Thursday, December 28, 2017

Word of the year

Nope. 2017 and 2016 had no words...  That is actually pretty fair. No words could describe the year caring for Mom after her stroke... or the year we have spend feeling like fish out of water on the riverbank since her death last January.

I have some contenders for the new 2018, and if I choose one, I will definitely fill you in. I like the practice, but of all my words through the years, I remember on the year I chose "sparkle."  I do like that one.

I can't believe how very cold today is. Our gentle deception weather disappeared overnight. My dear friend's water pipes are frozen. Everyone is doing what they can to stay cozy.... Hot tea is usually on my list.

The Southern Sun has been peeking through unexpected angles of the east and west windows. It is just now winter, and I find it hard to apologize to one and all that I like it. I love it! Yes, I do get to stay inside. However, I was out in winter's finest array of weather when I taught. I just loved it then, too. Be safe. I realize the roads are treacherous.

 Do you ever get that anxious feeling in the pit of night? Don't you hate that? I know it is anxiety creeping in to play around with the mind and torture the peace. I often get huge energy bursts right through the night (when I really can't see myself actually doing much). I tell myself I will accomplish so much tomorrow... but thank goodness, the feeling has passed by the morning's light. 

That poor, blessed little woodpecker. I am so glad he is fake. I feel sorry for him anyway with his perpetually licked and swatted feathers and his little chirpy sound. He doesn't have a chance.

Want a recipe? 

Pasta Bake

  • 12 oz uncooked medium pasta (I used rotini)
  • 1 medium onion , diced
  • 1/2 pound italian sausage (mild or hot), bulk or removed from casings
  • 1/2 pound lean ground beef (I used just hamburger and plenty of Italian seasoning)
  • 3 cloves garlic
  • 1/2 red pepper , diced
  • 1/2 green pepper , diced
  • 1 can (14 oz) diced tomatoes, drained
  • 2 teaspoons oregano
  • 4 cups pasta sauce
  • 2-3 cups mozzarella cheese
  • 28 slices pizza pepperoni

  1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
  2. Cook pasta according el dente to package directions. Rinse under cold water and drain well.
  3. Brown onion, garlic, sausage and beef in a large pan over medium heat. Drain any fat. Add in red and green peppers and cook an additional 2-3 minutes. Add oregano, drained tomatoes and pasta sauce, stir well.
  4. Place pasta in a greased 9×13 pan. Pour meat sauce over pasta and top with cheese and pepperoni slices.
  5. Bake 35-40 minutes uncovered or until cheese is melted and pasta is heated through.

Happy New Year.

Whimsy and Hugs!

Monday, December 25, 2017

Christmas Night 2017

I wish all of you the very best this wonderful night of Christmas. Today the weather promises cold ... and more cold, and the sun set quickly without much fanfare, but inside it was cozy and quite nice. Our day began at 3:30 A.M. for a call-out to my son's work. He was gone for several hours.

We have spent the rest of the day watching favorite movies, opening delightful gifts, and watching Callie chase a new bird toy left by Santa. She is beyond thrilled with it.

Not my picture, but these two look like a pair who live in our front yard.

Tomorrow it will be back to the usual ordinary magic of living: BE. DO. GO... We are so thankful for our blessings, both present and past. There is still time to dream by the fireplace and savor the love of our Savior's birth.

My neighbor's daughter took this picture from her parent's house across from our home there silhouetted in the sunrise. I absolutely love it. Merry Christmas, dear readers, dear friends...                                                                                                
Whimsy and Hugs!

Sunday, December 24, 2017

Christmas Whimsy and Hugs!

Saturday, December 16, 2017

An Easy Christmas Meal

If you are busy or shopping, working on a stack of cards (I should be doing all three right this minute), your friends and families will love this easy recipe. I made it Sunday for my boys, and the reviews were raving!

Crock pot Maple Dijon Chicken.

In a regular or large crock pot:

Lightly spray or oil interior for easy cleanup.

Place chicken in bottom of crock pot. I used frozen chicken tenders, but the gurus call to thaw chicken first.  I used about 10 tenders or so. It really doesn't matter. Use whatever chicken pieces you prefer. 
Lightly salt and pepper as you normally prefer. We are a heavy on the pepper and light on the salt family.

In a small bowl whisk:

1/2 c. mustard. I used the kind with little seeds, whole grain. Any kind will be great.
1/2 cup maple syrup. I always use real. This recipe is paleo-friendly
1/3 cup water
2 T. finely minced garlic. I used the jarred kind in oil.
Pour mixture over chicken and put on the lid.

Here's the hardest part.

Cook on high 4 hours. 


I made stove top stuffing. (I always add chopped onion and celery to the boiling liquid for this. I added a salad and a rough-chopped acorn squash sauteed with  secret sauce... (butter and pumpkin creamer cooked until thick...)

After the boys gobbled ate this and I sent the leftover chicken for my son's lunch, I hated to waste the sweet and sour broth, so I cooked a large half-head of cabbage and a package of carrots in it  for the meals during the week. Delicious!


Friday, December 15, 2017

Christmas Stories Yet Untold (Part 4 of 4)

Christmas Stories Yet Untold

Part 4. Conclusion.

Finally my dad, Gerald, couldn't take any more. He tore past his mother and bumped into his sisters, leading the way into the living room where he had carefully set out cookies and milk for Santa. Iona sighed, getting herself ready for the disappointment she knew was coming. Instead she heard laughter from George and absolute frenzy from her three children. She rushed past the old gray and black, tucked comfort she'd hung to help keep the warmth in the room. The cookies were gone, and the milk half gulped. Beneath the tree lay three wrapped presents, one each for Opal, Elizabeth, and herself.

“Oh, my! Look at this! I can't wait to wear this!” Both girls pulled out new dressy coats with fur collars. They looked at their mother's shocked expression and briefly they thought maybe Santa had indeed visited the Millers that cold Christmas Eve. One glance at their dad's face filled in the facts. Suddenly George found himself engulfed in daughters. Iona slowly opened her own gift and found a beautiful ruby glass pitcher with eight matching glasses. Already imagining these glasses on her table, her eyes smiled at George.

As happy as they all were, nobody came close to the nine-year-old jubilation happening right there under the tree. His father's eyes were squinted with laughter. “It's mine? Is this mine? A real Lionel train set? Gerald opened the unwrapped box to get a better look. Everybody knew Santa never wrapped his gifts. Stylish red and black metal cars met stacks of track, and he bent his head to get a good look at the only Lionel train he would ever own, the only one he really ever needed. Way into the night father and son sat together linking track and getting ready for that big moment when the train actually makes its first circle. In the distance Gerald heard the long, slow whistle of Excello's midnight train. “I better get to bed, or that old engineer will take me with him. I will never see you again,” Gerald mumbled.

“Not in a million years. Nobody is taking my boy anywhere,” and with that Gerald truly knew his daddy loved him. Getting that train changed my dad's life. Through the years there would be more troubles, more arguments, and George might not always show the gentler side to his children, but Gerald always knew it was there. And that became my dad's happy-ever-after.

Just the mention of my dad's Lionel train set made his big brown eyes soften and twinkle for the rest of his life. He later had discovered that Red Teter had not needed his dad's help that night to tend his horses, that indeed George had dropped off his family at Mt. Salem and then turned around, walked back to Excello, and proceeded to set up that magical Christmas. Without hesitation after yet another trip through the snow, George had returned to the church to watch the pageant. Elizabeth also discovered her daddy had really heard her piano solo because the Santa at the back of the church that night was not the real Santa, but instead it was George in a borrowed suit. In total, my grandfather had walked a little over nine miles in bitter cold and shin-deep snow to pull off Santa's big scene.

I did not know my grandfather George very well. We seemed to clash a bit, and my dad was always a little edgy when his father came to visit. Grandad passed away quite suddenly when I was eleven, and my dad didn't share this Christmas story for many years after that. Without this Christmas tale, I might never have known or come to appreciate the real person who captured my grandmother Iona's heart. A little boy, the snowy journey, and the trains have become a part of my own Christmas tradition through the magic of story-telling. We never really know a person until we hear the best of their story along with their worst. May your lives ever blend and grow with the true love of the season. May you continue to repeat your own stories yet untold to your loved ones. Merry Christmas.  

Thursday, December 14, 2017

Christmas Stories Yet Untold (Part 3 of 4)

Christmas Stories Yet Untold

Part 3

Mt. Salem held a crowd every year. The slick oak floor gleamed as the congregation stepped into a evergreen-decorated world of music, oranges, peppermint and caroling. At the end of the night the children knew the church doors would fling open, and Santa would come right down those golden oak aisles and hand out warmed sacks of cracked peanuts and icy-cold oranges. Some years he had brought cool, green bottles of Coca-Cola straight from a snow bank with that slight sludge of ice beginning to form. These thoughts and light chatter made the family's walk to the church go faster than Iona had dreaded.

Her mind kept turning because she couldn't make the plans she had made during the year work out. The Miller household in 1930's Excello, Missouri, knew they were one of the first on Santa's route every year. While some people woke up to Santa on the 25th, the Miller clan always knew to expect him sometime late Christmas Eve after the family visited grandparents or, this year, attended the church pageant. She turned over different ideas in her mind of diversions for her children when they finally walked home. She needed some time to allow Santa to work his magic and set out the stockings and gifts. Her eyes met George's over the heads of their children. George read that unspoken set of questions and simply shrugged. Iona didn't press the issue any more. This year would just be different, she guessed.

Twilight's lavendar skies had begun to fade as the church windows came into view. Mt. Salem had lovely four-square stained glass window panes of simple pink and cerulean blue. Even though they were about an hour early, several people were there gathering wood, lighting both candles and kerosene lights inside the church. The sun had refused to shine, but the snowstorm had ended some time during their journey. Gerald allowed himself to hope. He also hoped the Lord wouldn't mind if he looked forward to the end of the pageant and the long walk home in the moonlight. He heard his dad telling his mother something. She looked worried and then quickly hid that with a smile. “Iona, I have to go help Red Teter with his team and buggy. I will be right back soon.” And with that his dad left the family still shivering but coming out of those extra layers of clothes and mingling for nearly two hours before the program could start at 7:30. Gerald joined his sisters, cousins, and friends in a game of Bible Drill.

“Attention.” Each child came to a stand with a black King James Bible in hand. “Salute.” Bibles snapped to the arms, and fingers poised over the golden spines. A few bibles had indentions with the Books abbreviated in tiny letters. Gerald wished for that advantage. He was not a good reader. Many years later one of his teachers told him the reason was not his intelligence level at all, but the fact he was kept home so many days to help deliver mail. He had already repeated one grade, but because he was tall, the school decided to pass him on through whether he could read well or not. “Fire. Luke 2:7.” Each child flipped wildly through to the verse, with the first to locate God's words receiving the honor of reading the passage aloud. Tonight's verses were all about the birth of Christ. Gerald thought that was quite a coincidence, and he was glad he was never first. As soon as the words rang out and another boy his age named Wendell began to read, Gerald made a face as if he had just found the verse a little too late. He slammed his bible down to pretend he had almost won that round, but then my dad caught an arched eyebrow from his mother. Iona shook her head ever so slightly, so Gerald stopped that pretense, simply played the game, and waited his turn to perform at the Nativity pageant.

He watched his dad slip in beside his mom in the seats. “Boy, his cheeks are red, and look at that nose!” Gerald giggled and met with two frowns this time. Both parents were keeping him in line through dark looks and meaningful eye contact. My dad decided he had better shape up if Santa would even bother with him. He was blowing it only hours before showtime.

Gerald's knees began to ache as he knelt with a small feed sack tied around his head. Being a shepherd was one of the toughest jobs in the pageant, second only to the exhausting, arm-aching task of being a heavenly host, angelic choir member. Older boys had graduated to wise men and King Herod and even Joseph. Gerald always wanted to play the innkeeper. “I would give them a nice room inside! That would really change the story,” he laughed to himself. Given to imagination, he was always dreaming of travels and new changes to old stories. Gerald lived on the east side of Excello, two blocks from the train tracks they had followed to the Mt. Salem road. He hoped his family would make it home long before the midnight train. He thought about his dad's warnings when Gerald couldn't sleep. “If I am not home in bed by the time that train leaves the town, I will get carried off by the engineer and never see my sisters again.” His mind snapped back as the crowd and shepherds all rose to their feet to sing the chorus: “Joy to the world; the Lord has come. Let Earth receive her king!”

Opal and Elizabeth watched from the angelic choir as the women of the church began to uncover the cakes and cookies. Their mother had made soft molasses cookies sprinkled with huge grains of white sugar. She had a pan of their Grandmother Franks' divinity, too. Opal saw her dad give Iona a quick pat on the shoulder and slide through the double doors to take his turn bringing in an armload of split wood. He was trying to edge out slowly so the cold wind wouldn't undo all the fire had accomplished to make them warm, maybe even a little hot in the new sweaters. The pageant closed with a piano solo of “Silent Night” by her sister, Elizabeth. Everyone in the Miller family stopped what they were doing to listen. “Daddy missed it,” Elizabeth thought as she looked around for her father. Of the three, she was definitely Daddy's girl. Her dad hadn't been there, but she was thrilled to see that while she played, Santa Claus himself had entered the building and was reverently waiting for the final chord before beginning his hearty laughter. “Santa sure is clapping for me!” she smiled proudly. Then the room became a flutter of Santa and cookies and laughter. Santa paused a moment to make sure he had personally visited each child. He also made his way along the edges of the carved walnut pews, making sure he shook hands with each of the elderly members of the congregation. Gerald wondered if Santa brought them gifts at Christmas. He made a promise to himself, “I will ask Grandfather tomorrow if Santa comes next door to his house,”

“Who's ready to go home and see who has been there?” George pulled on a wool-lined overall jacket and grabbed the baskets and lantern from Iona's hands. “I'll carry those. It is tough going after dark.” The five travelers found a wide rut through the snow cut by Bennie Moore's wagon going and coming from church. They were able to follow that rut most of the way to the train tracks that led them all the way back to their four room and attic home in Excello. “We came the farthest by foot,” George always wanted to win some kind of invisible contest. And so they did, although the Halleys and Lambs had probably come farther both riding and walking beside their horses. No matter. To George his family was first, and he was happy. That always made everyone else happy. Iona tried to steer her children to the barn to do some chores so she could play Santa's assistant. Instead George shepherded them all in the back door onto the little wainscoted porch. “Hang those wet clothes on the kitchen chairs. Our cook stove will dry them in the morning.” He was ignoring the looks flashed his way by Iona, charged with an energy he had inhaled from the cold night air. There in that little Midwestern hamlet of Excello a Christmas miracle was only seconds away.

To be concluded tomorrow

Wednesday, December 13, 2017

Christmas Stories Yet Untold (Part 2 of 4)

Christmas Stories Yet Untold

part 2

“What do you say, Dad?” Even the crackling bacon hushed to hear the next few words from George's lips. Knowing her unpredictable husband held the keys to this particular Christmas, Iona held her breath. George looked long and evenly at his son's worried brown eyes. George was a tall man, quick to laugh, but quick, as well, to dole out a good whipping to his son.

He didn't answer right away, but he finally broke the still air in their kitchen. “We'll have to wait and see. Don't rule anything out.” George rubbed his hands over the Christmas cloth, starched and bravely stretched on the ancient wooden square table in the kitchen. The table bore the stains of many hog butcherings and renderings through the years since its purchase for the 1898 New Year's Eve wedding of Iona's parents. None of that showed because his wife had taken the time to spread a little beauty wherever she went. He looked at her straight back and the arch of her neck. A few brown wisps of hair escaped her French roll bun. He briefly closed his eyes, willing himself to ease into this Christmas and not ruin any of her plans. He met the brown eyes of his son and smiled. “Santa will find a way, I think.” George pulled out his silver pocket watch and made a big show of winding it a little before slipping it back in the watch pocket of his ironed overalls.

It seemed strange for a son so tall and so grown up in many ways to cling to the notion of Santa Claus. It was nothing to send Gerald on the mail hack to deliver the daily post throughout the area. It would be years before the family invested in an International Harvester model A tractor to make the deliveries easier. A tractor like that would have secured Santa's role in the Miller family Christmas that year. However, this Sunday held no modern marvels, no transport through the drifts of snow beginning to form. And possibly for the last Christmas of his childhood innocence, Gerald was genuinely worried if Santa could make the trip.

The Sunday before Christmas was a powerful annual church event, and the fact it fell this year on the 24th increased its hold on the Miller children. The family attended Mt. Salem Baptist Church, about two and a third miles away. Normally they would drive their car, but snowy, unplowed roads raised the question. “Do we get to go even if our Ford won't make it in the drifts?” They had a 1932 Model B coupe, and George would never get his vehicle out on a day like this. After the children left the table, Iona asked, “So, do we stay home and have Christmas without the program?”

George shook his head. “No. We will start early, and we'll walk it.” Normally a walk that far would take about 45 minutes, but through the snow it might be a bit longer. “We will leave at four,” George sighed. He knew his long legs would make the trip easily, and he was accustomed to taking the mail on foot if necessary, but the girls would get really cold.

Iona turned to the chore of finding enough mittens and scarves, hats and wool sweaters for everyone to wear inside their warm, everyday coats. Elizabeth and Opal opened the little closet under the stairs. “What can we wear then?” Opal wondered, looking through her dresses and wishing for something green to show off her eyes and soft curls. Her voice trailed off, and a slight scream escaped her lips.

Elizabeth whirled around to find her younger sister holding out two new sweaters, one winter green and one blue and white. “Mama!” they said again together, running to hug their mother and thank her for the early Christmas gift. “Thank you, Dad! Thank you, Mama,” their words hung in the air as they layered on the soft woolen treasures. The sweaters were light weight and cozy-woolen warm. They listened to the whole story. “So Grandmother knitted these for us this fall? No wonder she never let us look in her willow knitting basket,” Elizabeth listened carefully to the steps involved in this Christmas surprise. She treasured the love that brought these gifts to her and her sister, from her parents' early

August order of wool yarn from a farm a few towns over, to her Grandmother Franks, who had spent hours knitting on small wooden needles.

Gerald got no sweater that day, and he believed with all his heart his only chance for a Christmas present lay with Santa and his ability to walk all over the world and fly his magical reindeer and sleigh when he could. By the moody gray skies, Gerald began to steel himself to the thought of an empty Christmas Eve.

To be continued tomorrow

Tuesday, December 12, 2017

Christmas Stories Yet Untold (Part 1 of 4)

Christmas Stories Yet Untold

Come, Little Ones, bring your chairs up closer, and you will hear stories never even whispered before. And now, while the bright-eyed young ones are settling around, you older ones may decide to honor that child you encounter who lives within you, the one inner spirit who refuses to abdicate the throne of wonder, delight, and vulnerability deep inside your soul.

Why is it we want our stories to begin with those magical words, “Once upon a time”?  Perhaps that familiar phrase allows us to dare to hope our story might also end with a “happily ever after.” No one, no matter how old, or savvy, or bitter, or broken, can resist the pull of a happy ending for our personal tale.

I have to pause right here and smile. It's hard to explain, but suddenly all my Christmas memories --- stories left to fend for themselves in this busy world of action, romance, and drama --- each of my tales has suddenly popped to attention. “Oh, pick me!” cries the remembered night of caroling and first kisses. “No. It's my turn,” pleads a Christmas Eve of stolen dreams that had to be returned the next morning. “Well, my memory should be the one,” laughs the crystal memory of a teenage Christmas shopping trip that suddenly detoured, then ended with a new collie named Jingles.

But my eyes meet solidly with “the one.” This is my memory solely through repeated re-telling. I know it as my father's favorite childhood Christmas. And yes, I do think it begins with “Once upon a time.”

Laughter, tears, and a tinge of anxiety set the mood for most mornings in the Miller household. It seems as if most families know of that one person who requires extra care, a tiptoeing upon eggshells, a concentration of caution in things said... and unsaid. I gather the father, George, was such a man. I barely knew my grandfather, but I can attest to his humor, to his laughter, and also to his petulance. Although he was a good man and my grandmother Iona loved him with all her heart, he was often a cause for tears, spankings, and unhappiness for my dad. It sounds as if Iona became the go-between, the peacemaker so blessed in the Beatitudes. Iona was indeed named correctly, child of God, and as my grandmother, her home held a happy, busy, and contented feeling. My grandfather loved his family and provided a good amount of excitement and drama in many ways. And so began December 24, 1933, my father's tenth Christmas Eve. He was nine years old.

The bacon twisted and wrinkled inside the confines of the luster-black skillet. Iona gave her cast iron a little shake as she turned and glanced at the anxious faces around her table for breakfast. Her eyes twinkled at the unnecessary worry. She laughed at their fears about Santa and the beginning snowstorm “I am pretty sure a Missouri snow will not faze Santa in the least,” she said, tipping the edge of her skillet to brown the last slice before flipping it onto a white ironstone meat plate etched with the fine brown fire cracklings of many such morning's effort.

Not reassured, Gerald turned to his older sister and asked, “Has it ever been like this before? On Christmas Eve?” Opal and Elizabeth turned to each other and almost as if rehearsed, they nearly shouted, “Oh, yes! We aren't worried at all. He will make it.” Iona twinkled at her older daughters, who were always so good to partner with her, creating a cozy home. Gerald decided to take the issue to the last word in the family, his stern and sometimes quick-tempered father.

Continued tomorrow...

Monday, December 11, 2017

Christmas Party!

Whimsy and Hugs!

We visited a dear friend Saturday to see the wedding slides from the Summers wedding I attended. Her home was beautiful, and the meal, delicious!

Enjoy these next two weeks! Christmas is just around the corner.

Friday, December 8, 2017

Kitchen Cozy

I have nearly finished the decorations I plan to put out. For some reason, I just don't actually call it done! My kitchen has little bits of flair in nearly every corner. I'll pop on a couple more photos this weekend. My Pottery Barn three-tier tray holds little Lefton figurines from my childhood Christmases. These are the ones I have written about that Mom and I used to put across her mantel on snowy white cotton. She had a wind-up musical church that also lighted... and a little candle cottage. Then that night when my dad's headlights showed up at the end of our drive, we'd turn out the lights except the holiday ones... and we always hid to listen to him "be surprised." My dad did Christmas in a big way. It was a shock to discover later in life there were men who did not...  One shock of many. Just keeping it real.

A few (4 years) seasons ago I won this little Laurie Anna angel on an eBay auction. Mom did not care for her at all, and I just didn't get her out in a place of honor. I dried the orange slices one Saturday, so decided to go homespun on this little cabinet. The box on the wall holds beans and an old Farmer's Almanac. This was created by my Aunt Opal for my parents long, long ago, but I love it.  

I enjoy this pillow, but the nature lover in me says they could have done a pretty female cardinal for one of the birds.

My son recently bought this pretty 1970's Monte Carlo. It is so a retro sort of fixer-upper mentality. Have a lovely December!

Sunday, December 3, 2017

Christmas in a Small Town

I made a tree for my son... heroes on the half shell....  TURTLE POWER!!!  The base was my dad's gumdrop tree!                                                                                                                                        

This was the weekend for our town's annual holiday festival. I usually sit with a friend at her hand made jewelry table. Lots of crafts and good friends everywhere. Outside we had a horse drawn carriage, some activities, a soup luncheon, and even a visit with Santa. It was kind of a Hallmark movie (without the snow or romance).

This patriotic quilt was up for raffle. 

Have a Merry Christmas. Still working toward a decorated house...  

Had two days of unexpected plumbers!!!  It's always something. Luckily my kitty cat never stops working...

Whimsy and Hugs!

Monday, November 27, 2017

'Tis the Season

Well, holiday baking and decorating is afoot. Even Callie has her own Santa bowls (even if they are the same all year round with the Santa face to the wall!!!

I awoke to the sight of some eyes staring down at me...

So luckily I ducked under the cover as she pounced down on the bed.

Our tree is a peppermint Christmas this year. I decided to go with a change from long-time favorite ornaments. I used both red and white lights on our buttercream tree...

Mr. Owl and Mr. Cardinal flew in from Jo-Ann's And the whimsical ribbons. 

I am doing a simple Christmas this year I think...  

I went for a little breakfast in bed this morning...  Toast and peanut butter and honey with Cranberry hibiscus tea...  Then I got busy creating lunch for a couple of hungry guys! Homey comfort foods sounded good today: Polish kielbasa with cabbage and corn chowder made with the corn I put in the freezer the first day of Summer from my sister/cousin's garden. It was a hit!

I love to freeze or preserve garden for us on upcoming holidays so I write myself little notes as I put them away in the summer.

On Thanksgiving we had lasagna. Just a rebel this year...  but we had the corn I had planned. 

Below are a series of pancakes, my attempt at pancake turkeys on Thanksgiving. Mom was a pretty good batter artist, always pouring up a cat or ghost when we had guests. I did not appear to inherit that talent!!!

I saved the best for first although it looks more like a duckie...

My son made a crack about this being a different kind of bird. I got the joke hours later!

I have no idea...

 Loch Ness Pancake...

Enjoy the final days of November. I will be back...