FRSC November/December Merge

Due to the holidays I merged November and December into the first Friday of December. The theme, fitting for holiday season, was Family Stories. Everyone had to come prepared to tell a true tale of family times. They also had to bring a favorite childhood food. By evening's end, I had a collection of the strangest facts and 'interesting' flavors.

INVITATION
The Holidays. They are coming, or are here, depending on when you start fixating on them. They are getting in the way of the FRSC schedule. Kind of lame!
The FRSC will not compete. It is above that sort of thing. Instead, there will be a combined Nov/Dec supper. 

Date: December 6, Friday
Time: 6:30 pm / supper at 7:00 pm
Theme: Family Stories
Details: Did I mention it’s the holidays? We are excited, or cringing, or both, about seeing Aunt Sue, Cousin George. Mom. Dad. The whole cast of characters. What better way to prepare than sharing some family foible: a legendary story of your hi-jinks as a toddler, the worst thing your sister ever did in junior high, the joke that neighbor kid pulled on your dad.

Tell on yourself, tell on your siblings, tell on the dog, or tell on your teacher. Please, tell us!

DETAILS
Hello all,
I'm very excited to have you all over in few weeks!

A Carroll family story is the supper where my kindergarten self finally got her way, via unstoppable whining, and ate all the Nalley’s Chili she wanted. Nalley’s was a treat and one of my most favorite food items in the world. I ate until it hurt and then I ate some more. It was bliss. Until it wasn't.... Not long after leaving the table my evening took a terrible, terrible turn and I learned a hard lesson about gluttony.

What We’re Eating
Nalley’s Chili! JUST KIDDING. But along those lines: Bring something you couldn't get enough of as a kid. Or, bring a ‘remake’ of whatever it was if it’s just too disgusting to eat the original.

Let me know if it’s an app/drink/main/dessert etc. I’ll play the responsible grown-up and fill in any gaps to ensure there’s a well-rounded meal. And a story - don’t forget your story!

I Choose Monster

Last night I was experimenting with risotto using 1/2 pearled barley and 1/2 arborio rice. The exhaust fan was on low. Holopaw was on high. I was savoring the last few hours of the weekend - reviewing what had been done, bracing for what Monday might be.

It took a few moments to realize The Sound was not emanating from the stereo, nor the exhaust fan, nor the neighbors, nor, indeed anywhere outside. The Sound was inside my house and was coming from the basement. The worst place to hear any sound, much less this sound.

I turned off  the burners, stereo, fan. Gnawing. Loud, aggressive, intent. Good. Lord. Pushing down a spike of panic I open the basement door. Lovely how those steps descend into darkness. The light switch is at the bottom of the stairs, where it's very, very dark. And that tearing, gnawing sound was even louder. I imagined my futon a stack of splinters. I imagined beady red eyes. I imagined a rodent flinging itself at me and eating my face off. What in the world could make that Sound?!

A mouse? A rat? A monster?

I remembered my camping headlamp stashed, for obvious reasons, in my sock drawer. Panic now climbing back up in red jagged marks, I shined it down the steps and tried to see around the corner. Nothing. An aggressive shadow that turned my heart to ice was my knuckle. Not that there wasn't a something just around the corner, but the only way I could see was to go down those very dark stairs. All the while The Sound was relentless. I assumed my sewing table must also be kindling.

I went through my call list: There are the people nearby. But I didn't know them well. There were good people further off, but they have children, are busy, are far away. I could be mauled and maimed by the time they got over here. I could nearly believe it wasn't a monster, but the fact remained it could be a rabid possum that would eat my face off. And that is a monster as far as I'm concerned. One to call for backup about.

My fear of The Sound warred with the fear of bothering others. I couldn't handle the idea of someone coming over and having no possum, rat, mouse, monster to justify their trek. So down the stairs I went, headlamp in hand, and reached for the pull-cord in the dark, poised to leap back up the stairs at the slightest shuffle.

(The fact The Sound continued as I was descending was almost soothing. What would have made me shriek was cessation. That means the possum-monster is gearing up to launch. At your face.)

The light flashed on. The Sound continued. I peeked around the corner. Furniture was peaceful and fully intact. No furry forms were dashing undercover. I went down a few more steps. The Sound was all around me. From under the stairs? Oh, god, oh god, oh god.

I listened harder....no, not the stairs. The wall. The drywall that covers the concrete basement wall. My first reaction is deep anxiety over what is eating through the drywall and when it will push its razor sharp teeth through. And then I realize whatever it is, it must be fairly small. There's not a lot of room between the concrete and the drywall - maybe two inches. The gnawing is somehow magnified in its travel through the wall and up the stairwell. My jaggedy red panic marks move back down the fear scale.

I yelled and kicked at the wall where it seems the sound (now lowercase, yes) was coming from. It stopped. I listened for a little bit. It didn't start again. Relieved, but edgy, I left the light on and trudged back up the stairs. I kept the stereo and fan off as I finished making dinner, keeping an ear cocked towards the stairwell. Nothing was stirring...not even the mouse.

This morning on my commute to work I wondered what it meant that I was willing to face rabid possums on my own over calling a friend to help me, to at least talk me through it. It could mean I'm really brave. It could mean my rational self conquered irrational fears. But the thing that kept me from calling anyone was not any of that. It was the greater fear of being laughed at. Of being found out as fearful and irrational. I'd rather have a monster eat my face off.

Advice on Sewing

A bad photo, I know. I snapped it at a fabric store while waiting in line. I know, I know - it's dated, it's sexist blah, blah, blah-de-blah. BUT, in my experience, it really does make a difference to have niggling household matters taken care of before I dig into a creative project.

AND, when I am able to feel ready for the day (showered, presentable, teeths brushed), it's easier to lose myself in a project. Perhaps this is just my general paranoid over-preparedness and desire to be organized. Maybe another person would have their creative juices quashed irrevocably if they had to brush their hair first. I don't know. But I do like this advice. Except for the French chalk idea. That really isn't necessary unless your creative outlet is rock climbing.