? Snow, feathers, air… how about popcorn. You see, I often think about family quirks, or “traditions” as some may call it,and I think we have many; one of ours is popcorn. Now I know everyone eats popcorn, but I don’t think they eat it like we eat it. We do not use the microwave popcorn, that would be sacrilegious. For us, popcorn is not just a food it is an event. It is part of our quirks that make us unique. We have nicknamed our corn, butter sponges, or butter mops, or butter kernels, you get the point. So let’s get into it shall we:
First the ingredients. These ingredients are crucial, a great thin metal popcorn popper, oil, two, yes two sticks of butter, salt, a spoon, and the most crucial, Tabasco sauce. You read that right. First you heat the oil, don’t put the corn in until it is hot. To do this, put three, and only three, kernels in the oil. When at least two of them pop, the oil is ready. Note, if you leave the lid open, like real men do, and wear a short sleeve shirt, be prepared to have and arm full of scars, and endure the smell of burning arm hair, not a great odor for popcorn night. I am a little wimpy here with my new long sleeve Duke shirt on.
While this going on, I melt the butter, all of it. Once the oil is hot enough, I add the popcorn, enough to fill the bottom of the popper and a couple of tablespoons of butter. More of a feeling than a measurement. Then it is time to prep the bowls, this is a crucial step. Use a spoon to spread some melted butter all over the inside of the bowls. Be generous, a lot of butter never killed anyone, at least not that same day. Then follow up with salt, again generous.
By now it should be popping and you should be shaking or spinning or whatever your style is to make sure it is moving and not burning. When the lid blows off that hummer, then phase one is done. Now comes the crucial part, layering. You must first put a third of the popped corn into the bowl and spread it around the bowl, soaking up the butter and salt on the bowl. Then put in layer 2, using the spoon to spread butter and salt all over the corn. Then another layer and voila, the first batch is done. At this point, most if not all of the butter should be gone. In fact, many times I have to call an audible and melt another 1/2 stick of butter for the next step.
Now comes the specialty part, the Tobasco. This part is not for the faint of heart, or those with heart problems. After spreading butter on both batches, Leave about 1/6 of the butter in the bottom of the melting pot. Then add Toabasco, and if adventurous, some Red Hot. How much? Well that is up to you and the level of your man hood / woman hood. I like mine to look dark red. Then take a portion of the popcorn, and using the same spoon, pour the red sauce over that portion stirring often. Not every piece will have the red sauce on it, but more than half, and you have done well.
It is hard to see in these photos, but you can see the red sauce being poured onto the corn. This is called Tabascorn, and it is heavenly. Especially near the very end of the bowl, when you can use the last smattering of kernels to soak up the red heavenly nectar. I would advise to have plenty of cold drinks around when participating in this event.
You know you have done it right if when you finish eating the paper towel you have been wiping your hands with would serve well as a window. I will warn you right now, it is very very addictive and you may have to join a program for help. None the less, I hope you try this and popcorn night becomes a family quirk for you and your family. Now I have to go take my cholesterol medicine.
