Marshmallow and Yam won't be the centerpiece of a Thanksgiving spread this year. The two 35 pound turkeys from Henning, Minnesota were granted Presidential pardons as part of the 50-year annual tradition. Usually no more than a soft and cuddly photo oppotunity for the leader of the free world, this year's act of mercy marked one welcomed break from the script.
Every year I eat myself silly. Turkey, mashed potatoes and of course, pie. Indulging on delicious food has always been a part of my Thanksgiving. Add to that a few days off work, the crisp fall air and you've got some of my favorite things about the holiday. But food and a lazy weekend weren't always the highlights.
A couple weeks have passed since our last Weekly Digest. As much as we would like to blame it on some extraordinary circumstances, the real culprit is nothing more than the routine business of life. But that does not mean there hasn't been a wide variety of contributions in the Weekly Digest's absence.
For Halloween Sandie Maxa carved a strangely vibrant fruit, David Steadman questioned donating candy to charity and Paul Pereira showed off his frightening floor. Not holiday related and no less interesting, Rusty Mitchell introduced us to a "terribly great" collection of music while Guido Alvarez sought a formula for ugliness. Bob Holling had two coincidental canine encounters and Ann Whitehurst finally got through to customer service. Finally, Mark Sanders opened his subconscience to scrutiny and got another haircut.
Have a great weekend and tell a friend about GUTSY.
I've had several encounters with helper dogs in the past couple of months, two of which seem noteworthy...
I stand at the end of my street when a passenger jet screams by overhead. In a steep bank and at too low an altitude, the plane looks to be desperately trying to reach the end of the runway nearest my house. I cover my ears to prepare for certain impact. And with a gentle but swift motion the airplane's left wing tip makes contact with the ground before the rest of the fuselage crumples on top of it. In a much shorter distance than I than I expect the jet comes to a rest leaning against a tree. There is some smoke that turns into fire but otherwise little commotion. So I wait . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The rarest of gems was passed along to me a few years ago. A 24 track album of some of the most terribly great Christian and country demo tapes and train wreck songs to ever be recorded.