i am a womn with obstucted use of her hnds

tricia, why are you typing like a womn with obstucted use of her hands?

red onn.  i have humbly decided nit to chafe any of my mistakes,

we were sledding. itwas great.
because i try desperately toob ea fun mom.
andwe were having fun.
the scenery aline was incredible,

tyler, canm i rde wth you?

sure mommy bt thujs wont end well.

i chise to ridenwith tuck, who had far more confidence in me.
we sailed dow the hull, and would yu believe,
we were headed straigt for the only man-made obstacle on the mountain.
an 8inchn ramp.

I kew, midair, if i lad on my back or may tailbone, the comforot of lifeas i know it will change.
so we hit the ramo and i sifted my weight to land wnywhere bt on the central core of my bodyl.
remember, i was sharng a sledm with tuck.

i dont really know what happened im the enxt few moments.
there was an explosing in my hand
and a scraping of my fac e over ice,
some oart of e landed on tucker,
bashng his head into the ice,
ice. not anow.
nothung powdery abiut it.

and this ended the fun.
off tothe hospital.
does tucj have a concussion.’
is tricias ha d brken,
and whats with all thus blood on her face?

xrays. poking. prodding.
hardcore pan meds that sent me into a fit of giggles that has been documented for pisterity,

it’s not broken.
honestly, i was slightlyh disappoited.
its likem when i went tothe hospital because contractions were four minutes aart and intense, and she said “no, honey. this isnt the real thing.”

the n what is the purpose of all thispain>?

its swverely spraied. and i a to see my doctor in the net fie days if the pain contiues, since there are some small bones i hte hand that can;t shiw that they are fractured until sweeling goes down andpeoiple tink they’re ready tp get back to ther lives.

this. is miservable. its enought to make a gir question the value of having fun in the fist place.

Hot Cocoa made of Chocolate Bars

In the evening, Vail Village is like Disneyworld after-hours. White lights, cobblestone streets, smoking chimneys, and heaps of charm.

We were on a shuttle to Vail Village, and it was standing-room only. Kids on laps, four people squished into a row for three, and yet nobody was unhappy or crowded. After all, we were all on our way to Vail Village. (See above.)

My dad held Tyler on his lap, and he said, “Tyler, let’s pretend we’re on the Polar Express.”

Tyler said, “We can pretend they dancing waiters are serving hot chocolate.”

And just like that, one of the men did a faux tap dance down the aisle, spinning and twirling, pretending to balance a tray above his shoulder. Children began to cheer, and grownups cried, “Wait! My ticket! I’ve lost my ticket!”

I love fun people.

The Thing About Meringue

“Two- to three-day-old eggs make the best meringue. No yolk at all, and use a very clean bowl,” says the guest chef on the news this morning, who is teaching us how to make nontraditional pies.

All five of us are piled into this hotel room, in a most charming, thankful way. And we’re all watching “The Best Thanksgiving Ever” special that precludes the Parade, which is the magic we’re all waiting for.

“Use a clean bowl. Very clean bowl. She really emphasized that,” I said.

“I’ve always heard that,” says Mom. “I’ve always heard, ‘use a very clean bowl to make meringue.’ And when I’ve started to make meringue, I’ve thought, Is this bowl really clean enough? I mean, how clean are we talking? And when do I not use a reasonably clean bowl to prepare meals? ‘Gee, Polly. I see you made mashed potatoes. It’d be better if you’d started with a clean bowl, though.'”

(She makes me laugh.)

Miracle of Gratitude

On one ordinary day,

I discovered the miracle of gratitude,

and I got tired of my own misery.

~ s. ban breathnach

Wishing you a full table and a spilling heart.

Happy Thanksgiving, my friends.

My Soiree with Walnuts

I have a mild allergy to walnuts.  It’s not a big deal, not anything near the lethal peanut allergy that scares the living fingernail polish off me.  I can’t imagine having to go through life with that kind of filter and margin, and yet so many people do.  More and more people, actually.  Suddenly I’m wondering why there are so many of you, since I met my first peanut allergy in college.  I was his assistant.  He taught me to how to give him an EpiPen shot, just in case.

Anyway, my allergy isn’t like that.  it’s a localized allergy, and it makes my throat itchy, and sometimes I get hives on the inside of my lips.

It’s just all things not fun.

But when I was a little girl, I didn’t know how to articulate this.  I wasn’t sure why my grandma’s chocolate chip cookies, that I loved so much, left this situation happening in my mouth.  People snuck walnuts into things, for texture and flavor I guess, and there I was, suddenly clearing my throat like an old fat man in a locker room.

I discovered the link one day.  But I didn’t know the name for it.  Wold Nuts is what I called them.  “Do those have wold nuts in them?  Because I am allergic to wold nuts.”

Instead of anyone taking me seriously in my request for a different, nut-free option, they loved that I was a three-year-old who could talk about nuts and give them such a charming name.  Sort of how I don’t correct Tyler when he asks the waitress for Root Beard.

I kid you not, I was married before anyone believed me that this was true.  I finally said, “Look, everybody.  Have I ever in my life varied from this?  It’s the same ingredient, the same symptoms, every single time.  I’m for real.  Walnuts make my mouth itch.  I get bumps on my lps.”

That last sentence is the one that always got everybody giggling to themselves.

Anyway, now I am taken seriously with my walnut aversion.  In fact, thanks to you peanut allergies out there, waitresses and waiters in restaurants will go out of their way to find out if there are traces of walnuts in the item I’m interested in on the menu.

I just meant, “Are there walnuts in your carrot cake?”  And the next thing I know, I’ve got the manager by my side, reading me the list of ingredients and the packaging from the factories.  Which then humbles me, since the worst that can happen is the itchy lumps.

Anyway, that’s the story.  I don’t do walnuts.

And still, my mom nearly bought them yesterday in a bag of ready-made salad fixings.  “Oh, cranberries and candied walnuts… Trish would love those.”  I asked her, while I was skimming through a holiday magazine, “Hey, Mom, why don’t you make this Toffee Walnut Bark this year?”

She said, “Oh, I should.  It’s delicious.”

“Hey.  Mom.  I wasn’t asking why you don’t.  I was giving you the chance to say, ‘oh, because my daughter is allergic to walnuts.’  It was a test.”

“Well, that answer felt artificial to me.”