Back to Reality (part one of a series)
This morning, I woke up at 6:20 Diane Time (actually 5:55 Eastern Standard Time). I then hit snooze, and woke up at 6:29 DT. Then, much to Mike’s likely displeasure, I hit snooze again and woke up at at 6:38 DT. Then, to tempt fate and Mike’s patience with my alarm clock, I hit snooze again and woke up at 6:47 DT. I smacked my alarm clock and got the hell out of bed and into the shower.
Welcome back to normalcy. Welcome back to work. Welcome back to reality.
Okay, maybe it’s not really reality, seeing as I’m currently listening to the “Traditional Christmas” station on LaunchCast. Kate has a strong influence on my love of Christmas. o/” It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas! Toys in every store! But the prettiest sight to see is the holly that will be on your own front door! o/”
The non-reality of the extra-long weekend started almost normal. I did the 6:20 DT wake up, but with less of the snooze button, on Wednesday and prepared myself mentally and physically for pie day. All the ingredients for five very different pies were lined up on the dining room table waiting for me as I ate some breakfast and turned on the television. The first order of business was pie dough.
Three batches, three dish-washings, and three trips to the refrigerator later, I was in good shape. I started my laundry and sat on the sofa watching some odd day-time television. I left the TV on as I started rolling out the crusts. Unfortunately, however, I had no plastic bags and my make-shift press-and-seal contraptions were not doing it. I nearly had a hissy-fit while trying to roll out the first mass of dough, and ended up throwing that ball back into the fridge and selecting a different one. That one went much better, and was stashed in the freezer while I worked on the second. The second went into the freezer when the first went into the oven to be blind-baked, and this little trip continued around my dining room and kitchen as I stacked up blind baked, completely baked, and completely raw pie crusts around my house. Not for the first time, I thought how awesome it would be to have a real kitchen.
Interlude: Kate would be excited. “Have a Holly Jolly Christmas” is now playing in my headphones.
While Ellen was taking a tour of the smallest apartment in Manhattan (seriously, the single dorm rooms at WPI were bigger than this whole apartment that cost this poor girl $500 a month), I started on the pecan pie filling. Pecan is one of those pies that really baffle me as to how it could possibly work. First, you cook some sugar and corn syrup until it boils. Then you mix in the nuts and flavorings (hissing… lots of hissing…). And then, by some form of magic, beaten eggs just mix right in without becoming sugar-coated scrambled eggs. I just don’t understand the chemistry involved. I guess that’s why I don’t work in a pharmaceutical lab. Oh, that’s probably because I didn’t major in chemical engineering.
I did manage to deal with my laundry and worked on the fillings for the pumpkin and cranappear. This is when tragedy struck. I had mixed the pumpkin filling (also involving some bizarre chemistry) and cut up all the pears and apples. I then poured out the washed cranberries (night-before preparation was awesome) and some sugar into my wok (my biggest pan). I stupidly wasn’t paying any attention (and had even stupidlier set the burner on high), and the next thing I knew, smoke was rising from my wok. I do not recommend burning cranberries. The smell is atrocious.
Kate came to the rescue, however, as she had not left her house yet. She stopped at the grocery store (much to her dismay) and brought me a new bag of cranberries. At least the people in the store were being nice to her because she had only one item. Although apparently some smartass asked her if she was only having cranberries for Thanksgiving.
Once rescue arrived, things went much smoother. The cranappear filling was completed, and both it and the pumpkin were put in the oven. Kate made pudding for the pudding pies while I sliced bananas and whipped cream. She even helped me clean up the disaster that was strewn across the first floor of my house. (When I say house, you should actually know that this is an apartment – a nice one, but still small. My kitchen has about 3 feet of counter space, and my dining room table is a 4 foot round. Also, there is no dining room, just a corner of my living room that has a five-light brass chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Pies were cooling on the coffee table. Pie dough crumbs were everywhere.)
Kate was a life saver (and pie saver!), and I was soon able to go pack my clothes and stuff for the trip. Mike didn’t get out of work quite as early as he had hoped, but he was home before three. We started bringing bags and boxes and pies out to Mike’s Element (yes, he drives an Element – yes, I know they’re ugly – no, you may not make fun of it – it is useful – plus, that’s my job). By some form of magic, we were able to fit all five pies, two small suitcases, a backpack full of PS2 equipment, two bottles of wine, a cooler full of soda, a mini cooler containing the makings for whipped cream, a stuffed animal turkey, and three people into the vehicle.
We and 50 million of our closest friends were soon on the road heading north. Surprisingly, the traffic wasn’t bad, and we only saw the remains of one accident (3-car pile-up, no fatalities, one totaled car). Cell phone discussions of dinner were had amongst cars, how-do-we-get-there conversations were had in our car, and we arrived at the lake.
Mike’s uncle and aunt live on a pretty little lake in southern New Hampshire (I get yelled at for calling it Cow Hampshire, so I’m trying to be nice…). They welcomed us and our pies very kindly. We stashed our stuff in “the blue room” and the pies out on the back porch. Friendly conversation was then had as we waited for Mike’s parents to arrive. When they finally came, the conversation got louder and more excitable, and Kate, Mike’s mom, and I tried valiantly to get everyone to agree on a place to order dinner from. Finally, we chose some subs, and the three of us went to pick them up.
Kate and I were salivating as we held the sandwiches for the trip back to the house. One carnation instant breakfast with milk, two leftover rolls, three leftover breadsticks, three leftover barbeque wings, and one left over slice of pizza do not make a day’s food for one person, let alone two. We handed out the food, and dove in. Good food and good conversation continued, as it would for the entire weekend…