Life with Mama and Papa Cat

Everyone thinks their parents are weird. I don't care who you are or how close you are to your mother and father, but everybody I know has some strange story about their parents' idiosyncratic ways.

Mine are certainly no exception.

Consider these:

• My parents are in their mid-60s. Why is it that the older they get, the bigger their CARS get?

Sister Kitten and I have been out of the house for years, yet our mother still insists on driving a minivan. She says she's comfortable with it, and is used to driving a car that big. But why? The only things she puts in there these days are groceries. She doesn't put furniture in there; she hardly drives whenever there's a carpool. And she doesn't have any grandchildren!

And our father drives a Ford truck. Just a small one, but again, he has nothing major to transport. Besides, he says that at his age, he can't do much heavy lifting anymore. So why does he still have it?

• They refuse to break their morning routine--and they're RETIRED.

Mama Cat still gets up at the ass-crack of dawn--5:00 AM. There is absolutely no reason for her to! She puts the coffee on and pours herself a cup--or two--or three. No breakfast, just coffee. And then she makes damn sure to go outside and get the paper before Papa Cat gets up--and if Papa Cat doesn't have his morning paper, he goes ballistic.

Papa Cat rises at 6:30--about an hour later than when he was working. He pours his coffee, sets the Hartford Courant in front of him at the kitchen table, and commences reading.

Meanwhile, Mama Cat sits in the family room with her coffee, reading the latest James Patterson novel or whatever mystery novel she's into at the moment. Mama Cat loves to buy the mass-market paperbacks at the supermarket. She goes through about three or four a week. She does this while Papa Cat finishes the paper; she can't read any section of the paper until Papa Cat is done with the entire thing.

Which leads me to my next point...

• They constantly complain about the Hartford Courant, yet refuse to cancel their subscription.

Sister Kitten and I have suggested, on more than one occasion, that they go paperless and start reading the New York Times online. They flat out refuse, especially Papa Cat. He enjoys his morning routine. I respect that. But if you're going to keep reading the paper, why not subscribe to something else?!?! Papa Cat claims he doesn't like computers or technology, but this is a hypocritical statement, for...

• Papa Cat has a Facebook account, and Mama Cat is fluent in textspeak.

I am not at all horrified by the fact that my father is on Facebook. He's not one of those parents who constantly checks my status or comments on it. He leaves my page, and Sister Kitten's, alone. He respects our privacy--or rawther, what little you can find online.

I am, however, disappointed that my own mother, who constantly corrected my grammar as a child and proofread all of my research papers in high school, now uses textspeak. My own 65-year-old mother!!! She first started texting when she went to Rome, and found that texting was cheaper than calling us. And then her messages got lengthier, and she started abbreviating. That disappointed me greatly. I have called her out on it several times. She says, "Well, no one other than you and your sister are seeing my texts, so what's the big deal?"

It IS a big deal! Now I have to go and revise this post from a year ago!!!

OK, that rant's over. Now how do I continue? Oh yes...

• My parents are beyond obsessed with Costco.

I really shouldn't say beyond obsessed, for they only go once a month. But when they go, however, they load up on all sorts of...crap. Well, I shouldn't use the word "crap," but they buy their meat in bulk, as well as vitamins, shampoo, and toilet paper.

It's just the two of them living at home. They shouldn't be going through all of that stuff so fast! (Especially Papa Cat, who has very little hair left on his noggin).

Mama Cat sends me and Sister Kitten an E-mail about once a month that goes like this...

"Your father and I went to Costco yesterday. We got you both some kitty litter (in the 50-pound pails), some refills for your hand soap (about two GALLONS worth), and some of that pumpkin flax cereal you both like. Kitten, we got you some vitamin D as well. And we got both of you girls some tampons."

Now THAT I appreciate (except the part about the feminine hygiene products). Mama Cat needn't go through the trouble of getting all of that stuff for me and Sister Kitten. It's very nice, though; I cannot fault her for that.

But I can fault her for...

• Her need to keep everything museum-quality clean.

As I wrote above, Mama and Papa Cat are both retired. She therefore has time to clean her house from top to bottom all the time. It is always spotless. It puts my house to shame. It makes my house look like an urban slum.

Sister Kitten and I had a bonding moment once when she called me, in a panic, because she was having all of us over for dinner.

SISTER KITTEN: I'm so nervous about Mom and Dad coming over!
ME: Why?
SK: Because no matter how much I clean Mom always finds something wrong! I know you wouldn't care all that much, but this is MOM and DAD!!!!

Isn't it a phenomenon, kittens? No matter how clean your house is, your mother will spot something that's out of place--especially the moment when she first steps through the door? And the worst thing is, the minute she spots something out of place, she always tidies it up. And then she chides me and Sister Kitten for being such messy housekeepers.

Uh, hello ma...we're both working professionals with tres busy lives!! Cut us some slack!

And there are various other things that puzzle me about the 'rents. There's their need to constantly putter around the house. A week after I moved out, for instance, Mama Cat ripped the carpeting out of my bedroom, only to expose the gorgeous hardwood flooring underneath. She then painted it and added new curtains, pictures, and throw rugs! "All from Ocean State Job Lot!" she proclaimed. (Her other favorite place, just behind Costco). And Papa Cat is trying to improve the landscaping, to various degrees of success. For years he has built a stone wall around the backyard--using stones he's smuggled from abandoned properties in the woods. He wants to build the wall around the front yard, but Mama Cat put her paw down on that one.

And then there are those other idiosyncratic habits to which I have grown accustomed over the years. They have their own Archie-and-Edith chairs in the family room, and God forbid that someone else ever sits in them. They use them to watch TV at night and to read their Sunday paper. But I won't fault them for the Sunday routine, for it's something I actually enjoyed as a growing kitten. Papa Cat would buy bagels after church, as well as the New York Daily News and the New York Post. They'd complain about the quality of the bagels they purchased, and how they didn't compare to the ones they got in New York. They'd read their papers and talk about Governor Cuomo, the Mets' latest woes, and why aren't the Jets as good as they used to be?

Don't get me wrong, kittens. I adore my parents and would be devastated if anything happened to either of them. But man, they are strange sometimes.

And if you're a parent, have you ever wondered what your children would say about you?

Just back from Jersey

I am exhausted. Mama and Papa Cat picked me up from the condo at 2 PM yesterday, and dropped me off back home shortly after noon today. That's a whirlwind trip, all right.

The commutes to and from the Garden State were uneventful. We didn't witness any accidents or monster traffic jams, but we experienced a lot of people cutting us off, especially as we crossed the New York line. There were a lot of cars on the highway, given the holiday weekend, but we managed to get there in a little over two hours.

We stopped at my aunt and uncle's house before we checked into the hotel. Once we checked in, I realized that I left the 50th anniversary card on my dining room table. Off Papa Cat went to the Tar-jay across the way. Mama Cat went hunting for ice, found some, and then had me join her in the quest for snacks. We bought Doritos and pretzels--something light, as we were going to gorge heavily at the party.

We started getting dressed at 6. Mama Cat found a hole in her stockings. Off Papa Cat went to Tar-jay once again, this time to buy pantyhose. Mama Cat insisted that I join him, but Papa Cat said he could do it himself. And he did, much to the amazement of us all.

Then we went to the party. Now, kittens, for those of you who are not Italian, you need to understand three things about my people:

1. We like food.
2. We like wine.
3. We love food and wine together, especially in mass quantities at family gatherings.

I don't remember having so much wine. The wait staff kept replenishing the bottles whenever they were empty. Usually, at family gatherings such as this, Sister Kitten's the one to take the bottle and refill everyone's glasses. This time, the job fell to me, and I was more than happy to do it. I'm not normally a fan of Chianti, but this stuff tasted ever so good, and was sooooooo smooth going down.

We started off with the antipasti--artichoke hearts, sun-dried tomatoes, fresh mozzarella, prosciutto, roasted red peppers, spicy marinated veggies--and washed it down with wine. Then came the pasta--rigatoni in a meaty cream sauce--and cheese. The salad course followed--romaine lettuce, yellow peppers, red onions, and fresh tomatoes--all tossed in a lovely vinaigrette. (For Italians, there is no other way to dress a salad).

Then came the main courses--choices of chicken Marsala or veal layered with prosciutto, eggplant, and tomato slices. Both were very tasty indeed. Finally, after the coffee, came the cake. It was a yummy white cake with white whipped cream frosting. Everything was delicious.

And let's not forget about the family. It was so good to see everyone. There was lots of animated conversation, catching up, and gossip. Papa Cat designated himself one of the event's official photographers, and told everyone he'd e-mail all of the photos from the event. He just got his first digital camera. I figured I would let him get used to it before I introduced him to Flickr.

We reminisced about my grandmother and how she would have loved an event like this. We were saddened that Sister Kitten couldn't be there (she was attending a wedding). All in all, a good time was had by all.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get more sleep. And drink more water. I need to detox. Sweet dreams, kittens.

Cooking with Kitten: Holiday leftovers edition

Well, Kittens, another Christmas has come and gone, and once again, we are faced with the holiday leftovers in our collective refrigerators.

What shall we do with those leftovers?

Last month Food Network aired a special on what exactly to do. Sunny Anderson suggested taking your green bean casserole and making little pot pies. Yum. Guy Fieri offered a yummy recipe for turkey hash.

But seriously, Kittens, who wants to do all of that slicing and dicing and rolling out pastry dough after we've spent a day gorging, with a post-dinner hangover the next day?

Ladies and gentlemen, I present you, the easiest post-holiday recipe on earth:

THE CLASSIC LEFTOVER SANDWICH

*Note: In the interest of full disclosure, I need to say that I myself do not eat this sandwich. However, we here at The Bookkitten are equal opportunists who try to cater to all tastes. This recipe will likely appeal to grown men and kids. It's not so much for the ladies.*

But here's the recipe anyway. It's easy.

• You're gonna start out with two slices of bread. Any bread will do, but Wonder Bread, that childhood staple, just seems to fit for this one.
• Next, spread a layer of mashed potatoes on both slices of bread. It's best if the mashed potatoes are at room temperature.
• Spread a layer of stuffing on top of the taters. Again, it's best to have your ingredients at room temperature.
• Put some turkey slices on top of the stuffing. Do this for only one of the slices of bread.
• If you have slices of canned cranberry sauce, use 'em here, on top of the turkey.
• Put the second slice of bread on top of the first one. Nuke it if you want a hot lunch.
• If you nuke the sandwich, feel free to add a layer of gravy to it. If you do this, you're gonna have to eat it with a knife and fork. Otherwise, bon appetit!

If you're not such a big fan of the leftover sandwich, may I suggest:

• Get yerself a bag of salad greens and add some turkey pieces and possibly some bits of the canned cranberry. Top with a lowfat vinagrette.
• Make shepherd's pie.

Just remember, taters and stuffing do not freeze well. At all. I learned this the hard way.

As for me, I'm just going to take my turkey, taters, and stuffing, arrange them on a plate, and stretch the Christmas dinner out for a couple more days. Yummmmmmmmmmm...

Christmas wrapping

Every holiday season, there is always one chore that I postpone until the very last possible minute.

Wrapping presents.

I hate it.

As much as I would like to pay someone to wrap for me, I don't. I can't really justify the expense. Besides, there have been occasions where I have left the gift tag off, and let the wrapping speak for itself. People know when a gift is from me just by the wrapping.

There have been times where I've just done the tissue-paper-and-bag thing, but I even have enough trouble wrapping the damn tissue paper.

People still know the gift is from me in those cases.

I waste more wrapping paper and tape than anyone I know. I either cut too short of a piece, or I cut too much and have to trim it. Then I have ribbons of waste around my house. It's not fun at all.

And then there's the matter of the tape. I use entirely too much. I'm also like one of those commercials where the guy cuts off a tiny patch of paper to mask a missed spot.

I have a lot of those too, the missed spots.

It's never fun, no matter how much fun I try to make it.

So tomorrow morning, shortly before I leave for the Cat homestead, I'll be wrapping presents. Or rather, tangling myself in a mess or wasted gift wrap and scotch tape is more like it.

Christmas Eve with Mama and Papa Cat

Every time winter weather occurs, I have to call Mama Cat both when I arrive at work and when I come home from work.

Tonight, following my dentist's appointment, I called her to let her know I got home OK. As the conversation progressed, talk turned to Christmas Eve:

ME: Are we going to Mass Christmas Eve?
MAMA CAT: I dunno. I don't know if Dad's church has Mass on Christmas Eve?
ME: What's the point of going? Dad's the only practicing Catholic in our family.
MAMA CAT: I don't get it either. When you were kids Dad was always asking "Do I have to go to church today?" whenever we got ready on Sundays.
ME: Now it's the reverse. What happened?
MAMA CAT: I don't know.

My parents wanted to give both me and my sister a spiritual foundation. We were both baptized and raised Catholic, received our First Communion when we were eight, and were confirmed when we were 14.

I went to a Catholic high school, a Jesuit university, and earned my Master's from another local Catholic institution. During those years, I was Super Catholic Girl. My faith was of the utmost importance to me. I became a Eucharistic Minister, went to Mass as often as possible, and engaged in all sorts of service projects. Catholicism was such an important fiber of my being, some of my friends wondered if I was going to become a nun.

Sister Kitten went through a similar spiritual phase. She went to a public high school, but started going on Emmaus retreats with her best friend, who was a member of the Episcopal church. Her faith, while it differed from mine, became an important fiber of her being.

In spite of our spiritual journeys, we had trouble discussing our experiences at the time. I argued that Catholicism was the one true religion, while she accused me of being closed-minded and not open to any other perspectives. I told her about how the Jesuits valued education, and how they encouraged people to question things and to learn, as well as their commitment to service. She would hear none of it.

The subject of religion and faith has not come up recently between me and Sister Kitten, although I would like to talk about it with her someday.

But I digress.

I especially loved my faith journey during my undergrad days. Fairfield had a 10:00 Mass on Monday nights, and I loved to go because it was so informal, and Father Carrier, our chaplain, knew how to talk to college kids. He made scripture real to us, and never failed to relate it to what was going on both on campus and in the outside world.

Upon graduation, that was one of the hardest things for me to part with.

Post-graduation, I started falling out of love with the Catholic church.

For about a year, I alternated between two churches: my parents', and the Catholic church the next town over. I had so much difficulty relating to the sermons and the scripture. For one, I was the youngest person attending Mass. Everyone else was either elderly or had young families. There was nothing for young, twentysomething single people like me. There were also very few service opportunities available. I didn't feel the same magical connection that I did when I attended Mass in college, and a part of me started dying.

I stopped attending church after that.

September 11th occurred two months after I moved out of my parents' house. I went to the local Catholic church, seeking some guidance. I had the same question that many Americans did that weekend: "How could God let this happen?"

It was the same question that the priest asked at the beginning of his sermon.

When he compared 9/11 to abortion, I walked out.

I thought it was incredibly tasteless, tactless--I'm still pissed at that memory.

I still didn't give up, though. I still sought a spiritual home. I felt obligated that it be a Catholic house of worship, because of my long history with Catholicism, and that I would feel guilty if I ever gave it up. After all, I reasoned, I spent so much time studying it, being absorbed in it, really immersing myself in it.

I thought I had found a home, and joined the choir. I felt that music helped me strengthen my relationship with God. However, I had trouble making connections with the other members of the parish. Again, I was the youngest person there, a single twentysomething in a pool of older congregants.

I left that church.

I moved up to Middletown and heard a lot of good things about another Catholic church. I joined because I heard there were a lot of service opportunities there. However, there was that same problem of not bonding with my fellow parishioners.

But this time, things were different.

I started to notice, during Mass, that I would take a seat in the last available pew and pray that no one would talk to me. I had never felt that way before. I also noticed two things: one, nobody talked to each other, save for the Kiss of Peace. Two, those who did talk to each other were old friends, and didn't bother to welcome the newcomers.

Not only that, but I was having some major issues with some of the positions that the Catholic church took with respect to women, abortion, and gay rights. I was tired of the conservative doctrine, the "one true faith" perspective that the Vatican had. I was tired of being told what to believe, and tired of not being allowed to ask questions.

In other words, I finally knew what Sister Kitten was trying to tell me all those years ago.

For about three or four years, I didn't go to church of any kind, save for Christmas with my family and the occasional Easter service. I didn't realize it then, but my spiritual side was shriveled up and grey, or, as Dr. Seuss would say, my "heart was two sizes too small."

In 2006, my mentor passed away, and her funeral was held at her church, a small, non-denominational Christian church. The service was absolutely beautiful, personal, and full of love. There was some ritual, but it was planned in a way that honored my mentor's favorite music, poems, and memories.

Although it was a funeral, you could really feel the sense of community that was there. So many members of the church had come together to help plan the service and the reception afterwards.

That was what I missed the most.

Community.

I knew I needed a new spiritual home, but where would I find one?

Last June, I was at a party at my best friend's house when another friend of mine told me that she and her husband had just joined a Unitarian Universalist church. She raved about it. She told me about how she and her husband were both of different faiths, and how they both agreed that their son should be raised with a spiritual education. She liked how the UU religious program taught about religions and faiths of all backgrounds--Catholicism, Judaism, Hinduism--you name it, the kids learned about it. They weren't pigeonholed to believe one thing, but were encouraged to explore different traditions and make it their own.

I was intrigued. I decided to investigate.

That night, I found the website for the Unitarian Universalist Association, typed in my city, state, and zip code, and found a church within a reasonable driving distance. I attended the service the second week of July. It was a small church, but the people there were super-friendly and welcomed me with open arms.

"What's your name?"

"Where are you from?"

"What brings you here?"

"Do you have any questions for us?"

It was not the type of service that I was used to. There was a chalice lighting, but nothing from the Bible, Torah, or any kind of scripture. There was a lot of yoga in that service, with some expressive art thrown in. I liked it, and decided to return the next week.

When I did return the next week, I was amazed that people remembered my name. I'm not being sarcastic here; when you attend a Catholic church for years and you don't know anyone's name, this is something you take for granted.

"Welcome back!"

"Glad you're here!"

"Our minister's here! You'll get to meet her!"

I became a full-fledged member of that church last January. After I had been going to services there for a few months, I started to realize something: my depression, that I had battled on and off for years, was lifting. I started to feel happier, more whole.

My heart grew three sizes.

I like being a UU because I can now "live the questions." I'm still learning a lot about my faith and my religious beliefs. I believe in Jesus, and in God, but I also enjoy the pagan rituals such as Samhain and Yule. I believe in the Big Bang, but I also believe in Adam and Eve. How do I connect the two?

I attend church with humanists, atheists, pagans, and agnostics. We have discussion after each service. I love hearing the different perspectives, and I love how I can contribute to discussion without fear of judgment or being judged.

Catholicism, though, will always remain a part of my life. I still have issues with the Catholic church, but it gave me a strong foundation, and helped make me who I am. I treasure the opportunites that it brought me, such as going to Washington, DC to assist with Habitat for Humanity, and working with underprivileged youth in urban areas.

However, I still feel like a hypocrite attending Mass on Christmas Eve. I've become part of the "once a year people" that I once despised in my youth.

That's not the kind of feeling I want to experience on Christmas Eve.

Jon Stewart on the auto bailout

Mr. Stewart does bring up a valid point here.

By the way, in the interest of full disclosure, I must add that my family, at the same time they owned the Volare, also owned a Pinto. A two-door, bright orange, everyone in town knew it, couldn't miss it, Pinto hatchback.

We owned a Volare and a Pinto?!?!

AT THE SAME TIME?!?!?

Well, Papa Cat's first car was a Mustang convertable, so at least he at one point had some taste in cars...

The Daily Show With Jon StewartM - Th 11p / 10c

Autoerotic Explanation

Barack Obama Interview
John McCain Interview

Sarah Palin Video
Funny Election Video

Thanksgiving Dinner Reprise

Every year, we stretch Thanksgiving out to two full days. In addition to the Thursday turkey fest, we all have another fancy dinner together the following night. In years past, my mother made her world-famous, prize-winning lasagna, served Italian bread, and offered us the remains of the pumpkin and apple pies from the night before.

Last year, however, my godsister and her husband started a new tradition: post-Thanksgiving feast at their house. My godsister's husband cooks, along with my other godsister, and the rest of us clean up.

It's a pretty fair arrangement, considering the yumminess that we get.

Here's this year's menu:

• filet mignon, cooked to absolute tender perfection: nice and pink, and we didn't have to use steak knives (talk about slicing like butter!)
• shrimp scampi, broiled with a mixture of butter, garlic, vermouth, and other yummy goodness
• red roasted potatoes, roasted with rosemary, thyme, salt, pepper, and olive oil
• cauliflower roasted with salt, pepper, and olive oil
• rice pilaf with carrots, pecans, and craisins
• asparagus roasted with salt, pepper, and olive oil, with a shallot dressing poured on top of it
• bittersweet flourless chocolate cake
• vanilla panna cotta
• cannoli, which Papa Cat picked up from the South End of Hartford
• coffee
• and lots and lots of wine

The food was delicious, but the company was better! After we had sufficient time to digest, we all played Rockband for an hour. Even our parents. It was truly a site to see.

I got home an hour ago, and am baking a brown sugar pound cake for a brunch I'm going to tomorrow. I just checked it, and it looks as if it's about to flow over the pan. This could be a potential cooking disaster. Keep your fingers crossed!

Wow...three days of food over this Thanksgiving! Yikes! I'm doubling my workouts!

Thanksgiving 2008

Twas a good celebration chez mes parents. There were many traditions that we kept: the wine, the bloody Marys, the abundance of food, the fire pit, and football. However, there was one new tradition: the 30-somethings were falling asleep.

I include myself in that tally. Between my mother's appetizers and the two glasses of wine I consumed, I grabbed my mother's afghan, put up the recliner, and took a long nap. I don't know how long I slept, but I woke up around 4, right when the turkey came out of the oven.

We 30-somethings all went home around 9:15. Two of us have to work tomorrow. Fortunately, I don't! Yay!

Tomorrow, once I get my camera out of my purse, I'll write a post about another one of our family tradition's: my godmother's very scary cranberry mold. I tried some this year, for the very first time, and it wasn't too bad.

More about that tomorrow, though...I'm falling back into food coma!

I Love a Parade

Every year, for as long as I can remember, the annual telecast of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade has been one of those non-negotiable, must stick with traditions for me. I always got up extra early on Thanksgiving day so I could park myself in front of the TV and stay frozen for the next three hours. I loved everything about it--the floats, the balloons, the Rockettes, even the commercials.

I still watch the parade every year, but now that I am an adult, I can no longer park myself in front of the TV for a three-hour period of time. This morning I had the parade on in the background as I got ready to go to my parents' house. I slept until 8:30, but didn't get up or bother to turn on the TV until 9:15, so I missed the ribbon cutting and the president of Macy's exclaiming, "Let's have a parade!" I also missed the moment when the Rockettes form a kickline in front of New York's finest, then part in the middle to reveal the parade's arrival at Herald Square.

I did, however, see a couple of things that made me realize that yes, I am a jaded adult in a lot of respects. Al Roker, during the 9:00 hour, interviewed a handful of stars of NBC shows, asking them, "So what are you doing this Thanksgiving?"

No, he wasn't getting personable; he was helping them plug their shows! I hate that kind of publicity! But hey, the parade is on NBC...

I've also noticed a lot of commercialism over the past few years, or maybe I didn't notice it as a kid. It seemed as if a lot of businesses were pushing their products, like the Harajuku Girls float, sponsored by Coty. (Man, I wish Gwen Stefani was there!)

I was very happy to see that Sesame Street still had a float, and was amazed to see that many of the same actors who were on the show during my childhood are still on the show, mainly, Bob, Gordon, Susan, Luis, and Maria. How old could they possibly be now? (I must say that I am rather disappointed that the show has shifted more towards its Muppets to get the storyline across and has relied less and less on its humans. Le sigh).

There was one float, however, that really bothered me. I looked up at the TV screen and saw this pink castle coming down 34th street. At first, I thought it was another Barbie princess float, but no! It was a princess float, but not just any princess float! It was a float from the good people at "My Princess Academy." Here's a description of My Princess Academy, courtesy of Wikipedia:

"My Princess Academy is based around a virtual princess world that empowers girls to be a “new kind of Princess” by teaching the “4 Pillars” of being a real princess -- generosity, intelligence, beauty and confidence. Created for girls ages three to seven, My Princess Academy lets girls create their own princess avatar, princess room, and play games and activities. The brand also teaches girls how to become their own kind of princesses - their best selves, defined not only by physical beauty but by inner beauty."

Dear God. Who is responsible for creating a minature Second Life for three-year-old girls? I am embarrassed by this! Yes, it is good that it aims to teach girls about their inner beauty and self-confidence, but we don't need a web site to teach this! Aaaaaannnddd...we're encouraging these little girls to use the Internet at too early of an age!

But I digress. The float was embarrassing. And I won't even get into the new teenybopper group that appeared on the float, The Clique Girlz...here's the link from Wikipedia to find out more, if you're so inclined.

Finally...here's what I feel was the most interesting, bizarre moment of the parade. I was up in the loft when I heard the strains of "Never Gonna Give You Up," Rick Astley's biggest hit. You remember Rick Astley, don't you, Kittens? The man who was just proclaimed the Best Act Ever at the MTV Europe Awards? I thought, "Why is this song on right now?"

I looked down from the loft at my TV screen.

And there was Rick Astley himself, all bundled up, lip-synching to his first hit.

Why was he there?

I still can't believe that he was there.

I had to leave for my parents' house after that. I missed the rest of the parade. In spite of its shortcomings, however, I still enjoy watching it. It's a nice tradition to have.

Up next: the Tournament of Roses Parade, January 1st!

Thanksgiving

This is going to be a great week.

First of all, I only have to work 2 1/2 days. Don't get me wrong, I love my job, but any break from work is always welcome! (That's why they call it work, Kittens!)

And this Thursday, I celebrate my all-time favorite holiday.

Thanksgiving.

I'm very grateful that I get to look forward to Thanksgiving. I'm aware that there are many people who look upon the celebration with dread. I have a few friends who absolutely dread Thanksgiving because they have to spend time with their families.

But I am different.

You see, I really like spending time with my family.

We celebrate Thanksgiving with my godparents and their kids, husbands, and significant others. There are usually 10-12 of us around the table any given year. We all get along fabulously, which makes the holiday that much more fun.

We start arriving at the family homestead (that is, my parents' house) around noon. Dad greets each of us with a bloody Mary. (I have mine sans vodka. I never liked vodka. Long story, will tell you about it another time). I'm usually the first to arrive, and the others start to trickle in as I'm gnawing on my celery stick.

Once everyone has arrived, bloody Marys consumed, Mama Cat starts with the appetizers, and Papa Cat cracks open the first bottle of wine. We drink beaucoup wine and eat beaucoup, too. Mama Cat makes pigs in a blanket, with a little Gulden's at the side for dipping, pizza rolls, with a little tomato sauce at the side for dipping, crab cakes, crudites, cheese and crackers, brie en croute, and giardinera. Mama Cat makes the crab cakes, the pizza rolls, and the pigs in a blanket. If she could make the rest by hand, she would.

Once we've gorged ourselves on appetizers, we kick back and watch TV. We watch anything that is on TV--football, the dog show on NBC, or our recent fave, the Food Network. More wine is consumed during this period as we catch up on the year.

(Now Kittens, I know what you're thinking, and I'm going to say this now: we do NOT get drunk on Thanksgiving day.)

While we sit in front of the boob tube, Mama Cat is in the kitchen, basting the turkey and making all of the side dishes. She absolutely lives for Thanksgiving, and loves to prepare everything from scratch. She refuses any outside help; she declines all offers to make side dishes, except for my friend's green bean casserole. This green bean casserole is made from scratch: organic green beans, fresh portabella mushroom slices, hand-chopped and fried onions, and fresh heavy cream. Mama Cat would banish us forever from the Thanksgiving table if we dared to bring anything that came out of a can or a box.

After several hours of laziness and wine drinking, we drag ourselves to the table. Papa Cat, by this time, has carved the turkey and has said grace. We load up with all of the trimmings: mashed potatoes, yams, green bean casserole, my godmother's very scary cranberry mold (long story about that one, too), salad, dinner rolls, and mixed veggies (the one item that comes out of a bag). Oh yeah, and we drink more wine here, too.

So then we finish the meal, and the children clear the table and wash the dishes. This is an annual Thanksgiving tradition. I usually wash; I hate drying dishes, but if I have to do it, I do. While the children wash, the mothers take out their knitting and compare their latest projects, while the fathers go down to the garage and smoke cigars.

Once we've digested the main meal, after about an hour or so, we return to the dining room for coffee and our choice of one of Mama Cat's two homemade pies: apple or pumpkin. Her apple pie is so popular that she now has to make two of them; she only makes one pumpkin. She sends each slice around the table with a dollop of Cool Whip (though I may have to change tradition this year: do you even know what's in Cool Whip?!!? I think I'll buy two cans of Reddi Whip, and that will be my contribution to dinner).

After the dessert dishes have been washed, we retire to Papa Cat's chiminea outside, where we build a huge fire. We sit around and hang out by the flames, keeping warm and talking some more. This may just be my favorite part of the day.

Before we all leave, Mama Cat sends each of the children home with a grocery bag full of leftovers, as well as two loaves of her world-famous, prize-winning pumpkin bread.

OK, the pumpkin bread is neither world-famous nor prize-winning, but it's still pretty damn tasty!

And then we all go home, but that's not the end of the proceedings...you see, Kittens, in my family, the day after Thanksgiving, we all go over to my godparents' daughter's house for Thanksgiving dinner, part deux. We don't have any leftovers, but we do have a completely different, yet totally wonderful, decadent menu. Last year we had flourless chocolate cake for dessert that day. Flourless chocolate cake!

Thanksgiving...the holiday that's so nice, I celebrate it twice!

Cooking With Kitten: Peanut Butter Cookies

Last night I made about five dozen peanut butter cookies for charity. Needless to say, I was happy to bake cookies and use my Kitchen Aid!

Here is the recipe I used, courtesy of Mama Cat's cookbook (thanks, Mom!)

PEANUT BUTTER COOKIES

Cream together:
1 cup softened butter
1 cup smooth peanut butter

Cream the above ingredients till they are very well blended, then beat in:

1 cup white sugar
1 cup firmly packed brown sugar

Once the sugars are well blended, stir in:

2 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking soda
2 cups all-purpose flour

Arrange by teaspoonfuls on a cookie sheet. Press flat with a floured spoon or mark with a floured fork. I use the fork; I make a little criss-cross design with it. That's how my mama did it!

Bake at 350 degrees for 8-10 minutes until firm. Cool on wire rack or wax paper.

Variation: add chocolate chips and do not flatten.

(You can add peanut butter chips if you want, too).

My Favorite Time of Year

I get really psyched when the calendar hits October 31st, because that begins the period for my favorite time of year.

Yep, Kittens, I am a sucker for the holiday season.

I'm not so much into the shop, shop, shopping or the overcommercialism of the whole shindig. I cringe whenever I see Christmas decorations up in Target at the beginning of October. But I really, really love this time of year because I get to spend time with the people I care about most: my friends and family. I know that sounds tres corny, but that is why I love it so.

I especially love December. I love Christmas carols, decorations, hot cider, fluffy snowflakes, and all of the joy and spirit that goes along with the holiday season. There's just such a tangible love in the air, and it really makes me feel alive.

I can say this now, because last year, I didn't feel alive at all. In fact, I felt like I only existed.

Last year, at this time, my life hit rock bottom. I won't divulge too many details publicly, but I will say that I entered the deepest depression I ever had. It was a challenge for me to even get out of bed sometimes. I really hated myself, and just felt awful, awful, awful.

You see, Kittens, I was addicted to the two most available substances we have: food and money. I spent too much, I ate too much, and at this time last year, it all came to a head, and I had to seek help. I started by contacting my minister, who then got me in touch with two twelve-step programs: Debtors Anonymous and Overeaters Anonymous, and I started to attend meetings. Two months later, I found, through a friend, a wonderful therapist whom I see to this day. I started to get help, and work on my problems from the inside out.

I have battled anxiety and depression for almost my entire life. Previously I was on antidepressants, and those really helped for a while, but they didn't address the core problems that were making me depressed and anxious. I also didn't like the physical side effects they had on my body. I slowly, slowly weaned myself off them, and physically, I feel a lot better. These drugs were partically to blame for my weight gain, and I lost 20 pounds just by going off of them.

NOW, I recognize that there are those who need to use antidepressants for the long-term, and I respect that as a part of their treatment. Antidepressants, however, did not really benefit my OWN case in the long run. Please do not take my situation as a substitute for medical advice, PLEASE! I am not a doctor!

Addressing my problems head on has helped me a lot. Slowly, I started coming out of my fog. It didn't happen overnight, not at all. I had many, many setbacks. I shed a lot of tears, and used a lot of Kleenex. It's not easy for me to write this right now, even though I'm writing under a pseudonym and most of you don't know my real identity (except for the handful of friends who know of this blog's existance). I've seen many of you blog articulately, thoughtfully, and openly, and I admire you all for that. It's really hard for me to be unguarded, except with my family and my closest friends. (My best friend, who gets frequent press time here, is especially good at getting me to let my guard down).

The tagline on this blog, as you have seen, is "Reflections on life's journey and the peaks, valleys, and amusements along the way." I have learned to seek the joy out of life's simplest things, whether it be a walk along the Brooklyn Bridge or picking apples on a crisp autumn day. I've blogged a lot about the diversions and peaks, but not too much on the valleys. I really don't want to dwell on the valleys, but rather, would acknowledge their existance, for they are a part of life.

But I don't want to concentrate on the valleys now. Right now is a peak time--and hopefully, if Barack Obama gets elected, will stay that way. I want to focus on the holidays, and rather, the joys, scents, sounds, and togetherness of the season. I especially want to focus on my favorite holiday, Thanksgiving, where you don't have to worry about buying anyone anything and you can eat to your heart's content and not feel guilty. Oh yeah, and spend a lot of time with the ones you love.

I'm aware that there are those who can't spend the holidays with their loved ones.

But I am lucky that I can.

Mama Cat's Visit

This morning I had both a hot water heater inspection, as well as a conference I had to attend. Since I couldn't be in two places at once, I asked my mother to represent me when the inspector arrived.

(Let me clarify before I continue. Our condo association conducts hot water heater inspections every two years, and each building is scheduled for different times of the month. My building happened to fall in the same week I was attending a statewide conference, and I didn't want to take another day off from work, so I asked my parents if one of them could be at my condo to let the inspector in. My mother, to be henceforth known as Mama Cat, graciously volunteered).

Last week, Mama Cat asked if she could sleep over Sunday night. The inspection was at 10:30, but Mama Cat, like me, likes to be an hour early for everything, and was afraid she'd get into rush hour traffic on her way down 91 South. I said, "Sure. Why not?"

Well, Mama Cat stayed over, we hang out, and had a grand old time. Then it was time for bed. We pulled out the sleeper sofa in the living room, made the bed, then got ready for bed ourselves. We finally went to bed at 11:15, right after the news finished and the Sunday night sports report began.

Mama Cat fell asleep right away.

I had forgotten how much--and how loudly--she snores.

Since I have a loft bedroom, I could hear her loud and clear--in stereo, HD, however you want to call it, the sound was louder than the cars speeding by the condo. (I live on the side of a state road that leads into an interstate about 5 miles west of where I live).

I woke up feeling very unrested, cranky, and out of sorts. It didn't help, either, that I had to get up at 2 AM to pee (thanks to the mug of tea I chugged before bed).

Mama Cat apologized profusely--again and again--as I got ready for the conference.

By the way, the inspection went well. My hot water heater's still running well, as well as my smoke detectors.

And for those of you who think I shouldn't be saying such things about my mother in a public venue, well, you're probably right.

But I could write worse things. However, there aren't any horrible things to write about Mama Cat. She's a pretty good Mama, overall.

Except for when she snores.