A Valentine Flaneur & Random Kindness
One day it happens, you begin to make Valentine's and slide into a story, "Once, back when we had gas rationing..."
And then realize the people you are telling the story to weren't alive to remember gas rationing. Your memories--in this case mine--are now officially "HISTORICAL" (fiction or memoir depending).
It's Valentine's Day, one of my favorite holiday/workdays. So rather than clicking away as I ought, I'm playing. Last night I wrote out valentines, first thing this morning I sent them, and then made valentines using kindergarten scissors.
While valentine-ing, I let myself flaneur (sounds so much less aged than my mind wandered).
Remember back when you were in school? How exciting Valentine's Day was? During art, we'd make our Valentine holders.
This made me think of Ramona trying so hard to cut out her paperbag owl.
After-school sessions spent selecting the best valentine for each classmate.
Painstakingly deciding who would get which? Then signing them. . . Do I sign with love? Or your friend? Or just my name?
How, at the designated time we'd scurry around slipping our favors into each others bag or box.
Did you ever not get a valentine?
Or receive a surprise valentine?
The first gift my hubby, then boyfriend, ever gave me was earrings for Valentine's Day--a risky move considering we hadn't been dating very long. (They are still my favorites--just for that reason.)
Fittingly, this Valentine week our yoga intention is Kindness. Catherine passed around these Kindness Cards to commemorate it.
It's part of the ReThink Happiness Movement.
“The idea is to do a random act of kindness and leave a card saying so. Each card has a number and the recipient can click on the website and register the kindness—then take a turn at doing a kindness and passing on the card and so on and so on... into a hopefully happier, definitely more interesting world. ”
It was the KINDNESS CARD that started me down this road. I bought my first car during gas rationing. On one of my days to fill up (I was an even).
After idling my way to the gas pump, I filled up my car and joined the queue to pay up.
When I finally reached the payment window, the clerk said: "No Charge"
"What do you mean, No Charge?"
Seems some guy had paid for my gas. A Random Act of Kindness.
And even though, sometime later I discovered that "guy" had been my grandfather. That feeling of unexpected kindness stayed--a sparkle.
That sparkle flickered and popped during my Valentine making session. I stuffed my purse with valentines and willy-nilly passed them around. Made me as happy as Mr. Hatch.
If you don't, take 11.5 minutes, cozy up, click over to hear Hector Elizondo read this oh-how-I-wish-I-had-written-it picture book. If you do, give yourself a Valentine treat and listen again. Just click on the title
Treat someone--and yourself, too---kindly!
Happy Valentines Day!
Shameless Promotion: Truths Revealed
She--Suzanne Santillan--the sweet, dulcet-toned author of Grandma's Pear Tree-- twisted my arm, held my fingers to the fire, threatened and cajoled and finally I cracked. . .
Truth time: I did not create any of the clever, brilliant, fun, educational Teaching Guides, Activities, Crafts, Puzzles, Story Hours Kits you'll find if you click on the Activities Tab.
Behind the curtain, I work with a dynamic talented team who deserve to be acknowledged and shared and receive heaps of thanks and praise for all their efforts.
So at Suzanne's urging, I spilled the 4-1-1 on the how, who, and where's of my promotional material on Writing on the Sidewalk.
Back to Business! About those creative minds behind the Teaching Guides, Activities, Crafts, Puzzles and Story Hours Kit for my picture books: If you're wondering who they are? What they do? And if they'll do it for you? Click over and read for yourself: Writing on the Sidewalk: How to Create Great Promo Material- Tips and Tricks from Author Kelly Bennett (If the link doesn't work, cut and paste this: http://writingonthesidewalk.wordpress.com/2014/02/06/how-to-create-great-promo-material-tips-and-tricks-from-author-kelly-bennett/
Heaps of thanks!
Be Strong In Your Warrior
One is not supposed to think during Yoga. You know the bumper sticker slogan "Go with the flow"? I'm thinking some yogi coined it. Yoga is about flowing. I know this because I got to thinking today, during yoga, and when I opened my eyes at the end of practice, I was facing the back wall, while everyone else was facing forward.
But first, before beginning the practice, we take time to focus our intention.
I’ve had loads of practice thinking, mulling, musing, pondering, "daydreaming" as my grandmother used to call it which sounded so pleasant, positive even, in contrast to other terms letting your mind wander is called: "Procrastinating", "Wasting Time", and when it goes on too long it morphs into "Resisting" as Steven Pressfield discusses in War of Art.
In an interview about her writing process (which I searched for but couldn’t find, as I didn't want to waste any more time looking) Isabel Allende said she "dreams" her stories. She watches the scene play out in her head, then writes it down. (And I seem to recall she actually lies down while "dreaming"--as in on a bed. Maybe with a pillow and blankie . . .
What's the difference? Focused Intention.
I have the same problem during yoga. At the end of each practice we lie in “corpse pose” (pretty self-explanatory: lay flat on your back on the ground like you’re dead.)
However, even with the instructor’s warning: “Tell yourself you are practicing deep meditation, you will not move, you will not fall asleep…” I’ll find myself jerking to attention or snorting awake. Maybe more than once, my friend Mimi had to give me a nudge.
When I think "yoga", Love-not-War, Flower Power and "Peace, Dude" comes to mind, not battle. Which makes flowing through a series of warrior poses seems oximoronic (if that’s even a word). Today, when Catherine said, as she does every yoga session “Stand strong in your warrior", this oximoronosity--which self-corrected to monstrosity--came to mind.
As I stood, with my back leg stretched, front knee bent, staring past my quivering fingertips, pushing down through my aching legs in one of my mightiest Warrior 2 ever, I pondered the purpose of these Yoga Warrior poses.
I must share how, in spite of my pondering--or maybe because of it--2 out of 3 of my Warrior Poses were Stellar.
It was not my best yoga day. (“Thinking, mulling, pondering” and “listen and follow directions” are mutually exclusive.) It was not my best work day, either. This question of why peaceful yogi-types would spend so much time and energy posing as warriors won. I couldn't let it so. So instead of sticking to the tasks I'd set for myself, I searched the internet for answers.
Validation came when I came across an article in Yoga Journal which also challenged warrior pose's role in yoga:
“Given that the ideal of yoga isahimsa, or ‘nonharming,’ isn’t it strange that we would practice a pose celebrating a warrior who killed a bunch of people?”
Rosen's conclusion is that the yogi is doing battle against her own ignorance. . . trying to "rise up out of your own limitations." Which is not easy! Battling oneself never is.
Is this why we resist? Why we avoid? Procrastinate? (Which, I'm compelled to restate for the record, is so not the same thing as daydreaming. . . )
Each Jan. 7th, Isabel Allende prepares--focuses her intention. Jan 8th, she begins each new book.
Why Jan. 8th? Allende explains: "My daughter, Paula, died on December 6, 1992. On January 7, 1993, my mother said, ‘Tomorrow is January eighth. If you don’t write, you’re going to die.’"Her mother went to Macy's and when she returned Allende had taken up the gauntlet.
“ The only hard thing about writing is sitting down,” Isabel Allende noted. “The rest is so easy and so wonderful. ”
“If you attempt to stay in it [warrior pose] for any length of time, you’ll confront your own bodily, emotional, or mental weaknesses. Whatever limitations you have, the pose will reveal them so that they can be addressed....When viewed this way, practicing Warrior [pose] can be seen as fighting the good fight. ”
What tool does Allende take with her to battle. What reminder to keep her focused. To help her stay strong in her warrior? A candle.
In an interview with Bill Moyer she shared how she lights a candle when she begins writing. "It's a real candle, but it's also a metaphysical candle," she told him.
“And if I have a candle, for as long as the candle is burning, I write. And then, when it’s over, when it burns off, I can have dinner and get out, and do things.”
Today has been a battle. A battle to stay the course in yoga. A battle to stop puttering and sit down to the work I had planned for the day (a battle I lost.) And most frustrating/time consuming of all, a battle to publish this posting. Three times I'd been clicking away and something went wrong. It would have been easy to quit and turn to those many things I had planned to accomplish today. Important things. But working through this notion of what Warrior meant, which had taken hold of me as I stared down the length of my outstretched arm. And so, I soldered.
How-to Focus Intention:
First: admit it. No matter what differences we are trying to make, what we are trying to create, to change, it is a war we are fighting. A war against taking the easy road, playing it safe.
Second: Arm yourself with whatever will help you focus your intention, be it yoga mat, walking desk, chocolate bar reward, candle. . .
Third: Attack!
If you're reading this, I won! And it feels darn good.
BE STRONG IN YOUR WARRIOR
It's Might Be Scary Out There . . .
I’m getting “in to” Yoga. I have all the paraphernalia. A groovy pair of yoga pants.
This kind. . .
Black ankle-high yoga socks with tiny traction bumps on the bottom, a neon green constriction shirt which holds it all in while I bend.
One of Catherine’s recent ponder points was from “bestselling author, poet, philosopher” Mark Nepo’s book:
Nepo tells of a guy “Robert” who dumped his fish into a bathtub of water so he could clean their tank.
When Robert came back to retrieve the fish from the tub, “he was astonished to find that, though they had the entire tub to swim in, they were huddled in a small area the size of their tank. There was nothing containing them, nothing holding them back. Why wouldn’t they dart about freely?”
I AM JUST LIKE THOSE BATHTUB FISH?????!!
Do I follow the rules, stay inside the lines, rely on learned behavior, swim the same circles around and around and around and around and around—in life and in my work—because it’s best . . . Or because it’s easiest?
Because it’s smart . . . or because the alternative is unknown?
Because it’s safe. . .
. . . because I’m lazy?
. . . scared to make mistakes?
“Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”
"Think outside the bowll" . . . It’s high time I did.
As they say in the song: "Now that my life is so prearrange/I know it's time for a cool change."
Care to join me? Dare YOU! Dare ME!
Potato Chips, Penicillin, Post-It Notes, W-D 40 . . . 2014?
Potato Chips . . .
Penicillin . . .
Post-it Notes . . .
The Slinky . . .
Goodreads kick-started my 2014 with this quotation from author Neil Gaiman:
“I hope that in this year to come, you make mistakes. Because if you are making mistakes...you're Doing Something.”
That quotation haunt-taunted me through these last days of holiday and first days of this new year.
We celebrated the start of 2014 at a New Year’s brunch at friends, Joy & Michael’s new Kentucky home. Curtis and I were newcomers to the group. Lots of “news” at the launch of this year promising much change and challenge. Finding myself alone with one of the guests, I resisted the urge to withdraw into a dice-and-slice frenzy and instead tried to strike up a conversation by asking her if she’d made a resolution. It’s usual to make resolutions on New Year’s, isn’t it?
Big mistake! She doesn’t make resolutions. Doesn’t believe in them. Think’s they are stupid. A waste of time. Did I want to know why? Because we always break them, of course. Resolutions are made-to-be-BROKEN Blah, blah, blah blah-baaaaa. . .
I was feeling sorry for having tried starting that conversation when she added something that made me think maybe my resolution conversation starter wasn’t a mistake.
Turns out that morning on one of the “Morning Shows” (she watches several) the featured guest was some author who’d written some book about this very topic and he said (or so I deduced):
A crumb. A take-away that bonded with Gaiman’s salutation the way 2 Hs bond with an O. Refreshing!
Spray W-D 40 on any surface & wipe. It will clear away even rusty crumbs.
But, what do W-D 40, Potato Chips, Penicillin, Post-it Notes or The Slinky have to do with New Years? Resolutions? Or Neil Gaiman’s quote? Why should we even give a crumb?
All of these things along with The Pacemaker, Chocolate Chip Cookies, plastic and who know what other inventions were created by MISTAKE. Failed tries. Miss takes
Take One! Take Two!
In W-D 40’s case, 39 failed tries by chemist Norm Larsen to prevent corrosion by displacing water.
What sets W-D 40 apart from these others is that rather than the end invention being something different or unexpected or accidental, Norm Larsen did what he set out to do: prevent corrosion by displacing water. The name W-D 40 is a testament to his efforts; it stands for “Water-Displacement 40th Attempt.”
Maybe Norm and the folks at W-D 40 Company have mistake envy, because they can’t seem to stop trying to find more uses for their spray. Along the way they’ve made mistakes, and discoveries.
Some bad: W-D 40 is not edible.
Some questionable: Is a python coiled around the undercarriage of your bus?
Is a naked burglar trapped in your air conditioning vent? Dislodge him with WD-40.
2000+ dang useful! W-D 40 Company maintains a list of remarkable things this “corrosion prevention” in a can can do.
I went back to see if the squirrel repellant tip included a video (call me “cruel”, but I kinda wanted to watch slip-sliding squirrels) and was sucked into the 2000+ vortex. It took some time but I finally pulled myself free—But not before finding a helpful hint I’m itching to try: Last Christmas Curtis was gifted with blue ice cubes to cool spirits without diluting them. Sometime, someone tried using one. I don’t know who. Or when. All I know of the experiment is that one of my adorable, favorite juice glasses now has a blue glass ice cube lodged inside it.
I’ve tried to remove the cube. Yes, I've tried knives. Scotch. Running cold water on it, hoping to chill the cube enough to shrink it so it would slide free. No such luck.
According to a Reader’s Digest article, “Stuck glasses will separate with ease if you squirt some WD-40 on them, wait a few seconds for it to work its way between the glasses, and then gently pull the glasses apart.”
When next I’m in WHB, I could give it a try . . .
Uh oh. . . hang on. That’s how mistakes happen. Breakage. Damage. Possible injury.
Do I really want to try?
Try, doesn’t mean succeed. . .
Try could lead to fail. . . .
Try could turn out to be a MISTAKE. . .
Consider son Max, then college student’s, attempt to concoct a high-test frat bathroom cleaning product. He tried mixing bleach with ammonia. That experiment ended in a trip to the hospital emergency room and destruction of who knows how many brain cells. Max counts it as a “partial success” as his potentially fatal mistake did save him from more bathroom cleaning. . .
Safer to stick with the known. If life is good, why rock the boat? Why tempt fate?
“ . . . if you’re making mistakes . . . you’re Doing Something.”
Gaiman went on to add a note to the quote:
"Happy New Year! What kind of mistakes are you looking forward to making in 2014?"
Gaiman’s writing is so varied: CORALINE, THE GRAVEYARD BOOK, CHU'S DAY, THE DANGEROUS ALPHABET, ANANSI WARS. . . It seems he’ll try anything.
Paul Fleischman is another writer who likes to try new literary forms. He's recently adapted SEEDFOLK for the stage.
At an SCBWI conference Fleischman admitted to attendees how his “tries” don’t always work. Mistakes maybe, but never a waste of time. For him, trying new things is what keeps writing interesting.
. . . INTERESTING . . .
Now some people say that you shouldn't tempt fate/And for them I would not disagree/But I never learned nothing from playing it safe/I say fate should not tempt me.
Today, soon after I click “post”, I’ll play that song again, for inspiration. Make that my battle cry of 2014.
Then, I’ll get to work sweeping out some crumbs of my “play-safe days” to make room in this brand new shining year with New! New! New Attitude. (And give a shout to the Patti LaBelle while I'm at it.)
I take my chances, I don't mind working without a net/
I take my chances, I take my chances every chance I get . . .
Take one. Take Two. ACTION!
. . . YES, IT MIGHT BE A MISTAKE . . .
It's a New Year!
"What kind of mistakes are you looking forward to making in 2014?"
(I’ll let you know if the blue glass cube rescue operation works, AND MORE!)
Count Down to Christmas with Not-Your-Ordinary Christmas Books
Radios are counting-down to Christmas by playing 30 days of Christmas-ish Songs (In Trinidad make that 100 days...who knew there were sooooooo many).
TV stations are playing 25 days of Christmas-ish Movies.
I'm joining the festivities with a count-down of my own: 12 Days of Christmas-ish Children's Books, with a twist! I'm listing all 12 now so you can:
- Read one a Day . . . 12 in one day . . . or all 12 every day!
- Buy one--or all 12--for tots on your list!
- Use my list to bring to inspire you to pull your favs off the shelves!
#12: NAUGHTY! Alfie F. Snorklepuss doesn’t believe in Santa Claus, and he’s being a real pest about it. Cranky Alfie is everywhere—on TV, in the newspapers, over the radio—telling boys and girls what he thinks is the truth. Then, one Christmas Eve, the man in red himself packs up Alfie and brings him to the North Pole for an attitude adjustment, Santa-style.
#11: FOLKTALE-LY: It's time for Arturo and his Central American grandmother, Abue Rosa, to decorate their Christmas tree. Abue Rosa shares with him the family history of each ornament as it is hung. But what happens when Arturo plays with-and breaks-a glass bird?
#10 FRIENDLY: Each year at Christmas, Joe writes a letter to Santa. But they've had a few misunderstandings in the past. Last year, for example, Joe wanted a fire-engine-red racecar with retracting headlights, and he did get one — but it was only three inches long. So this year Joe is really, really careful. He describes exactly what he wants — and on Christmas morning, guess what's waiting for him under the tree!
#9 MONSTERLY: Mack and Zack are getting ready for Christmas, hanging up their smelly socks and blistertoe, decorating their dead pine tree, making poisonberry pies. Here in the rollicking rhyme of Laura Leuck and the gruesomely silly illustrations of Gris Grimly, is a truly memorable Christmas tale.
#8 CATISHLY: A cat-happy twist on the traditional English Christmas song for hard-core feline fanciers of any age. . . . they'll appreciate Radzinski's solemn, admiring paintings of her subjects, each whisker heroically articulated, and her settings (the sleeping twosome curl up prettily in a basket with a Christmas quilt, six cats a-playing are decorously entangled with ribbon and gift wrap).
#7 PREHISTORICALLY: Dinosaur is getting ready for Santa! He tackles many challenges--decorating, making presents for Mom and Dad, trying not to be naughty--and defeats each one with his trademark ROAR! But on Christmas Eve, when he hears some rustling downstairs, he can't resist a peek. Will our feisty red friend meet his match in the man in the red suit?
#6 WARMHEARTEDLY: Rick, Keri, and their 4-year-old daughter, Jenna, are hired as caretakers and are welcomed into the home of Mary, an ailing widow, just in time for the holidays. Before long, it becomes apparent that Mary cherishes their companionship, and this young family begins to understand that their relationship to Mary is more special than any one of them could have realized. These tender relationships, fraught with real-life struggles, are the backdrop for unraveling a mysterious secret that gently propels the reader through this short story.
#5 THOUGHTFULLY: Simon and his mom don't have much--the cardboard house they built for themselves, a tiny Christmas tree, and a picture of an angel pinned to one wall. On Christmas Eve they take in a frail stranger who needs a place to keep warm, and the next morning Simon wakes early to find that the woman has vanished. Instead, he sees December, the angel from the picture, with her wings fanned out over their cardboard house. Could she be real?
#4 MAGICALLY: The tale of a young boy lying awake on Christmas Eve only to have Santa Claus sweep by and take him on a trip with other children to the North Pole
#3 POINGNANTLY: Christmas is coming and Carlos and his family are going home-driving south across the border to Mexico. But Mexico doesn't seem like home to Carlos, even though he and his sisters were born there. Can home be a place you don't really remember?
#2 Susically: "You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch" and oh how we love you! Gotta read it every year. Gotta watch the movie, too--two times, maybe more, sing all the songs, feel that heart grow three sizes . . .
#1: TRADITIONALLY: Thanks to Clement Moore for T'was The Night Before Christmas . . . or Henry Livingston, whichever actually wrote the story of Santa's stop one Christmas eve. poem. (A mock trail was even held to determine the true author.) Once a season, at least, this book needs to be read. Which version? You're choice. This classic Christmas poem has been retold in scads of different versions: Cajun, Golden Book, Cowboy, Cat, Thomas the Tank, even Pop Up . . . Call in "Henry's revenge" that royalties for all these go not to Clement Moore's heirs, but to the retellers.
We've come to the end of my counting down to Christmas: 12 Days of Christmas-ish Children's Books List. I hope you'll have as much fun reading through the season as I have!
- Please add to the list by sharing your favorites. Help build the list to 25 days of Christmas-ish reads, and onto 100! (Post suggestions in the "comments" section! Curious minds want to know.)
Finding My Way Back
The reality of what I was doing didn’t dawn on me until I was winding my way down the California Coast, in pitch black, with no wireless connection, hence no Google map on my phone to guide me.
A book about a girl who’d returned to her home in Carmel by the Sea after her father’s death, inspired me to try being a writer in the first place. I’d read it while, like the heroine, I was back home at my grandparent's house in Watsonville, facing major life changes/decisions.
That life-changing book isn't in any literary cannon. It was an inexpensive, paperback Harlequin Romance with a man & woman embracing on the cover.
My friend Theresa's mom (with her hair set in pin-curls, which she'd take out just before five when her husband return home from work) would drive us to the library where "checking out" Harlequin Romance's meant filling a grocery sack with all the titles we didn't think we'd read before, taking them home and reading one in an afternoon while Elton, Rod or Bread played in the background.
To admit I have forgotten the title, is not to say I have, or will ever forget that book. It made me who I. . . was.
And now, some 28 years later I’m retracing my steps so to speak. And this time, I’ve traveled even farther distance-wise, if not time-wise. My last trip back to find myself had been via car, with 2 small children in tow—a much weightier journey on so many levels.
To get to where I am now, on the eve of the Big Sur Writing Workshop, I flew from Port of Spain to Houston to San Francisco and drove the 137, 3-hour trip down. I could have flown into Monterey Airport instead. That drive would have been less than an hour. And—or is it “but”—
. . . I would have skipped the drive down highway 101 through San Jose to Gilroy and up and over Hecker Pass to Watsonville.
When I was a kid, the twisty-turney, bumpy, hot drive over Hecker Pass made me queasy. Subconciously, is that what drove me to drive it this time? Is this part of my Hero’s Journey? Is making the drive without urping one of my quests?
If I had flown into Monterey instead of San Francisco, I wouldn't have had an opportunity to stop in Watsonville to check out the town, drive past my grandparent's house on Oregon Street and peek over the fence, past my Aunt Evelyn and Uncle Joe's house in the next block, or The Miramar--my mom's favorite place to eat back in the day (best garlic bread and mastaccioli in the whole world)--or drive through the old shopping center, with The Coffee Shop, where we’d go for lunch at least once a week, and Bud’s Barber Shop, where my brother Joe, and later my boy Max, got the “traditional boy cut” and a sucker. Or the Elks Lodge where we’d go for the Friday Night Fish Fry, and to the cemetery to visit my grandparents.
. . . Or have dinner with my cousins Jodi and Amy until Sunday night after the Workshop.
Last Saturday, rain and more rain, kept Curtis and I from our regular walk. Instead we watched movies. One was Music and Lyrics with Hugh Grant and Drew Barrymore.
In WAR of ART, Steven Pressfield draws attention to THE ODYSSEY how, when Homer was within sight of the shore—of home—rather than remaining vigilant, got lazy, cocky, and went to sleep. While he slept, his crew, believing his bag was full of treasure, untied it and released the unfavorable winds.
. . . If I hadn't stopped for dinner I wouldn't have been driving south on Highway One at close to 9pm, even though the instructions to the Workshop and Big Sur Lodge clearly stated the park closed at 9pm.
. . . I would not have been driving in the pitch black of night on that narrow, windy, empty highway winding down the coast, not sure where I was going or how much longer it would take me to get there.
“
We’re always attracted to the edges of what we are, out by the edges where it’s a little raw and nervy.”
“
Planning to write is not writing. Outlining, researching, talking to people about what you’re doing, none of that is writing. Writing is writing.
”
I signed up for the Big Sur Workshop quite a while back. Back when I thought I was staying the course.
Did I subconsciously know I had strayed far, super far, and finding my way back wouldn’t be so easy?
You Procrastinate Your Way, I Procrastinate Mine
**Note: This entry was supposed to be posted Sunday, but I put it off until today. Sorry
Heck yeah, I've got loads to do! Tis the season, isn't it? Gifts to wrap. Suitcases to pack. Messages to return. Cards to send. Oh yeah, and writing . . .
In 2 days I'm leaving Trinidad for the month. First to California for the Big Sur Writing Workshop. Workshop means preparation. Make copies of projects to focus on. Decide which projects those are. Gather my tools. Instead . . .
After the workshop, I'll fly to Reno to visit my mom and brother's family. Reno means cold, not Trinidad tropical. After Reno, I'll fly to Westhampton Beach, more cold. I need to dig out my woolies. Instead . . .
We'll spend the holidays in Westhampton Beach with M&M, L&R and Baby B.
Holidays means sorting out gifts I've already bought. Wrapping for folks here. Thank you envelopes. Cards. Packing my suitcases. Instead . . .
I could have, should have, tackled this To-do List last week--or at least made a stab at it. But last week was Thanksgiving. And cooking a Thanksgiving Feast seemed more pressing. And more in keeping with my 2013 resolution "Live in the Moment" which I haven't been especially good at keeping.
My post Thanksgiving Feast plans has been for us to continue eating our way through the leftovers while I sorted, wrapped, packed today & tomorrow. (No hardship; "leftovers" is our favorite part of Thanksgiving.) Post dinner, Tuesday, I'd sort the fridge, freeze, repackage whatever remained of the feast.
This morning, pouring rain stopped me from keeping my other 2013 resolution "Exercise Regularly," too.
Maybe if I had said "yes" when Curtis asked if I'd like some coffee, I would have stuck to my plan.
Maybe if freibor, Brian, hadn't sent those recipes on ways to use Thanksgiving leftovers, it wouldn't have been on my mind.
But somehow, when I opened the fridge to pour milk into my coffee, the bowls and platters of leftovers called to me.
"Take us out!"
"Don't leave us like this!"
"We want to be used!"
"Mixed!
Blended!
Baked!
Transform us . . . PLEASE!"
And so, leftover mashed potatoes, chopped onion & parsley, butter & fresh grated Parmesan became "Potato Puffs"
Leftover marinated mushrooms, picky-platter pickles & olives and a couple of cans of beans--kidney, garbanzo & pinto--became "Bean Salad".
Leftover turkey, green beans, broth, gravy and the rest of the mashed potatoes became "Turkey Shepherd's Pie"
Leftover cranberry sauce, chopped pecans, and milky whipped cream became batter for "Cranberry Pecan Oat & Buckwheat Muffins", some of which I dropped into mini-muffin tins for now, the rest of which--thanks to a quick Internet surfing and instructions from Heavenly Homemakers.com, I froze for later.
And everything else that remained of our Thanksgiving 2013 feast was sorted into tidy plastic containers.
Then, because all the freezing muffin batter postings--I did say Internet Surfing as in ongoing activity and instructions, plural--suggested freezing them as muffin blogs, either in cupcake papers or directly in the tin, and I got to thinking "wouldn't it work to freeze the batter en mass?" I decided an experiment was in order. I spooned half the leftover muffin batter into a greased tin, as directed, and poured the rest into a small contain and froze it that way. My thought is semi-thawed I should work just fine. Procrastination? Ney, I have another work for it: Experimentation.
Oh yeah! And then, because I was so excited to share this brilliant frozen muffin batter idea here, I left the heaps of crusty feast dishes, pans, bowls, mixing and measuring utensils--not soaking--and raced over to my computer to type up this blog entry. I'll wash the dishes later. Right now, I better get started on that to-do list . . .
You procrastinate your way; I'll procrastinate mine. . . .