Hurrah.

Currier & Ives, Home to Thanksgiving, 1867

OVER THE RIVER and THROUGH the WOOD

Over the river, and through the wood,

To Grandfather’s house we go;

The horse knows the way,

To carry the sleigh,

Through the white and drifted snow.

Over the river, and through the wood,

To Grandfather’s house away!

We would not stop

For doll or top, For it is Thanksgiving Day.

Over the river, and through the wood,

Oh, how the wind does blow!

It stings the toes,

And bites the nose,

As over the ground we go.

Over the river, and through the wood,

With a clear blue winter sky,

The dogs do bark,

And children hark,

As we go jingling by.

Over the river, and through the wood,

To have a first-rate play –

Hear the bells ring,

“Ting a ling ding!”

Hurray for Thanksgiving Day!

Over the river, and through the wood,

No matter for winds that blow

Or if we get

The sleigh upset

Into a bank of snow.

Over the river, and through the wood,

To see little John and Ann;

We will kiss them all,

And play snowball,

And stay as long as we can.

Over the river, and through the wood,

Trot fast my dapple grey!

Spring over the ground,

Like a hunting-hound,

For ’tis Thanksgiving Day!

Over the river, and through the wood,

And straight through the barnyard gate;

We seem to go

Extremely slow,

It is so hard to wait!

Over the river, and through the wood –

Old Jowler hears our bells;

He shakes his pow,

With a loud bow-wow,

And thus the news he tells.

Over the river, and through the wood,

When Grandmother sees us come,

She will say, “O, dear,

The children are here,

Bring pie for everyone.”

Over the river, and through the wood,

Now Grandmother’s cap I spy!

Hurrah for the fun!

Is the pudding done?

Hurrah for the pumpkin pie!

Lydia Maria Child

Brian Bazier performs your accompaniment on the tubaccordion ...

Abandon.

Drama is very important in life: You have to come on with a bang. You never want to go out with a whimper. Everything can have drama if it's done right. Even a pancake.  Cooking is like love; it should be entered into with abandon or not at all.

Julia Child

Believe.

I believe in red meat. I've often said: red meat and gin.

Julia Child

Learn.

I don't believe in twisting yourself into knots of excuses and explanations over the food you make. When one's hostess starts in with self-deprecations such as "Oh, I don't know how to cook...," or "Poor little me...," or "This may taste awful...," it is so dreadful to have to reassure her that everything is delicious and fine, whether it is or not. Besides, such admissions only draw attention to one's shortcomings (or self-perceived shortcomings), and make the other person think, "Yes, you're right, this really is an awful meal!" Maybe the cat has fallen into the stew, or the lettuce has frozen, or the cake has collapsed -- eh bien, tant pis! Usually one's cooking is better than one thinks it is. And if the food is truly vile, as my ersatz eggs Florentine surely were, then the cook must simply grit her teeth and bear it with a smile -- and learn from her mistakes.

Julia Child

Unexpected.

The more I learned the more I realized how very much one has to know before one is in-the-know at all.  I discovered that when one follows the artist's eye one sees unexpected treasures in so many seemingly ordinary scenes.  

Julia Child

Best.