Thanksgiving is over. We put the last of the turkey to rest, and buried it with the stuffing, mashed potatoes, and the tiny bit of cranberry relish that had begun to look like something from a bad sci-fi movie. My mother, who also goes by the names of Betty Crocker, Susie Homemaker, and Donna Reed, has reorganized my kitchen this morning while I worked in my office. It looks beautiful but I'll never again be able to locate my electric knife or lemon reamer. Also, the chips are put away in a cupboard which used to house the condiments...and they are in alphabetical order: corn chips, potato chips, tortilla chips. Then the cracker boxes: HiHo's, saltines, Triscuits, Wheat Thins. I haven't looked inside the refrigerator yet but I'm almost certain the contents will be arranged either color coordinated, alphabetized, or by food pyramid protocol. I'll need a grid map to find anything after she's gone home.

We had a good crowd, just enough to keep conversation going in the living room...or several conversations going, in which I was often asked to participate even though I was up to my eyebrows in wine gravy and mashed potatoes in the kitchen. I personally find it a challenge to steam green beans to a perfect consistency, brown two turkeys, and get the rolls to a perfect golden brown, while telling the tale of how my husband and I met and giving a tour of my house and keeping the appetizer platters full of mini gherkins and cheese slices all at the same time.

I think I was a good hostess, all in all, and except that I was the only one to put olives on her fingertips (which is essential for full flavor) I believe my son's almost-in-laws were impressed. There was even some talk of what we might make next year for Thanksgiving which I heard out of the corner of my ear while attending to sweet potatoes with marshmallow and pecan topping.

What will I make next year for Thanksgiving? Reservations.

I've been jumping in and out of many, many blog sites. In comparison, I think I must be a very ordinary person having a very ordinary life. But that's okay with me. In fact, it's just fine. It's the way I want it. Not perfect, but close enough.

I've never been molested or raped or beaten or dumped. The biggest issues I deal with are my diabetes and my husband's drinking, and both of those are in good control right now. The bills get paid. The house is clean. The cars are running. The dog is healthy.

Sometimes when I read other blogs I think to myself, "What do I have to say? Why would anyone find anything I write interesting?" I don't really have a message to give to the world or wisdom to share or jokes to tell. And then I think, "This is not a bad thing. Being ordinary is good." Because it means I eat regularly (too regularly), my son is safe, my husband comes home every night on time, and all the appliances are working. (Though if the washer wanted to break down it wouldn't hurt my feelings.)

The biggest question I have to face in the morning is how to have my eggs. Over easy, usually, but occasionally just for fun I poach them and have them over toast. Then I look through the freezer and figure what would be good for dinner. I work in my office in between breakfast and dinner. I take a break to play ball in the backyard with my dog. I read for an hour or so while I wait for CSI to come on the tube. Now that's about as ordinary as it comes!

None of this is a bad thing because it used to be I was so busy being a single mom and trying to keep the wolves from the door and my feet on the ground that I couldn't get a full breath. So now sometimes I find myself looking for complications to fill up the time. And I blog to fill up the rest of it.

Ordinary is not perfect...but close enough.

Yesterday my husband broke up some ground and we planted all the succulents he'd found abandoned in the allies around town. (You wouldn't believe the stuff people throw out! I went to the nurseries around town and can't believe the prices they get for plants he found just thrown out. I'd say we have well over $200 worth of succulents of all types planted with only sweat equity.) It will probably take a few years for it to really fill in and look great, but it already looks 100% better. And, except for a little hitch in my right hip, I'm not even sore from all the digging and bending and toiling in the dirt. Some weeks back we went to the Phoenix Cactus Nursey in the east valley and the expert there told us it's difficult to grow succulents here because they like cool, wet environments, but there are some hardier varieties that do well if you have the right conditions. Well, I couldn't tell you what we have because, like I said, they came from the alley, but we planted them under the lacy protection of a chinaberry tree so they'll get filtered light, and I bought a soaker hose so they'll get good watering.

Today my son and his girlfriend are coming down from Oxnard for 10 days so I have to get the piles of laundry off the guest bed. I just hate doing laundry. Well, I don't so much mind loading clothes into the washer and then transferring them to the dryer. What I can't stand doing is folding and hanging and putting them all away. So clothes just get thrown on top of the bed in the guest room. If I were a rich girl, I'd just throw them all out and go shopping for new. But, then again, if I were a rich girl, I could just hire someone else to do the laundry. Now that would be the way to go! I would rather clean bathrooms than put clothes away. Speaking of which, I have to do that today too. When does it all end?

More than a week to go before Thanksgiving and I'm already exhausted...but in a good way. Guess I'm more like my mother every day. House has to be just so. Food has to be just so. I have to be just so. But having a houseful, including your son's future in-laws, is great motivation in getting things done that you've been putting off. Like cleaning the "bird room." I call it the bird room because that's where our cockatiels live. It's an add-on at the back of the house that the previous owners built and it's not a pretty room. It's poorly constructed and is long and narrow and hard to configure furniture wise. We don't use it except to pile up the stuff we don't know what to do with. So yesterday I just threw myself into it. Everything we haven't used for a year went in the alley out back for big-garbage day. I set up a day bed and a little desk I have for my craft supplies and reorganized my husband's tool shelves.

Our birds, Missy and Buddy, have five eggs that will be hatching some time around Thanksgiving so I tried to be as quiet as I could because loud noise disturbs the embyros. Five means that by the time the 4th and 5th chicks hatch, the first three out (they usually come every other day) will be considerably larger and will get the most feeding from their parents so I know I'm going to end up hand-feeding and raising at least the 5th one and probably the 4th one, depending on how well he/she does. It's really touch and go with the last ones hatched even hand-feeding them. They can aspirate so easily and then die right in the palm of your hand. One time I blew air into the tiny beak of one and revived it and he went on to be a beautiful bird named Yankee that we gave to our friend for Christmas. My husband thought I walked on water and went around telling everyone about his wife who does CPR on baby birds. They're no bigger than your thumbnail when they first hatch and uglyuglyugly, but I have a ball with them. A lot of professional birders opine that you ought to leave them alone and if they die they die, oh well, because usually the parents instinctively know if there's something wrong with a chick and they intentionally do not care for it. But I've saved probably a dozen or so who have turned out to be fine birds so I just follow my own path there. Every living thing deserves a chance (except maybe cockroaches.)

So today I worked in my office so I can get a paycheck and then I carried potted plants from the backyard to the front because we're going to plant a succulent garden to one side of the front of the house. I say "we" loosely because my husband is willing to take the rototiller to the earth but he's not much into planting because he'd rather just have rock delivered and forget about weeding and watering. But I just find rock yards totally boring. Then I made fruitcake which has a bad reputation for some reason but my mom loves to have a slice with her tea in the morning so I made it a month early for Thanksgiving since it was our Christmas tradition when we lived near each other. She won't be here for Christmas but she's flying in for the turkey feast next week and I want her to have it. I don't know why so many people dislike fruitcake. I omit the citron stuff because I find it bitter. Mine is full of candied pineapple, cherries, and golden raisins, mixed in with almonds and pecans and a whole lot of spices. I wrap it in brandy-soaked cheesecloth and store it in the refrigerator. It's best left for a month or more but this year it's getting only a week in the cooler.

Tomorrow I've got to work all day again and soak the yard where I'm planting so the rototiller will be easier to work with and then I've got to dust and air out the guest room and probably start in on the rest of the house if there's enough time left over because time seems to be what I'm lacking most. Then shopping. But shopping doesn't count as a chore because I enjoy it, even grocery shopping. Once the house is in shape I'm hoping to get a pedicure for my overworked feet. Sounds like a plan.

San Diego is gorgeous, but omigod the traffic! No thanks. Believe it or not, we have it easy here compared to there. The ship came in right on time. All the sailors were lined up at attention along the sides of the ship. My son was in the radio shack so we couldn't see him, though you really couldn't recognize them anyway. The Navy does a good job keeping all the families entertained with live music and free food, though it was mostly sugary stuff like Baskin and Robins ice cream, cookies and brownies, soda and juice and water, which at 7AM is a little hard to swallow. It's quite a show. Everybody starts whooping and hollaring and waving their banners and flags and the Navy band comes out and plays marches as soon as you can see the ship come up the harbor. Lots of crying and anxious wives and kids jumping up and down in anticipation. Then the officers come off and then the enlisted men and women and everyone's crying and kissing and hugging and smiling so big you'd think our faces would break. It was overcast so we didn't go to the beach and my son mostly just wanted to go eat "real food" and then we went back to our hotel rooms and everybody kind of camped out in our room and sprawled on the beds and over the chairs and we all talked until we were nodding off. We went to Denny's for breakfast before heading home this morning and our waitress told her manager that we had come from Arizona to see our sailor come home on the USS Nimitz and he came over and said our ticket was on the restaurant. Now that's service! We had a good time but it's a long trip on the road and we're glad to be home, especially knowing that my son is out of harm's way for the time being. That's always a relief. And now it's time for this girl to hit the hay because tomorrow it's back to the real world of all work and no play. Yaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwwwwwwwnnnnnnnnnnnnnn.