This picture is from my kitchen where last night I –drum roll–baked! A cherry cobbler, a Kentucky Derby pie, and a hash brown casserole. (How to you bake with two mastiffs sniffing at your countertops? Very watchfully!)
My relatives always gather at this women’s club in a little town in central Florida. The aunts always bring the turkey and dressing, and the cousins always bring side dishes. There’s no organization to it other than that, yet we always seem to have tables groaning with all kinds of goodies.
The Daughter came home yesterday and we went shopping–again, for the elusive thing to wear on the red carpet at the Nativity premier. I keep expecting someone to pinch me and tell me it was all a mistake, but so far, so good–we found something to wear and I have my travel reservations. (The other “thing to wear” didn’t work when I tried it on. The skirt was too big, so back to the store it went.)
I’ve always tried to live according to that proverb that says it’s better to sit at the low table and be invited up to the head table . . . than to sit at the head table and be asked to move to the low. In other words, I keep my expectations low, that way I’m not disappointed. (Aside: I’ve met so many authors who go, for instance, to their first book signing or their first booksellers’ convention and are CRUSHED when there aren’t lines out the door of huge posters emblazoned with their names and faces. “Keep your expectations low, sweetie,” I always want to say, “and then if something nice does happen, you can be amazed and grateful.”
I know, I know–I’m not a natural born promoter. (VBG) But that’s why I keep expecting to go to the movie premier and be slipped in the back door rather than be allowed to walk down the red carpet. If anything else happens, I’ll be stunned and grateful.
Speaking of gratitude, in all the holiday hubbub, be sure to stop and count your blessings today. One thing I’m grateful for? A couple of weeks ago, hubby and I were at Home Depot when hubby saw a woman he recognized and they chatted. Later she came up to him and said, “I hope I didn’t commit a faux paus?”
Gary said, “What?”
“When I saw you at Home Depot,” she went on. “I guess you were with your new wife–you know, that young woman?”
Gary laughed. “I don’t have a new wife–I’m still making do with the old one!”
P.S. Kentucky Derby Pie is sort of like a chess pie–made of eggs, sugar, evaporated milk. I’ll let you know how it tastes!