I don’t know about you, guys, but the morning after Thanksgiving is even better for me then the Day itself. And why is that? Because you find yourself with a pile of food for a week, your kids and grandkids walking around in their pajamas early in the morning, coffee, kids food in your coffee, toys, grumpy adult kids who try to sleep in, cats waiting for their treat, and an urgent need : we are out of milk.
So, my daughter-in-love, my granddaughter and I in pajamas strolled our flip-flops to the car in the drive way on a torrential rain. But who cared? Rain in SoCal is like first snow in Europe, and we loved to get in the crazy water up to our ankles. I got to comb my hair before leaving and that was good. People at Von’s here know me, some of them are good friends I made during the years, and I wanted them to be able to recognize me. First thing I saw: the pineapples were almost for free. We got two. And by the time we were checking out, we forgot to get milk.
The sky was falling down outside, the drops of rain were big like cherries, and we were completly soaked when we reached our car in the parking lot. But we didn’t mind it. We laughed until we got home.
Now the breakfast party is going to start. I have to go.
It just happened that I finished it, praise God! Waking up at 3, 4 and 5 in the morning, biting my nails, trying to keep up with life while writing like a machine may not be fun all the time. My mainstream fiction novel “Just Saying” is not finished. But I will work on it on my pace, with only one cup of coffee and keeping breathing. Anyway, it was a great experience to be crazy enough and write a novel in a month. When mine will be out there, go and buy it. It was written in blood.
Thank you for being my readers!
Can you see those houses in the back? They remind me of my aunt Marisca’s house, my mom’s sister in a beautiful village. The little house was by the green field with cows and sheep eating the grass. I remember my cousin Dorina and I walking there after a summer rain and picking mushrooms in a small basket. The air was crisp, the sun ready to take off his PJ’s and get into his playing shorts. Sometimes the shepherds’ dogs would see us, and we would run across the field with mushrooms falling over the basket. Aunt Marisca would make us eggs and mushrooms for breakfast, and crepes with cream cheese. That house is still there, but I haven’t see it in many years. My aunt is not young anymore, but her beautiful face is still young in my heart. I give thanks for her. Happy Thanksgiving, folks!
One of the biggest things beyond cutting the pig in winter in some cultures, was to cut a turkey. I remember when mom and dad would go to the Farmer’s Market and come home with a living turkey. I didn’t like turkeys. I thought they were mean. Anyway, that day dad had the turkey tied up to a stick in our common yard and he got in the house to do some preparations. I was about 4 or 5 years old and pretty bored at that time of the day. I knew a song to sing to make the turkey spread its feathers and put on a ferocious look. I sang the song, and by the time dad came to cut the turkey, our bird was offended, mad and ready to jump on me.
When dad came outside, I rushed inside and covered my ears. Mom went in the yard carrying a basin. The whole event had brought together some of our neighbors,who were talking and sharing recipes.
Mom made soup, turkey roast and turkey cabbage rolls, which none I liked. They insisted and bribed me to taste them, but I ended up eating mashed potatoes with pickles.
While writing the last part of my #NaNo novel ( still some thousands words to go ) there are so many things flooding my soul from my grandparents’ and my parents’ fascinating memories.
“Just Saying” is a fiction, inspired from real events and very much alive people in 1920s to 1970s in Romania. It’s getting a touch from the time when the country was under the harsh Austrian-Hungarian Empire and to the troubled years under the Communism. Romance, drama and secrets, they sprout out together, revealing a society craving for freedom.