Tag Archives: thanksgiving

Thankfulness, Howard Tayler Style

Howard Tayler, of Schlock Mercenary (my daily webcomic fix), wrote what is now my favorite Thanksgiving post ever. He gave me permission to share a bit of it, here. To read the whole thing, go here: Be Thankful for Thread. Seriously. You won’t regret it.

Look beyond the grand, all encompassing “thank you” bucket. Pick one thing for which you are recently and intimately thankful. Hold tight to that thread, and pull.

It won’t destroy the sweater. It will show you how many other people are holding onto that same thread, and when you’ve acknowledged them, and perhaps even personally thanked them, the sweater will keep you warmer. And if it does unravel, hey, now you know who to talk to about getting another one.   -Howard Tayler

Now there is a notion. It may be “turtles all the way down,” but I think I like the look of those turtles. Thank you, Howard, for your post, and your comic. And thanks to all the people around you, and around them, that make that comic and that post possible. And for that matter, thanks to all the wonderful people who read this post and the ramblings of this blog. I am glad of you!

…and then there are the people involved in the making  of my ancient laptop, and my internet access, and my futon, and me… so many wonderful turtles…


Out of the Silence Comes Pumpkin Pie

Sorry for being so quiet, of late. Things have been things, and I haven’t had much inspiration.

 

However, given the nearness of Thanksgiving, I thought I would share a recipe.

Phila Rawling Hach is a living friend of my late Grandfather, and a friend of my parents (I like her, too, but I’ve only met her twice). Her zest for life is greater than pretty much anyone else I have met. Phila loves to cook.

A few years back, the Nashville Retrospect, which is, by the way, a fascinating slice of Nashville history, dug up her pumpkin pie recipe from her cook book Kitchen Kollege.

I thought it looked tasty, and decided to try it. I will never make another kind of pumpkin pie again, if I can help it. The freshness of the flavor, the texture, everything about this pie is fantastic, so here we go:

 

Unbaked pie shell

1 cup raw, grated pumpkin

2 cups top milk (or half-and-half, if you must)

1 cup sugar

1/4 tsp salt

1/4 tsp cinnamon

1/8 tsp mace

3 well-beaten eggs

Beat together eggs, sugar, and spices until smooth. Add milk and pumpkin. Arrange unbaked pie crust in a pie plate, and fill with mixture.

Bake for 10 minutes at 400 degrees, then turn the oven down to 325 and bake until firm. It will look lighter than most pumpkin pies, so test it with a toothpick.

 

Grating raw pumpkin by hand is a chore, so if you have a food-processor, you can do that, too. The important thing is to have a good pie-pumpkin, and to have the pumpkin raw when it goes into the pie. That way, all it’s lovely juices stay in the pie.

 


Thanks

Thank You, Lord, for the rough country; for the times when my path is a struggle. Thank You for the blisters, bruised heel, and scrapes from my falls. Thank You for the travelers, of all kinds, around me. Thank You for enough food and water to live, but not so much that I forget to be glad of it.

Thank You for the still times, the easy walks after a hard climb, and the places that call me to rest, but never for long. I, like Frost, have miles to go before I sleep.

Thank You for letting me break, like shale dropping from a height. I thought it was me that would shatter, but I did not see the prison I had built around myself. Prison-breaking is painful, but until I was out, I never knew that Joy meant anything more than happiness. I did not know that Joy defies all circumstances and emotions. I did not know that it is transcendent. Strange, how You let us use the most simple words to describe things that we only begin to understand. Thank You for that as well, else how few words I would have!

Thank You for turning me out of myself, and for Your patience in doing so again and again, as I forget the lessons I have learned so many times. That is one reason for the rough of the road, perhaps. It makes me stumble, and reminds me where my eyes should be. You have more patience with me than I have with myself. Thank You.

Thank You, Yeshua, for the mysteries; the seeming-paradoxes that make us alive rather than existent. Thank you for Life. And most of all, thanks for Your presence on the road with me.


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