The Real Fall Classic...

It truly is a beautiful spell of weather we're having. Hah! Didn't think I'd start with the weather again, did you? Well, I've had enough of a break from it, that I think I can lead with it and still be in your good books. Hopefully. And hey, it really is noteworthy. The one thing about being in the prairies that you don't get in the Lower Mainland is the endless sky. On a clear day, like today, it's nothing but blue. Truly quite lovely.

Except for the wind--did I mention that? It's another thing I'm just not familiar with, being from the sheltered Lower Mainland. If you can see for miles, imagine how much of a chance the wind gets to really take a run at you. "Here we go, boys, full steam ahead!" At least it's not blowing snow into your face, like it was last week. A crisp, cold wind on a sunny day is quite refreshing, actually. Boy, that sounded a lot like a beer commercial.

I'm currently enjoying a nice, quiet evening. Blogging a little earlier than usual today--it's only 7:10--because the wife is out decorating the ol' PBC campus for the women's conference this weekend. Is it just me, or do the words "Women's Conference" strike fear into the hearts of men everywhere? Sounds like a lot of hugging and crying to me.

Hey, speaking of unfair stereotypes....Okay, I really don't have anywhere to go with that; I just thought I'd insert it so that you'd know that I say that last paragraph tongue-in-cheek. Don't hurt me.

Anyway, got Theo down at 6:50 tonight. Wow. It always scares me when he goes down that early, because I can't help but think, "Uh oh, he's going to be up at 5:30 tomorrow morning." But the strange thing is that bedtime seems to be inversely related to wake time. For example, last night he went to bed later than usual--7:40--and was up this morning at 5:40. Fortunately, he played in his crib for an hour before he just got fed up with that. But then a while ago, he went down at 6:30 and slept until 8:30 the next morning. So odd. But I'll take it, thank you.

For some reason, konwn only to him, my neighbour is inexplicably banging away at something in his backyard, illuminated by the warm glow of a trouble light hanging in his shed. What, you ask, is he doing? Well, it appears, to me at least, that he's fastening some wood together to fashion some sort of strange object. Good enough? I realize that it is only just after 7:00, but why do you have to make so much noise? Why don't you just come up and ring the doorbell a couple of times, too?

Had a lovely little family celebration tonight. Not sure what we were celebrating--let's call it "Orthodox Thanksgiving", shall we? I'm sure if we were on the Julian calendar, it might just be Orthodox Thanksgiving right about now. What we were really looking for was an excuse to cook a turkey. And oh boy, was it good.

Nothing says "fall" like a turkey dinner. Actually, the turkey doesn't say anything at all, which, quite frankly, is the way I prefer it, but you know what I mean. For some reason, it seems just wrong to cook a turkey in any season other than fall. Okay, winter, too--Christmas and all. But Christmas is so close to the equinox that it might as well be fall.

Enjoyed all the trimmings, too, even if they were out of boxes and cans. Had the stuffing (dressing, as I call it), but it came out of a box (Stove Top brand; quite delicious, actually. Doesn't beat homemade, of course, but I personally don't find making stuffing rewarding. For all the work, it seems like a better deal to get the box); had mashed potatoes, but they, too, came from a box (nothing wrong with flaked mashed potatoes--again, see my comment about the difficulties inherent in making stuffing and substitute "mashed potatoes" in there. Of course, the one thing flakes have that homemade doesn't have is all the fargin' chemicals and preservatives. Yummy!); cranberry sauce, although I don't personally partake of it, was also present, again, our of a can; had peas, too, and I'm sure that at one point they came from the ground, but they came out of a plastic bag in our freezer tonight. The one thing that was totally authentic about the meal was the gravy. But I think we missed an important step somewhere along the line, because the gravy didn't turn out the way it's supposed to. Oh, it was great-tasting, it's just that it was oily. I'm sure you have to separate the fat from the drippings somehow, but man, I don't know how. Oh, stop laughing.

I can picture my mom right now, fainting of embarrassment, vainly trying to pick her jaw back up off the floor. "How many times did you watch me make gravy, and you still don't know how?! You're no son of mine!" Okay, I added that last part. But seriously, no matter how many times I helped make the gravy, I was never really schooled in the ways of the gravy by the master gravy-maker (and my mom is a master gravy-maker; she's the Yoda of gravy). So mom, I'm sorry to embarrass you; maybe you can teach me the proper way sometime.

At this moment, I'm experiencing the singular joy of boiling the meat off the bones in preparation for soup-making. This is the part where you realize that not only do you have enough leftover turkey to last two weeks, but you're also going to be eating turkey soup for the next month. Not that I'm complaining. There are worse problems to have than to worry about having too much turkey.

It's funny, isn't it, how every stage of the turkey dinner process has a distinct feeling or memory tied to it. For example, today when I got home from school, I could smell the wonderful aroma of cooking turkey before I even walked in the door. It's so warm and cozy; reminds me of great times with family when I was young (and today, but it's interesting how the memory is so tied to my childhood). Then there's that sacred moment when the turkey is released from the oven and the first carve is made, the meat falling gently off the bone onto the platter, only to be gobbled up by the vultures who lurk around the carving station, ready to pounce upon whatever unsuspecting piece of turkey happens to fall in their proximity. And then there's the getting yelled at for eating before dinner (spoils your appetite, you know). Anyway, this stage always reminds me of crowding together in the kitchen at my parents' house, following the bold example of my Oma as she bravely charted a path toward the platter. I'll tell you, the good thing about cooking a turkey here is that the competition for the morsels is appreciably diminished. In fact, it almost wasn't any fun at all not having anyone to compete with for early turkey. Almost.

Then there's the moment of truth--sitting down to eat. Just looking at your plate and seeing the various components of the meal piled high and ready to be consumed. Delicous. Grace before the meal, always said by dad, always only half-listened-to because the smell of turkey was wafting up to our noses from our plates below--just get to the "Amen" so we can eat! And then, blissful gluttony.

Then there's the post-meal letdown. You look at your plate and realize that all that food is now in your stomach, and you're so full you can't move. The candles on the table are slowly melting away, plates are in various states of disarray, and a blissful, contented silence falls over the crowd. Ahh.

Let's skip past the part about cleaning up, shall we?

The part we usually overlook, and I have until today, is the post-cleanup wind-down. The lights in the kitchen are low, it's dark outside, you're in your PJ's, ready for a nice tryptophan-induced sleep. On the stove, a pot boils lazily, and the delicious smell of turkey still lingers in the house. Much reflecting on the evening that passed is done, with the general consensus being success (of course, how could it not be successful? Turkey was involved). And then, off to bed.

Ah. Now I'm sleepy. Hope you're still with me.

I almost wanted to end right there due to the generally nostalgic fog that I'm in, but all that talk of food made me think of something else even more important. You're likely familiar with "Operation Christmas Child", the annual program run by Samaritan's Purse that aims to send gift boxes to children who are in need. Well, the time has come for this drive to happen again, and I want to take the time here to encourage all of us to get involved. Steph and I are going to do a box this year, even though this is the year we can probably least afford to do it. But even though we're considered "poor" in the eyes of the North American world, we're abundantly rich compared to what others are going through. Many have never had turkey dinners, or had the problem of having too much leftovers. And that makes me sad.

Let me indulge you with a story that our campus OCC coordinator told. When you put together a box, it is sent to Calgary (if you're in western Canada) and then the contents are checked for any illegal or unsafe items. The boxes are then sealed, and not opened again until they are opened by a needy child somewhere far away. One year, during a box distribution, our coordinator, who was an OCC volunteer at the time, was handing out boxes, and the children were understandably excited. Except for one little girl, who was crying tears of sadness over her box. When she was asked why she was crying, she explained that she had a little sister at home who was sick, and she was sad because her little sister wouldn't get a box this year. The workers were sympathetic, but had already given out all the boxes, so there was nothing they could do.

Disheartened, the little girl opened the box to try to figure out how she was going to split it with her sister. In an instant, her tears dried up and a huge smile spread across her face. The box contained two of every item--a complete double set--enough for this little girl and her sister to share. You see, somewhere in Canada, a random volunteer box sorter had thought to put two of everything in this box, and this particular box somehow found its way into the hands of the only little girl in that distribution that needed it. And if God can work a miracle like that, even though it's a small thing, imagine what else He has in store. But it'll take us all making boxes for Him to do it. So get on it, would you?

Wow, this post has really been an emotional roller-coaster, hasn't it? I had more to say, but I think I've likely exhausted your patience by now. So come on back tomorrow and we'll do it then. Hope to see you again.