Fiddling While Rome Burns (Or How I Feel About Writing Silly Blog Posts Right Now)

Sigh.  Does anyone else feel like this has just sort of been a shit year?  I mean, not necessarily for you personally (although more on that later from me), but just in general?  Like, so much, SO MUCH, awful crap happened this year, and as a result, I’ve been having trouble finding my usual snarky, frivolous self.  Every time I think about writing about something silly, I think about all those poor refugees and terrorism and mass shootings (which are basically domestic terrorism that we’re really refusing to do anything about let’s be honest please and thank you) and war and poverty and global warming and Donald Trump (and Cruz and Carson because they’re almost equally as crazy), and I just…I can’t do it.  And every time I think about writing about all of the things I just mentioned, I think about all the crazy it’s going to bring in the comments, and about how I don’t really think I’m going to change anyone’s mind (most of the people who read my stuff are of an age where you believe what you believe and very little is going to change that), and so what is even THE POINT of getting all worked up and agonizing over syntax and grammar to have people tell me I’m a bleeding-heart, overly-optimistic, unrealistic liberal.  I already know this, and I’m totally fine with it. You’re not changing my opinion either, so why are we even talking about this?

However, I was discussing this with Mr. Stopster the other day, and he made a good point, “Yeah, but it’s always going to be like that, so sometimes you just have to keep living your own life.”  And while it may seem like avoidance or as the title suggests, fiddling while Rome burns*, it’s also completely true.  I can change little things, but other than that, I need to just get on with it.  And sometimes for me, “it” is this blog.  So, with this in mind, Stopster Thanksgivingmas was this weekend.

We started this a couple years ago, but this year was the first time it really turned into an all-day affair.  Jon decided to try something super-fancy pants with the turkey–roasting the crown (breast–and no, I don’t know why we need, like, eight different ways to refer to one particular portion of the bird either), but using the rest of the meat to make a turkey roulade.  This may not only have been to show off his cooking skills but also because it involved using his beloved immersion circulator AND buying meat glue.

Crown and roulade, all circulated and glued together.

Crown and roulade, all circulated and glued together.

He also made a sherry gravy for mashed potatoes, as well as honey glazed brussel sprouts, miniature loaves of cornbread, cranberry sauce with clementines and candied ginger, and a pumpkin chiffon pie with a butter, vanilla wafer crust.**



But wait, there’s more!

I…watched the kiddos and the dog for most of the day, and then I sat on the couch and watched “Chuck” on Netflix and drank Kona Brewing’s Pipeline Porter.  Okay, I also made the actual mashed potatoes, a butternut squash gratin, and selected the wine, but it pales so much in comparison, that I feel it’s hardly worth mentioning.

All shall love me and despair!

All shall love me and despair!

Oh, and I also threw together a nice snack plate for mid-day, which may explain why the girls didn’t eat too much of the actual meal.  It may also serve as proof that you shouldn’t let me drink two beers and then turn me loose in Whole Foods…


All in all, we ran the dishwasher three times that day, we swept the kitchen floor twice, scrubbed it once, and vacuumed the living room twice as well.  It look much longer to prepare the meal than eat it, and the girls, as always, didn’t appreciate it for the labor of love that it was, but we’re still going to do it again next year.  It doesn’t solve the refugee crisis or promote world peace, and it doesn’t help lower the rising sea levels.  But it also doesn’t hurt anyone or anything***, and this year, maybe that’s saying something.  Because I’m ‘Mericun dammit, and if I don’t overeat at least four times a year, the terrorists win!  Or something like that.  Sigh.


*As an ancient history major, I feel obligated to tell you that this mostly likely NEVER HAPPENED.  There is no evidence for it, and come on.  No, just no.

**I am still having a regular battle with myself not to eat this for breakfast every morning.  So far, I’m winning (or losing depending on how much you like pie).

***Unless you’re a turkey, or a vegetable, or my ability to button my jeans.