I performed a concert of sweeping proportions tonight in our music room (actually a dining room empty of anything but a keyboard, guitar, and trombone). The three lords of the manor attended. I started learning to play guitar a couple weeks ago to try to prevent my brain from rotting. The males have been patient with me up to this point. Greg perched in the corner with his laptop while I played. Winston and Abe lounged near the keyboard.
I played the first few songs without singing. My guitar playing is tolerable at this point. While I still take a little time to change chords, my execution of the notes has improved a lot since I began. But then I pulled out the “Big Book of Rock.” Most people who know the 1980s tune “Wild, Wild West” probably prefer to forget it. I like horrible ’80s music though, so I began playing AND singing “Wild, Wild West.” My singing, usually a little off key, staggered from screeching to chirping. Singing really takes focus, and I was directing all my energy to the guitar playing. Abe reached his pain threshold. He walked over to Greg, gazed into his eyes, and gave a pleading whimper that could only mean “Please make her stop.” You know you’re pretty bad when your dog can’t stand to be around you. Winston, bless his little kitty heart, slept through the whole thing as though I were playing a Brahms lullaby. We must get his hearing checked.

This was a drawing done for a chalkboard-art game. Who or what is it?

Could it be Lobster-man?

Could it be drunken Barney?

Or is it Moe from the Simpsons?

Yes, you got it! It’s Moe! Well drawn, Sarah, well drawn.

As a child, Greg became famous for making up or changing rules in the middle of games. This habit stuck with him.
We’re about to have our third Thanksgiving together. Before our first Thanksgiving, we had to meld traditions. We discussed the must-have foods for our feast. I was perplexed that Greg said there had to be a cherry pie, but he was willing to prepare it, so it landed alongside the good ole’ pumpkin. We hosted Thanksgiving a second time last year, although everything got mucked up by a blizzard that left us without power for 20 hours. This year, I thought preparations would be easy as we’ve already established our traditions.
As we scooted our way down the baking aisle last night at the store, Greg paused in front of the Jello. “I forgot! We need the ingredients for the Thanksgiving Jello,” he said.
“What? What Thanksgiving Jello?”
“You know, the Jello with the celery and mandarin oranges and all that other stuff,” he said, as if I were crazy to have forgotten the Thanksgiving Jello. I have no idea what he is referring to. I have a vague memory of Jello our first Thanksgiving, but it definitely didn’t contain fruit or veggies. I assued Greg that we had Jello packets at home if he really wanted some.
As we unpacked the groceries at home, we discussed our cooking plans. “I’m going to make the applesauce tomorrow,” Greg said.
“What applesauce? You’re making applesauce?”
“For Thanksgiving. Isn’t that why you bought all those apples?” he asked.
“I bought those apples for us to eat … as snacks.”
“Oh.” So Greg gave up on the Thanksgiving applesauce as well.
Our families can’t make it down for Thanksgiving, so we’ve been trying to scale back the meal. Greg suggested I cut back on the quantity of stuffing but definitely not on the sweet potatoes. Aside from the turkey, the stuffing is the only dish we’re making that has no sugar in it. So, Greg proposes we increase the sweet potatoes, add Jello and applesauce, and eliminate the stuffing. I’m not sure what game we’re playing, but I think it might be Candyland.