Grandma, Thanksgiving, desserts

Another Thanksgiving. This is my 30th Thanksgiving.  I've lived through a month of Thanksgivings.  Putting it like that, it doesn't seem like that many...

Since I was in Davis, I figured I'd try to do the double dinner thing.  Which in practice, didn't really work out, since I ate the first one at 3pm and the second was around 5:30. I couldn't eat anymore, so I just watch the second dinner diners eat.  I couldn't even have another glass of wine.  I'd had wine with Emily the day before, and 2 days in a row with wine is too much.

The hit of the party dessert-wise was the pomegranate chocolate meringue tart.  It was also the most labor intensive, because I made the pomegranate curd twice, because the first batch didn't set.  The pate sucre crust recipe was good, as was the spicy ganache (which I doubled) and meringue. It made one 10" tart and three 4" tartlets. I took the tart over to Emily's and the tartlets to Bjorn's.  I have no photos, but they were lovely. I also made a lemon cream tart with a spiced nut crust (sort of like a linzer sable), an amaretto pumpkin pie (which I wouldn't make again), and a chocolate bourbon pecan pie (from the Baked cookbook). I didn't actually taste the lemon tart or the pecan pie.  More and more I don't eat what I make.  I don't know why.  Probably because so much sugar makes me feel sick.  Others seem to enjoy it though, so that keeps me inspired.

I had a conversation with my Grandma on Wednesday.  Every now and again she calls and we chat.  She's 92 now.  I still haven't gone back to the ranch since my grandfather died, which is an endless source of guilt. I don't know why I'm so reluctant to go. It's weird. Sometimes I have this gut reaction that prevents me from doing things that it seems I "should" do, and I need to be dragged into doing them. Grandma understands...she says "there's really nothing here for you."  Which of course makes me feel more guilty.

Anyway, I don't know why but I asked grandma if she was scared of dying, and she said she wasn't.  Then she went into talking about how grandpa died and how she watched the undertakers put him in a body bag, load him into the car, and then watched the car go down the driveway.  She said that's how she wants to go. Of course I'm in tears at that point, but trying to hold my voice together so she doesn't know.  I don't want to depress her by bringing it up. I guess I just want to know that maybe I won't always be afraid of dying myself or having people around me die.  There's little point in fearing the inevitable.

Not one to let an opportunity to depress myself go by, I then asked her if she was happy, and she said "um....I don't really know how to answer that question". I said "well, I mean, are you happy?" And then she started talking about how she got new carpeting in the house, and what else she was planning on doing.  I dropped it.