Happy Thanksgiving

We will not be a family on Thursday:  Pat is  in California with the Blackhawks, and Rachel will be with her family.  With this schedule in mind, the Dahl clan congregated on Sunday to celebrate Steve's birthday and watch the Bears.  I do not take lightly the joy of being together- the boys have centrifugal energy in  their lives, and a "pause" to visit the home front is a gift.  My contributions were limited to an abbreviated menu of appetizers (guacamole and chips, cheese and crackers and pizza stuffed pretzels)  with a buffet of cheesy potatoes, ham and spinach salad.  Timing was precise, with the ham appearing as the last seconds ticked off.

I hated to soak up too much of the kids' time, because their time is so overbooked.  Rachel is in report card mode, as well as finishing her Master's degree course work.  Pat was between road trips.   Mike had just returned from a vacation and was recovering from a wedding.  Matt has been recording with his band, Pet Lions, as well as doing the grueling visual work at MrSkin.com.  Mike's girlfriend was flying out at 8 pm to her job, and  Matt's girlfriend had worked a 12 hour oncology shift and had been up for 28 hours.  I was pretty grateful for my tethered life, and the simple ability to feed and love my brood.  Steve was very honored that they chose to take a "time out" with him.  Gifts were exchanged, cake was eaten.  A momentary haystack type fight broke out among the boys, photographed by me, and condemned by Steve.  Walter the grand dog was not included, to Steve's relief and Walter's consternation.  A glorious time was had by all.

Thursday will find our abbreviated family dining out with friends.  Fake leftovers have been procured from Trader Joe's to accompany a turkey breast that we will buy at Dominick's on Black Friday.  I hope Steve will relent and let Walter join us, as I have bought turkey-bacon canned food for all 3 pups.  I will take the lack of dishes and cooking as a supreme blessing, though I will be missing my dad and the extended Joliat family, who will gather 300 miles East.  The beautiful thing about Thanksgiving is that we can compress years of memories into a specific framework- the pies, the fights, the dishes, the games, the travel all stack up to provide a scrapbook of our lives.  Mostly, it's the people.

On Thanksgiving,  my Dad would sometimes let me go to the Lions game.  His own brother would wisely pass on his seats, as Briggs Stadium was arctic.  I would layer my clothes, grab a thermos, and turn into a human popsicle.  I wasn't a sports fan, but I knew I would escape kitchen chores.  When we arrived home, dinner was served.  It was one of those rare holidays where we ate in the dining room, with Mom  bouncing up and down to refill bowls or reheat gravy.  Her mashed potatoes were too good to sully with gravy. Butter was enough.   She would stuff oranges with squash, which we all hated, because they looked good on the plate.  I dibbied the dark meat, Dad got a leg, and we had mounds of stuffing.  For Mom, it was art and theater.  For us, it was heaven.  The finale was a trio of pies-pumpkin, pumpkin chiffon and chocolate cream.  Every year I feel remorse that Mom labored over those chocolate pies, mainly because I did not like pumpkin. She wanted everyone to be happy.  We were.  Then we spent two hours on dishes (hand washing all the sterling silverware, good china and pans- it is the Joliat way) while Mom recovered with a cup of tea.

As a kid, I was unable to see that the food was the side dish, and the family the main course.  I have never been the cook, baker, kitchen deputy or hostess that my Mom was.  Some of my sisters channel her efficiency; perhaps my detour to the football arena short circuited my domestic wiring.  I would probably be a liability in my brother's kitchen in Detroit, at least until dishes. But I would love  the chaos and cacophony of the family, milling around, catching up.

Last Sunday, I was overwhelmed by the joy of seeing my boys encircle their dad with love.  It will be a beautiful memory.  On Thanksgiving, I will pancake all my wonder years, past and present, and give enormous thanks for my blessed, wondrous life, and the loved ones who inhabit it.  I know times are hard, challenges abound.  The future is uncertain.  On Thanksgiving, and everyday, I am the luckiest woman.   That I will have a son in transit,  a restaurant meal and a distant father celebrating with all my siblings and their families does not dilute my thanks.  I have the benefit of loving and being loved.  I have family and friends. Everything else is gravy- giblets or not.


PS- I had pictures of Steve's birthday, but my trusty Mac has crashed and cannot be revived- an ominous first failure for it.  So please just enjoy the family picture above- it makes me smile. And I apologize that Steve's turkey neck classics are also  currently locked in the same hard drive.  I am hopeful that my  25,000 pictures are safe....somewhere.  janet@dahl.com

Work Product of the Chicago Dahls, generation 2

One of the bonuses of having the boys (men) all in the area is that I can check out their work.  I observe Pat by checking in on the Blackhawk's website, Mike, by watching Comcast Sportsnet, and Matt, by accessing Mrskin.com.  Well two out of three is still good access.  And Matt has taken to updating mattdahl.com, so I can spy on him that way. Steve can peep on Mrskin.com. 

It is just an unforeseen blessing to be able to see them grow and work hard.  I am proud that they all have good work ethics, and overjoyed that they are all very happy in their current domains. 

Enjoy Patrick's latest promos by clicking the link above. 

Be sure to visit the Hawk's site often; every videographer/video editor appreciates an audience.  I am sure the Blackhawks are grateful, too. 

Life Goes On

Steve and I are empty nesters again.

Pat and Rachel had been living in our home since July, but they have taken the leap of faith and bought a place in the city.  It is in the general vicinity of Wicker Park, convenient to Rachel's school and Pat's job at the Blackhawks.   I am so proud that they are "on their way" to creating a root system that will sustain and nurture their life together.
The kids drove home in July - a cross country adventure on Route 66, to ceremoniously link their California life to their new life.  They had tumbleweed plans, to rotate between the homes and apartments and in-laws.  I offered our basement as a place to center themselves: it has a bathroom, private entrance, little fridge and dishwasher, and wireless internet.  It is NOT one of those new, designer basements.  But they could be independent there.  It was awkward to offer the basement-  they would be welcome to stay in Pat's old room- or Mike's or Matt's.   I just wanted them to be able to be all alone, out of earshot, able to come and go without rousing the dogs.  To my joy, they said they would make this a part of their adventure.

I spent June trying to de-basement the basement.  We bought a bed that they could take with them when they moved.  I cleaned, de-junked, and tried to make the place seem like a college apartment.  I put dishes and silverware in the kitchenette, bought rolling racks for the clothes.  Truth told, when I finished, it was still a basement- just a basement with a bed.  Soon enough, they were in Chicago, celebrating July 4th and settling in.  They envisioned late nights in the hot tub, trips to Michigan, and a relaxed house hunting process.  Reality intruded:  Rachel's grandmother fell ill, and Rachel left town to be with her.  Sadly, a funeral followed.  Pat was working at least 80 hours a week, often in split shifts, but he took his laptop obligations on the road to pay respects to his new family.  Without missing a beat,  Rachel returned and started training for her job.  There was to be no extended holiday, but the spirit of adventure was alive and well.  The subterranean  abode was used only for sleep, and our lives intertwined. The basement door was never  used.   I loved the activity and human contact.  There was, however,  precious little time for home hunting, and the places they saw discouraged them in pricing or quality.  Pat changed jobs in September, and another set of routines and obligations emerged. Rachel had been gracious and uncomplaining about sharing Pat with another woman- albeit his mom- but it was time to re-center their lives.  With General Steve at the helm, the kids blitzed Chicago, found a few good options, and decided to make an offer.  David Hochberg stepped in and guided them to financing and closing.  On October 24th, the kids were reunited with their stored pods, our basement was emptied of all signs of life, and the new era of Pat and Rachel began.

I made coffee  and bought coffee cake for the movers, and watched Pat and Rachel's lives being transplanted.  No one paused for food or drink.  Then I was alone with Steve in my house.  Sad.  Inconsolable.  I think I both scared Steve and hurt his feelings.  I was scared myself at the stirred up ache of letting go...after all, Pat had been in California for 5 years.  Yet my empty basement conjured up the same feeling that Pat' created when he headed West in Steve's old Jeep, jobless and without a place to live.  Certain moments announce that your job is done.  The trick is to celebrate a job well done than to note the diminution of your influence.  Life goes on.

I still have trouble going to the basement, which appears as if they were never here.  I have channelled my angst into cleaning my cupboards and organizing my 20 years of clipped and (largely) unused recipes.  I moved some furniture around.  My industry is fading as my heart mends, but I would be lying if I said I didn't miss having the two of them to share life with.  On the other hand, I know that it was time for them to be an autonomous couple. Steve and I have returned to a quieter and more co-dependent life.  Steve likes to be King of his world, and he can cope with the absence of Prince Pat.  He misses Rachel, - I think it tickled him to have girl energy around.  He is more pragmatic than I , and celebrates his kids' progress as a job completed.  He is a wise man, and I am learning from him.

The kids are nesting in a lovely condo, settling in gradually.  I saw it before they closed, and I loved it.  I have not been to see their new life:  I believe that I should go again after they have made it their own.  I will never drop in.  That is a good rule for moms and moms in law. Rachel needs to rule this roost, and I know she will do it with style and grace.

 They are coming into their first holiday in their own home, with no flights from LA and sad returns.  They have bought winter coats, boots and are ready for Christmas in the City.  They will drag a tree up 3 stories, decorate it and stand in its glow.  They will grumble 3 weeks later as every needle falls off during the disposal.  Pat will make his argument for a fake tree, Rachel will ignore him.  They will have a year to settle to the dispute-or a lifetime.  They will navigate the present, plan the future, and reorganize when their dreams make a U turn.  A magical adventure is unfolding, and I am glad to have been a tiny part of it.

Why Steve Hates Halloween

I cannot help myself. I celebrate everything. I decorate everything. I have jewelry to coordinate with most special occasions. My ensemble for Friday was deemed "too much" by Steve, so I ditched the hat. It's too bad, because I am closer to a witch than a skeleton.
I guess I must have a slight case of paganism in my bones; even I can admit that my displays are excessive. All my spots of Halloween are not pictured here- just a few highlights. I can proudly say that by 1p.m. on Saturday, having had coffee with my friends and attended a local craft show, I had removed the Halloween decor and replaced it with a more restrained Thanksgiving motif. Now the blocks spelling I HEART WITCHES says we GIVE THANKS.

I think the dogs really liked their costumes- don't they look happy? They greeted our guests enthusiastically, or in Mabel's case, very vocally. Walter the Mattdog joined them, and he was a stunning Darth Vader-I failed to film him, and for that I apologize both to Walter and to Matt. I promise that I will not force them to dress as Pilgrims or Indians for Thanksgiving. My pups DO have Santa Hats and collars, however. I believe Matt restricts his dog clothes to Halloween. Walter had such a swell time that we had a dog sleepover with him, so that Matt could return to the city for a party.
Steve had a built in excuse for avoiding the Trick or Treaters as well as Walter this year- a Blackhawks game. He was delighted to clear out of the suburbs, and Mike and Matt assisted with the candy distribution, pumpkin carving, and crowd maintenance. We had a smaller turnout that normal- 250 or so. I think that many families had parties- for the tykes or for themselves. It just means that I have a stash of full sized candy bars to hide from Steve. Halloween is the holiday that will keep on giving. What's not to like? Steve would say...everything.