tavie.com

My Goose (my Goose, MY Goose) lives a perfectly literary life.

I'm not quite sure what that means, except that I wish it to mean that episodes from her life, such as those recounted in her blog, read like a particularly well-written novel. I'd publish her, were I a publishing company. (I'd make a fine publishing company, by jove.)

My Matt lives a similarly literary life. They'd be a good series. An excellent series. Were I a publishing company their lives would be available in colourfully-packaged boxsets for the holidays. A tender Christmas Goose, and a sprig of My Little Love, it's all very festive in my head.

Oh, so much gravy, I don't even really like gravy, except for its usefulness as a pronunciation aid.

Oh, so much stuffing. Oh, too much Republican yam casserole. ("We're having Laura Bush's recipe this year." "But WHY? Stop SAYING it, it tastes GOOD. I don't want to KNOW that." "I also glazed the turkey with Laura Bush's glaze." "Shut UP!")

I made an apple tart for dessert. It was pretty. I can make good (real) hot cocoa, and I can make good apple pie, and passable omelettes. That is all I can make. In case you ever need me to cook for you.

I picked up a dusty recorder and played the bridge from "All Good Gifts" until I was told to stuff it, after which I played that "We gather together" song, except I, like Steve, was thinking the MST3K lyrics when I played it.

I belched and it tasted like pecans.

My mom kept feeding the cats under the table, to our amusement and mock consternation. We sat down to eat and she started ripping up turkey and dropping it to Lily. "Where's Rosie? I can't eat without giving some to Rosie," she said, and got up to fetch Miss Diva Cat. This was all terribly amusing to us, as she is usually very crabby about the cats and insists she doesn't love them a bit, and only pets them when she thinks we're not looking. To see her being openly, mischieviously generous with the table scraps was a treat for all. ("And some for Mister Tur-tell!", who sat on top of his portion and blinked at us with suspicious reptilian eyes.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 8:48 PM | shower me with attention