Thanksgiving Living

Autumn aesthetic.

Squirrel girl.

Charlotte's new favorite book.

Hallway harvest.

Coat: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Mom's place settings.

Mom's tablescape.

Top: Madden Girl, Macy's; Skirt: ModCloth

Garland: Michaels

A can-do Thanksgiving.

Bag, pouch: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's; Acorn ring: Decoration from some old dessert

The holidays are never perfect.  Still, I sometimes often succumb to the hype that they should be.  So this Thanksgiving, in addition to the posing and pageantry, I'm serving reality.  

In this last pic, Char Bar has collided with my lipstick for the third time, staining her clothes.  And I'm handling it with my usual grace and equanimity.  Granted, a makeup malfunction is a bogus thing to bemoan -- especially considering my sister missed Thanksgiving because her youngest was sick.  But in that moment, my micro-misfortune was magnified, blocking out all thoughts except momlife is hard.  

Three slices of pie later, I was feeling more zen.  So much so that I remembered something.  Five Thanksgivings ago, I was gearing up to start fertility testing, which I started but never finished.  The whole thing made me panicky, and I decided it wasn't meant to be.  And now here I was with this beautiful baby.  Sure, she snatched my bookmarks and deprived me of sleep and flung her pears on the floor.  But I loved her more than anything and couldn't imagine life without her.

So Charlotte, you're what I'm thankful for, this Thanksgiving and every Thanksgiving after.  

Also that for Christmas you can wear red, camouflaging the lipstick.     

May Turkey Day: Muss and Fuss and a Killer to Truss

She's domestic, but she's no diva.  That's the appeal of Sophie Winston, the heroine of Krista Davis's Domestic Diva mysteries, which I read about on the delightful Olla-Podrida.  No, the real diva is Natasha, Sophie's fellow chef-slash-lifestyle guru and lifelong frenemy.  As if that isn't enough, Natasha is engaged to Sophie's ex-husband.  What's a crackerjack cook to do?

Solve a few murders, if seems.  At least that's the plan in The Diva Runs Out of Thyme, the first book in the series.  It's not like Sophie meant to find that Ocicat-breeding PI in a Dumpster, or that mogul bludgeoned with a trophy at the Stupendous Stuffing Shakedown.  But once she's implicated, there's little she can do to extricate herself -- and that goes double for dealing with Natasha.  What's more, she's hosting a houseful of randos for Thanksgiving and juggling two potential suitors.  It all adds up to the kind of kooky cozy that I can't resist.

I love having a new series to savor.

So many mysteries, so little thyme.

It's Giving Thanksgiving . . .

Dress: Rewind, Kohl's; Shoes: Jessica Simpson, ROSS

Happy Harvest Necklace

Cornucopia Barrette Brooch

Bag charms: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's; Bag: Betsey Johnson, Zulily

Top: Hooked Up, Macy's; Skirt: So, Kohl's

Wreath: Michaels

Shoes: Chase & Chloe, Zulily; Tights: Hue, Amazon

Bag: Mellow World, Kohl's

Top: ModCloth; Skirt: So, Kohl's; Shoes: Nine West, Kohl's

Bow: Wild Fable, Target

Bag: Kate Spade

. . . and today that's all I've got!  I hope that everyone had a happy holiday and is scoring beaucoup Black Friday bargains. 🥧🎄

Fireworks Fowl and a Perp on the Prowl: Game for a Ghoulish Thanksgiving

With Turkey Day on the horizon, I was on the hunt for a harvest-themed whodunit.  However, it seemed that I'd exhausted all of my go-to authors.  Fortunately, there are cupboards full of festive culinary cozies out there.  So I plucked Isis Crawford's A Catered Thanksgiving off the paperback pantry shelf.  I was drawn to its colorful cover, complete with skull-embedded pumpkin pie crust.  Yet once I delved into the fiction-rich filling, I had some trouble getting it down.    

This was partly because I needed to become acquainted with a new sleuth, or in this case, sleuth sisters.  Foodies Bernie and Libby run their late mother's catering company, A Little Taste of Heaven, in New York.  They're close with their dad, a retired cop.  Bernie is tall, dark, thin, and impulsive and loves clothes; Libby is short, fair, plump, and cautious and wears her pants until the elastic gives out.  Needless to say, they bicker a bit.  Which can be fun, albeit sometimes confusing because Crawford alternates between their points of view.   

Still, the real blowout doesn't occur until the duo sets up shop in miserly Monty Field's kitchen.  He's hired them to prepare a Thanksgiving feast for his feuding fireworks-fortune family, never imagining that he and the turkey will go up in smoke before the table's set.  There's some description of Monty's stuffing decorating the walls, setting the stage for a story that's more gruesome than goofy, which you know isn't my cup of tea.  Adding insult to pyrotechnic-induced injury, I thought I'd figured the mystery out, and everyone knows that's no fun.  But it turns out that I was a turkey!  Because there's a twist at the end that implodes everything, and it's as satisfying as a potato cheese casserole. 

Which got me thinking, if I was wrong about the killer, then maybe I was wrong about the rest of it too.

The only way to know for sure is to see what Bernie and Libby cook up for Christmas.

Key West Mess, Thanksgiving Style

Most people are cooking, but here I am booking.  Which is just as well because no one should eat anything I make unless it's the no-bake pumpkin trifle I'm bringing to my sister-in-law's later, and maybe not even that.  I couldn't help but cram in one more cozy before (okay, on) Turkey Day, and this time it's Lucy Burdette's A Deadly Feast.  I never even heard of Ms. Burdette until I typed "Thanksgiving murder mysteries" into my Amazon search bar.  But when this Key West culinary whodunit boasting a cat, key lime pie, and a houseboat popped up, I was sold.  The plot, which centers around a Chatty Kathy of a woman dropping dead during a food tasting tour, is wacky with a side of romance.  Because food-reviewer-slash-amateur-sleuth Hayley Snow (yes, another food critic named Hayley, like in the Lee Hollis series) and her police officer fiancé are getting married the day after Thanksgiving.  Super stressful, right?  But chaos always comes a cozy -- and thankfully subsides by the end.  

Alright, enough book blather.  I need to get back to that trifle.  Which hopefully no longer looks like pumpkin soup . . .       

Main Course Corpse and Other Holiday Horrors

No Thanksgiving menu is complete without a Leslie Meier murder mystery.  So I helped myself to Turkey Day Murder (one of the two novels packaged inside Gobble, Gobble Murder, lest there be any confusion; the other is Turkey Trot Murder, which I devoured last year).  Turkey Day Murder serves up the proverbial Tom Turkey -- or, in this case, TomTom Turkey.  Yet it isn't the bird that's on the chopping block.  It's his minder, indigenous Metinnicut Curt Nolan.  An unpopular firebrand whose dog killed his neighbors' chickens, Curt becomes even more of a pariah when he speaks out against the casino that his fellow tribespeople plan to build.  Disgusted by the prospect of such a lurid display, he instead supports the museum that the town initially promised.

So when Curt turns up dead after a blow from a Metinnicut war club, no one is surprised.  And for once local reporter and amateur sleuth Lucy Stone vows to steer clear.  At least until the ancient and formidable Miss Tilley goads her into launching an investigation.  I know that Miss Tilley is supposed to be the kind of ornery old lady we all secretly love, a more straitlaced Sophia Petrillo if you will, but to me, she's a bossy biddy who should mind her own business.  Yet crime is like catnip to Lucy, so she dives in despite discouragement from her husband and the police, not to mention the threat to her safety.  As always, I'm fascinated by this woman who does things I'd never do, right down to adopting Curt's bloodthirsty dog, all in the context of an everything-will-be-okay cozy.

Because feel-good fiction, however homicidally fraught, is always my happy place.

Have a Happy and a Healthy, Not a Sordid and a Stealthy

Okay, so this title's a bit of a stretch, even for me.  But whatever family drama you've got going on today (and there's always something!), consider this: It can't be as bad as what happens in Leslie Meier's Turkey Trot Murder.  Because it's all fun and games and cranberry sauce until someone falls through the ice.

So, don't fall through the ice.  And have a happy Thanksgiving!  

Leftover Stews, Leftover Shoes: Pass the Pumpkin, Please

Shoes: Chase & Chloe, Zulily

Dress: Jessica Simpson, Amazon

Dress: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Necklace: Macy's; Bead bracelet: Fairest of Them All, Smithville, NJ; Amber bracelet: B Fabulous; Rings: Gifted from Italy, Leaf barrettes

Blouse: Candie's, Kohl's

Bag: T-Shirt & Jeans, Amazon

It may not be Easter.  Or even Labor Day.  But that's no reason to not wear white shoes on Thanksgiving!  I was so excited to bust out my treasured white and yellow Mary Janes with my purple tights and new orange dress.  Which is why outfit number one, although less harvesty than the others, won out this Turkey Day.  Hey, at least it's orange, like a pumpkin!

That said, happy Thanksgiving.  May your stews (or casseroles or soups or whatever) and shoes be as fab as your company.  

And if your company is less than fab, then fake the flu and go online shopping. 

Unmellow Yellow

I've had this (green) bunch of bananas for two weeks.  I'm beginning to get concerned.

On this day before Thanksgiving Eve, it's a musing that's as good as any.

Pieces of April, A Thanksgiving Staple

A few months ago, I watched an old movie -- and by old I mean from 2003 -- called Pieces of April.  It's about a girl, April (Katie Holmes), who invites her estranged family for Thanksgiving.  April has partly pink hair and an overall punky appearance and lives in a seedy apartment in New York City with her boyfriend Bobby (Derek Luke), who is black.  April doesn't really know how to cook, and then her oven breaks.  Also, Bobby has gone on a secret mission to borrow a suit to impress April's family, and it's not going well.  The movie shifts between April's endeavors and her family's strained conversation as they drive from Pennsylvania to see her.  We watch April bang on one apartment door after another to beg to borrow an oven, then listen as her mother (Patricia Clarkson) laments about April's awful ways even as she pukes up her guts at a rest stop.  It's from her chemo because she has cancer.  But being sick hasn't softened her, nor has the intervention of April's well-meaning father (Oliver Platt).  

Having a front-row seat to April's plight is unsettling.  It's hard to watch her put herself out there only to meet one obstacle after another, her Katie Holmes girl-next-door-appeal seeping through her tough exterior.  One of her "helpers" is played by a withering Sean Hayes; another is more kindly but disabuses her of the notion that the best cranberry sauce comes from a can. (I'm with April on this one; it's just not Thanksgiving without that JELL-O-like substance for smothering otherwise tasteless turkey.)  As April struggles to put dinner on the table, her family struggles with its reservations, at one point going so far as to throw in the dish towel and stop at a diner.  

For me, the low point is when April tears down her carefully handmade decorations.  There's something so vulnerable about them in their crepe paper homeliness, the way they expose and then shatter the optimism that April clings to despite the odds.  Because this movie takes all the tension that percolates within families during the holidays and puts them in a pressure cooker -- pun intended.  April's poverty, her mother's death sentence, and the stereotypes that April's family unfairly and inaccurately ascribes to Bobby deepen the fault lines that spread between them.  But these are also the reasons why they need to break bread together.  Pieces of April may not be Planes, Trains, and Automobiles or A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving.  But in its own offbeat and, yes, dreary way, it tells us everything we need to know about this holiday.  

That said, it shouldn't come as a huge surprise that I'm breaking my quarantine again to have Thanksgiving dinner with my parents.  It'll just be the four of us, including the husband, but it's kind of ironic that I'm busting out now that the pandemic is surging again.  As recently as just a few weeks ago, I stayed firmly put, even opting out of my sister's birthday.  Everyone, the husband included, was beginning to worry about me and my refusal to engage with the outside world, however safely.  Then fate did its thing, and my work laptop broke, forcing me to go to the office to get it fixed.  It was a nail biter of an experience.  But I got through it -- with some humor, I like to think -- and learned that I'm stronger than I know.  The truth is, being an introvert/loner/whatever who's afraid of stuff means that I depend on my family a lot, even when I think I don't need anyone.  They're more than my family; they're my friends.  So I'm extremely thankful for them, on Thanksgiving and always.  

Okay, now that the serious stuff's over, it's time to explain what's up with this pie crust.  As you know, I don't like to cook or bake.  I find it boring, tedious, and, on some level, out to get me.  So, I'm all about the pre-prepared everything, and Pillsbury pie crust is no different.  It also happens to taste great -- a little salty, a little sweet -- and, in my opinion, is even better than the homemade kind.  So, I smashed it down into my pie plates and fluted the edges and didn't balk (too much) when the KitchenAid mixer-made pumpkin goop sloshed over the sides and obscured the crust completely.  Because holidays aren't about presentation (although I do have a mask to match my dress).  They're about being together.  Laughing and talking and wearing our masks when we're not shoveling in cranberry shaped like a can.

Whatever your plans, I wish you a very happy and healthy Thanksgiving.  And all the misshapen food you can eat.                             

All's a Riot on the Western Front . . .

. . . is a phrase that describes your average home on Thanksgiving.  Near-explosive Crock-Pots, feuding relatives, loser football teams, and rotting gourds (hey, it's happened) can conspire to create an atmosphere that's more Griswalds than Waltons.

That's why there's pie.

And for me, cowboy boots.  Something about this rustic, homespun footwear just says harvest.  So here I am wearing my favorite pair to do my prairie proud.  What's more, I upped the ante with these leather-look-but-felt barrettes, then threw in a faux cameo brooch for good measure.

 Tan Folksy Fringe Barrette

Clara Cameo Brooch 

Black Folksy Fringe Barrette

If the barrettes represent the Native Americans, then the brooch is pure Puritan.  I know, I know; those vanguards of vanilla wouldn't be caught dead in something so gaudy.  But I couldn't very well make a buckle, and it is the kind of trinket that would be at home on the ruffly blouses of the Aldens' tea-sipping successors.  So, barrettes and brooches, battling it out . . .  No, that's wrong, too.  No violence here, just a joining of styles and peoples over a spread of mouthwatering carbs and one big, tasteless turkey.

It's all about the sides, my friends.  You can't spell gluttony without gluten.  Or either of them -- or Griswalds -- without a "g."

Which is important.  Because the Griswalds are more fun than the Waltons.

Bear Flair: The Joy of Corduroy

Mauve, white, teal, and raspberry minis: Wild Fable, Target
Tan mini: Celebrity Pink, Macy's
Lilac mini: Modcloth
Pants: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

The last time I blogged, it was October, and it was about jackets.  Now it's November . . . which means time for corduroy!  It doesn't get much more retro than this elegant yet rustic ribbed velvet that's most at home with Led Zeppelin and love beads.  Also, Adam Sandler's "Thanksgiving Song" ("my favorite kind of pants are corduroys"), which I guess is retro now too, having come out in the '90s.

So, yeah, I like this fally fabric, as evidenced by the picture above.  But someone else likes it beary much, too.  There are lots of famous grizzlies out there: the Berenstain Bears, the Care Bears, even, if we're to count that strange cartoon, the Gummy Bears.  But only one wears stylin' green overalls.  And that's our story's star, Corduroy.

A sweet and curious underdog if ever there was one, this library darling remains at the top of children's woodland creature wish lists (because yes, that's totally a thing).  And no wonder.  He's so much cuddlier than that creepy Teddy Ruxpin. 

Anyway, for those of you who don't know, the first book, Corduroy, introduces the title character as languishing in a toy store with a missing button.  Then a little girl named Lisa busts open her piggy bank and buys him.  She brings him home and, with some surprisingly deft needlework for a child, restores him to his former sartorial splendor.

Yet it's the second book, A Pocket for Corduroy, that captured my Pre-K imagination.  Lisa brings Corduroy to a laundromat, which is fun because there are lots of colorful pictures of clothes.  She tells Corduroy to stay put while she does her laundry, but he sees something with a pocket and wanders off because, hey, he wants a pocket too!  A kindly, beret-wearing artist washes Corduroy's overalls (and, in fact, mistakenly washes him!).  But then it's closing time, and he leaves Corduroy to brave the night alone.  To be fair, he does say he's "too fine a fellow to be lost."

Corduroy gets into some mischief involving detergent (because really, who hasn't?) and gives himself a bit of a fright.  But the next morning Lisa finds him.  He tells her about the pocket (apparently he's not one of those talking toys that hides his powers), and she promptly takes him home and stitches a snazzy purple one to his overalls.  

I think it was Corduroy's commitment to clothes that got me.  He understood the importance of details and wasn't afraid of a little danger if it meant snagging his look.

Take a hint, Snuggles, and put on some pants.