Thanksgiving with the Bradshaws: A Photo Essay

We started the day off with a nice, long run, intended, in part, to justify the massive amounts of food we were about to consume. It was a dark and stormy morning full of shin-deep puddles and raging gutters of slime.

I initially thought Mom was just taking a picture of me doing situps, which is why I have a funny look on my face. Little did I know my brothers were behind me, mocking me. Well, Tom was mocking me. John claims he was inspired.

From the backside down the hallway.
For release Jan. 1, 2009: Abs of Steel with the Bradshaws.
Starring: Me.

The first turkey came out of the smoker and Dad asked us to test it for moistness. Tommy and I were happy to oblige.

After showers it was time to make the last of the pies.

Mom cleaning up after us as we go and
Rachel and Katie trying to make Tom a caramel pie...

Dad, sensing his presence was no longer needed in the kitchen, decided to go out into the backyard to prune the apricot tree, because Thanksgiving Day is the perfect day to do this.

Tom "working hard," "helping" prune the tree.

Meanwhile, Rachel whips up the merengue for Tom's caramel pie.

Dad finished in the backyard in time for dinner.

I wonder where he went? Down the hall to his room?

Mom spent the entire week cleaning the house from top to bottom.
Mom doesn't like to reclean other people's messes so soon.

Therefore, it's safe to say that the hairy arm does not belong to Mom.

Tom, hard at work, "checking" on turkey number 2.

Dad finds his way back into the kitchen to carve turkey number two.

The feast.

What the Bradshaw boys do in line to entertain themselves.

This was worth the 1+ hour run.

The day cleared up and we were able to have Thanksgiving dinner outside.

Gotta love San Diego.

The aftermath isn't nearly as bad when you clean up as you go.

Mom insisted we leave the dishes until after the games.

This is me pretending I don't really care about winning.

This is me winning.

This is Ben attacking me after I won (I suspect at the order of his father).

Time for pie.

And now it's time for the dishes.

This is what happens when Tom says things he shouldn't and water is present.

Tom, you got pwned.

More games. My job was to hold the marbles.

Our attempt at a sibling picture.

Ben was running on my head, again at the order of his father.

Happy Thanksgiving!

"I finally found my people"

Some of you know of my love for Anne Fadiman, a contemporary author and editor. The first book of hers I ever read was Ex Libris: Confessions of a Common Reader. This collection of essays awoke a part of my literary soul, and I quickly dubbed it my favorite book without really knowing why. That was about 5 years ago. I originally determined my "favoriteness" based on subject matter--I realized (with a mixture of relief and delight) I was not alone in my literary quirks. I remember also loving her writing style, but I couldn't quite put my finger on what made her so different from other essayists I had read.

I soon discovered she was the same Anne Fadiman who was the editor of a magazine of which I had just taken a subscription, The American Scholar. Again, it was a magazine with content I loved but couldn't quite put my finger on why, or at least why I loved it so much more than other literary magazines. In my frenzied grad-school state, I simply attributed it to the talent of Anne Fadiman and moved on. I had Tolkien to dissect, after all. Then grad school ended and my quest for finding books on my own began. It has been an interesting process of discovery, learning to articulate my likes and dislikes with 6 years of education behind me. You'd think I would be better at it than I am, but school mostly taught me theory and dissection, not so much enjoyment and identification. Add in there the recovery from burn-out and you have a very eclectic reading list and one confused reader.

In my search, I discovered a book Anne wrote about 10 years ago called The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down. Odd name for a book, I thought, but I was excited to read it. It had been recommended to me by a friend and was by an author who, up until that time, I had only known and loved as an essayist/journalist. I could write an entire posting on why I loved this book, but I will spare you the book review (for now). Suffice it to say for this discussion that it was during this book that I began to (i) discover why I liked Anne and (ii) identify her genre.

Anne is a creative journalist--I don't know if that's a real term, but that's how I like to define her. She takes a story, a subject, gives you really interesting information - succinctly - and then personalizes it. I got to the end of the book and found myself crying with this beautiful, loving Hmong family. Anne had me the entire way along, but she did not emotionally manipulate me. She simply told me a story that mattered in a way that captured me. The book went on my shelf next to my copy of Ex Libris.

Which brings us to yesterday. Almost. Two or three weeks ago I attended a book exchange. Of course I brought out Ex Libris (both copies, one recently given to me by my best friend who read it and knew I would love it. It's comforting to have friends who know me so well...). It has been a while since I've read these essays, and as I explained the contents of this book I found myself getting excited; I decided it was time to reread them myself. As I have revisited this book in the last week or so, I have felt almost giddy inside. With a little bit more experience behind me, some of these essays have taken on new meaning and give me new reasons for delight. Inspired, I went to Borders yesterday in search of another collection of essays recommended to me, hoping they might be in the "Anne" category. I was planning on just perusing the essays, not buying, but Borders didn't have the book. Plan foiled. I decided while I was there to enter Anne Fadiman's name into the computer, just to see if I had by chance missed any books she had recently written or edited. Turns out she put out another collection of essays last year. I walked straight to the shelf, breathed a sigh of relief to find a copy there, and went straight to the register. (Thank you again Millie for the gift card.) I had a feeling Anne wasn't going to let me down.

When I purchased the book, I expected to glean inspiration from her essays (which I have). I was surprised to find that (at least so far) her preface is what has impacted me the most. In fact, I can say that I experienced a revelatory moment as I read, one of the most profound I've ever had in my search for my authorial identity. In her preface, Anne gave her genre a name--the familiar essay--and began to outline its form and structure. It sounded so much like what I was trying to construct but have always felt just off the mark. She identified her inspiration, Charles Lamb (people, we have a predecessor!), and the time period when it had its heyday (early nineteenth century). (Mom, I finally have something we can put on my Christmas wish list.) I kept thinking, why have I never heard of this genre before? Well, Anne goes on to explain that while it is considered a dying genre, it is clearly one people still enjoy reading because the small amount out there is still being devoured.

What is the familiar essay? Quoting from Anne's preface in At Large and At Small:

The familiar essayist didn't speak to the millions; he spoke to one reader, as if the two of them were sitting side by side in front of a crackling fire with their cravats loosened, their favorite stimulants at hand, and a long evening of conversation stretching before them. His viewpoint was subjective, his frame of reference concrete, his style digressive, his eccentricities conspicuous, and his laughter usually at his own expense. And though he wrote about himself, he also wrote about a subject, something with which was so familiar, and about which he was often so enthusiastic, that his words were suffused with a lover's intimacy. [...] in other words, about the author but also about the world. (x-xi)

I found myself grasping for a pencil to underline this paragraph and in the margin the words spilled out: "I have found my people." The flow of thoughts that came after that and the understanding that began to overwhelm me felt as beautiful and delicious and smooth as mint being covered in dark chocolate.

Maybe this excitement seems disproportionate to the discovery, but for me it has opened up a new world. I now have examples to study, to emulate, to perfect and then from which to digress, to make the style my own, to innovate, and, maybe even one day, to improve. In her first essay in this new book, Anne quotes her brother Kim as saying, "When you collect nature, there are two moments of discovery. The first comes when you find the thing. The second comes when you find the name." She continues the thought: "Without classification, collection is just a hodgepodge." For this writer who has been floundering, viewing her jump drive of files as "just a hodgepodge," finding "classification" has suddenly made those files take on new meaning.

The thoughts which followed that revelation are for another discussion another time, but they are worth addressing at some point: why do I need classification to validate my style's existence? Part of it is because I needed something to focus it, a mentor and a teacher; I have now found a great source for that. But why the psychological relief? It is something worth thinking about. More on that later...

Today's Battle

I sometimes love how there are moments of the pathetic in my life. I've tried to eradicate most of them, but sometimes I forget to be vigilant and fall victim to my own fixations. That's what causes the pathetic for me: fixation. I develop these habits, these patterns. I don't do them consciously, but once they're set, I'm doomed. I have to make a conscious effort to break them. One example: the holidays are here and therefore there are treats everywhere in our house. I know I have a hard time resisting when I'm home, so I made a new rule for myself: no treats at work. Who knew it was such a part of my afternoon routine?! It took three grueling weeks, but I finally broke the habit and am now no longer subject to the 3:30 gnawing. The sad thing is, even when it was going on I knew it was making me feel sluggish, but it was so engrained my routine that I had a hard time axing it. Anyway, I'm free from the vice, but you know what they say: something else will take its place if you're not careful. Well, careful I was not.

Two weeks ago it was my turn for the Costco run. I had the list and usually am pretty good about sticking to it, but I made the mistake of going before I had eaten dinner. I made a wrong turn looking for the olives and ended up in the chip aisle. Usually I am not tempted by chips, but I walked by the Cheez-Its and found my cart stopping.

"Cheez-Its," I thought. "Hmmm. I haven't had a Cheez-it in ages. This might be a fun snack to have in the house." Did I look at the nutrition information? Heck no. I just saw cheese and chip and purchased. In bulk.

To my credit, I have done very well with the Cheez-Its. A very small number of them accompany me on days when I bring a salad to work and that's the only time they are consumed. It offers a nice feeling of substance to an otherwise garden meal. The bad news: when you eat, food runs out, and yesterday I ran out of Cheez-Its.

Now, you'd think the solution to this problem would be easy. Except it's not. I hate grocery shopping. I hate Costco crowds. I hate Giant's setup. I hate Harris Teeter's parking. I loathe Shoppers' ghettoness. Consequently, Amy and I put off shopping until we can't take it anymore. Usually our breaking point is when I'm sitting on the floor in front of the pantry shelves yelling, "Amy! There's nothing to eat!" I mean, there's food there, but it would take effort, and even if we wanted to make the effort, we are missing just enough ingredients to not really be able to do much but eat a can of stewed tomatoes with pine nuts. Sick.

Add this fact to the part where we leave for the Thanksgiving holidays this week. Yes, we could get nonperishables before we leave, but that would require another trip to Costco or the regular grocery store upon our return. Heaven forbid we should have to go twice in one week. So we have to make do.

This morning I already pitched an internal fit about not having any Shredded Wheat to eat for breakfast. I was going to go hungry but my morning run won out and so I settled on oatmeal. (Side note: I usually love oatmeal, but this summer that was one of the only things I could eat. I think it might be years before I can eat oatmeal without a grimace.) After breakfast was solved, the next dilemma was lunch. I figured I should make a salad to use up the perishables that are left in the fridge, however, I hesitated. There were no Cheez-Its left. I decided not to worry, though. I had bought some the other day from the vending machine on 6 (when I forgot the baggie on the kitchen counter) so I decided I would just go down and buy some at lunch time. Well, noon came and my run-hunger was catching up with me again, so I went down to get my Cheez-Its. Bill in hand, I walk up to the vending machine only to find the Cheez-It slot was empty. "Arg!" I silently screamed. "Of course." (As if it was my firm's most ardent desire to deprive me of my snack.) So I walked back up the stairs and decided to try the 8th floor vending machine. Cold vending, no chips. Suck. Feeling slightly defeated, I decided to try the cafeteria on 10. Surely they would have them. No. Nothing. Totally robbed. What kind of office is this?! As I skulked back down the stairs, I decided to stop on 9, just for good measure...just in case. No dice.

I got back to my desk, which is on 7, and sat in front of my salad. I didn't want to eat it. I wanted the Cheez-Its that were supposed to go with it. I felt very dejected and a little bit foolish about my pathetic search for a lame cheesey chip. And all because of my dumb fixation on routine and taste and texture, and just as I was about to resign myself to eating the salad alone I remembered! The vending machine guide on our internal internet. I found one on 5 that I didn't try. I was feeling lukcy (read: hopeful) and so I took to the stairs once again. I almost got lost (I hate the 5th floor - hallways that lead to nowhere...) but at last I found the vending machine. I walked up, eyes bright with hope, and there they were: my very own bag of Cheez-Its. "Ha- HA!" I yelled, then looked around to see if had heard my exclamation. Ashamed, but with Cheez-Its in hand, I walked back to my desk and ate my salad with great satisfaction. Pathetic: yes. Determined: yes. Rewarded: Absolutely.

Thanksgiving happiness

For as long as I can remember, Thanksgiving has been my favorite holiday. Growing up, we would get up early and get a couple dozen donuts on our way to the practice fields at our local junior high. Around 8 a.m. the ward would start to gather for the turkey bowl. The game was traditionally between the young men and the elder's quorum/high priests, but it was also a family affair. The kids would play their own game off to the side and the moms would sit and chat and eat donuts and drink juice (except for my mom...she always stayed home to cook for the masses). I'm sure it comes as no shock to find out that I complained rather loudly each year that I wasn't allowed to play; I was a fast runner and a great receiver, but alas, my gender was against me. By the time I was a teenager, though, we didn't have enough young men to field a team and so they needed me (suckers). I was proud to be one of the players who came home caked in mud with a few bruises underneath it all. There was something wonderful about stepping into that hot shower, knowing that when I emerged Thanksgiving dinner was not too far away.

Turkey, mashed potatoes, corn, rolls, stuffing, green bean casserole, cherry pineapple dessert...it was heaven at Grandma's and Grandpa's. If it was chilly enough, we even got a fire in the fireplace. As evening fell we would all eventually wake from our respective food comas and be ready for pie. Mom would ask Grandpa every year, "Apple or cherry?" to which he would reply "Yes." It never got old. And then we would watch either White Christmas or Holiday Inn.

My grandparents have passed on and the house has emptied out. The traditions have changed and I don't always get to go home for Thanksgiving, but my love for the holiday has not changed. I love Thanksgiving for many reasons, but mostly because it feels so good to be grateful. This year I feel particularly so. Last week for FHE we had a "Cornucopia of Gratitude" night, I think it was dubbed. As I considered all that I was grateful for, I felt myself become a bit emotional. A lot has happened this year. I have experienced some significant trials, but the blessings at the end have been even more significant. I've seen miracles happen in my life and in others' lives. As I have considered these things over the last week I have felt how much my Heavenly Father truly does love me and all of His children.

I make a list every Thanksgiving. It tends to be pretty comprehensive. I won't share everything here, but I thought I'd give you some of the highlights. They aren't listed in any particular order. Enjoy!

• Cookies. There's just something about them that make me so happy. I am grateful for the nights where there are cookies, good friends, some cold milk, and an empty kitchen floor. It can set any day right.
• Blustery days. There's something comforting and a little romantic about going out into the elements while bundled up in a big, chunky sweater. I love it when the wind whips my hair around my eyes and blows some leaves across my path. I feel in those moments God lets me know He's alive.
• Blankets. Combined with a fire and a good book (or conversation, or cookie, or movie), this might be one of the greatest joys of life.
• Good books. See above.
• Good conversation. The best usually come from reading good books.
• Good music. Playing, listening, attending...I'm grateful for it all.
• The beach. I love the feeling of the sand in my toes. I even like the feeling of sand in my teeth when I'm eating a hot dog post-body surfing. I love watching the sunset as we're all huddled around the bonfire (even if the green flash is a myth). I love the wind and the waves.
• My family. We're big, we're sort of loud, and we really love each other. I'm grateful for whatever pre-earth process determined my placement with the Bradshaws.
• The gospel. It binds my family together; it binds my friends and me together; it gives life meaning.
• The temple. I am grateful for the binding ordinances performed there. I am grateful for the peace that is found there. I am grateful God has given us a place on earth where He dwells, a place we can come if we are worthy.
• Dove soap. It smells so good.
• My kindred spirits. You know who you are. My life is made rich because of you. I am grateful for the moments when we don't have to say anything and it's okay. I am grateful for the times we laugh so hard and so long that our sides hurt, our eyes leak, and the room fills with an almost tangible energy. I am grateful for the roll of toilet paper you keep in your car for teary conversations. I am grateful for P&P, for Taco Tuesdays, for Bad Poetry Night, for Last Call, for freezing morning runs and misheard statements (I wonder if jaw straps are uncomfortable...), for DDR and bats, for dancing in hurricane rain, for Baltic states, for Baja Fresh and homemade guacamole, for the reenactment of the tiny towel story at 2 a.m., for piano duets, for all the "oh gosh" moments, for "do as I'm doing," for Collin Golightly, for bad novels and even worse film adaptations, for not having to preface anything, and for all things confessional. I am grateful you love me in spite of me. I am grateful you let me love you.
• I am grateful for you. I really am. I probably don't say it enough but to all who render service, to all who let me serve them, to those who take time to just sit and chat, who forgive me and let me grow, who trust me to forgive and let you grow...you have my love and my gratitude.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Dear Pirates...

I miss Janey for so many reasons, one of which includes the hilarity of our conversations. We derail so quickly... Now that Janey's in CA we have had to make do over gchat. Sometimes it's scary how our minds travel along the same trajectory. I thought, for your day's entertainment, that I would just share a piece of one of our gchat conversations from today.

*****

Jane: julies what's up with the somalian pirates? seriously, people still do that?
Julie: yes it's still very lucrative
i'm sure it's been going on for a while
they are just getting a lot of press right now for some reason
Jane: ohh really? i thought pirates were from days of yore
Julie: i think we forget (I know I do) that there are still a lot of things that are transported by cargo ship
Jane: um do they talk like pirates? and have wooden legs?
Julie: ha ha ha probably not sadly
Jane: becuse that would just be awesome
Julie: i know, especially if they were somalian ;)
Jane: lol you know i would like to see more of the world
Julie: ha ha ha
Jane: from a safe vantage point, of course
Julie: yeah, i'm not sure piracy is safe
Jane: i would imagine they use guns instead of swords now but i wonder if they watch pirate movies and just laugh
Julie: ha ha ha
they probably think, we've come a long way, boys
Jane: lol maybe there's still a dread pirate roberts!
Julie: we should write them an email and ask
Dear Pirates, Is there still a Dread Pirate Roberts? Please write back. Sincerely, Julie and Jane
Jane: dear pirates, i'm sorry you face such stigma from all of hollywoods interpretations of "pirates". It's got to be tough when you really have two eyes and both legs. I was just wondering, is there still a dread pirate roberts? If so, is he handsome and does he have a good heart like wesley? Your response will be greatly appreciated. Loves, XOXO Jane & julies
Julie: ha ha ha ha ha
I like yours better
Jane: oh you did one too! yours is more susinct
they'll probably be more likely to read it lol
seriously, people should become more aware of modern day pirating
ohhh do they still use the calico jack flag? because that would also be cool
Julie: ha ha ha
we can ask them in the email
Jane: you know this email might really help bridge the misunderstandings
Julie: AHHHHHHHH
my friend grayden just sent me this
http://huntoftheseawolves.net/blog/wp-content/uploads/2007/08/060706-modern-pirates_big.jpg

Jane: ohhhhhh pirates are scary still!

Julie: yes very

Jane: Julie, I'm doing some research on pirates

on wikipedia, you know, the source of all truth and good solid research

and um i don't think they have the happiest lives

Julie: rethinking your desire to see the world?
via pirate ship?
ha ha ha
what does the wiki say?
Jane: well
they never actually got to bury their treasure
as it was usually not gold

and they lived off of limes and bananas

which would get old after awhile
Julie: but they wouldn't get scurvy

Jane: that's true, no bowed legs for them!

and if they got injured during battle then the ship would give them health insurance

that's nice

also, most pirates are outcasts from traditional society. and since I tend to like society, I don't think i'd fit in very well.

I guess being a pirate isn't all it's cracked up to be. Perhaps I should be a maiden instead.

********

Maybe it's only funny to us.

Mid-week highlights

1. Monday morning our office administrator came to my desk. In the two seconds I had to reigster that she was coming to talk to me, I racked my brain for any possible reason I could have given her to pay a personal visit to my desk. I expected to be chastised for something, since that's what I usually expect when approached by an authority figure with whom I have previously had little to no contact, but I couldn't think of anything I had done.

"So, Julie, we've installed new faucets in the ladies' restroom down the hall. " Okay, I thought, I'm not in trouble, but this also is not exactly desk-visit-worthy intel. "We have installed a different one at each sink." I tried to keep from rolling my eyes as I considered the extravagance of our firm installing three different types of faucets in an attempt to satisfy the washing needs of the firm. She continued. "Would you please 'test-drive' each faucet over the next couple of weeks and let me know which you prefer?" Was she joking? No. She absolutely was not. "Depending on which one our hallway likes, we'll install new faucets in all the ladies' restrooms in the building." I blinked. "Will you send me an email once you've decided?" There were so many ways I wanted to respond to that question but I instead exerted all of my professionalism and simply replied, "Yes, of course." She proceeded to the next office occupied by a female. Really, I can't believe this issue even made it onto the firm administration's radar. Oh wait, yes I can.

In case any of you are wondering, I voted for the one on the far right.

2. Today at work I composed and sent an email with the subject line "boxes slated for destruction." I've been laughing about it all day.

I sometimes wish I didn't take so much delight in the ridiculous, but I just can't help it. I feel like those moments are little gems from God intended to brighten up life.

Oh Mr. Darcy, where are you? Keep your promise!

I am not ashamed.

Thank you to Shawn and David for sharing the love.

Blog Identity Crisis Resolved (I hope)

So, my hiatus didn't last long. I know that the initial hiatus came as a surprise to many--it seemed that I quit just as I was picking up some serious momentum--but I had honestly been having a blog identity crisis for quite some time. I also had another project that was consuming quite a bit of my time, but as that comes to a close, I find that I need another writing project. [sigh] Always writing. I hope I can start to say things of substance as I pick this project back up.

The confessions will probably take a different path from here on out. So far it has been an interesting experiment in self-discovery, including an exploration of personal relationships and authorial identity (I'm pretty sure I just made that last term up, but it seems to fit what I'm talking about). I'm sure it will continue to be that, but hopefully with a little bit more of an outward focus.

I have a few books I want to discuss as I reenter the blogosphere, though hopefully the posts will be more than book reviews, and hopefully they can spark some good discussion.

And so here's to reinventing the confessions. Thanks for your patience.