Last night was our first Halloween as homeowners in a neighborhood populated largely by young families, so I knew we would need to buy some candy for trick or treaters or risk being labeled the least favorite house on the block for all eternity. Still, I thought Dan was overdoing it when he picked up a second giant bag of assorted candy on Monday. I was convinced that we would end up eating half that candy ourselves, and told Dan so as the trick or treaters started to arrive early yesterday evening. They started coming while it was still daylight, mostly really little kids who had to be steered up the walk and instructed to hold their bag out and say their lines. They were cute, so I was handing them candy by the fistful. "Take it!" I said. "We have too much anyway!"

I don't want to ruin the surprise for you, but if you know anything about literary foreshadowing, you can pretty much tell what happens next.

Two hours later, Dan and I had resorted to a buddy system of swapping door shifts to deal with the sheer number of munchkins piling up into our yard. There were so MANY of them. I would sit in the front room with the window facing the street and yell "Incoming!" when a group turned towards our house. Dan would get the candy bowl, and by 7 p.m., we were getting more stingy with the handouts. Still, those two giant bags of candy were gone by 8 p.m. and we had to turn off our porch light and cower in fear, hoping we would not be eaten by the mobs of sugar-buzzed children storming around outside.

I am still so stunned by the whole thing that I'm not sure how many lessons there are to be learned from this, but I have figured out the key to trick or treating, should I ever decide to go: Be cute, get out there before the candy is gone, and hit the stupid new neighbor first!

File under "Further proof that retail America loves me and wants me to be happy. And fat."

As an exiled Southerner, one of the things I miss most is food. Sweet tea, okra, chicken and dumplings -- these are things that are hard to come by here in the great Southwest, land of green and red chile. The chile is great, it's just that I didn't grow up eating it, so I'm still amazed at the fact that unless I specify otherwise when ordering my food, it pretty much will arrive smothered in one or the other colors of chile.

The only place I can find some of these foods I miss is the chain restaurant Cracker Barrel. Those of you who live in the South probably don't go there very much, because you can get better versions of the same stuff by just wandering up in some neighbor's kitchen. But I love it, and every few months or so, when I just have to have something that tastes like home, Dan braves what is always an incredibly long wait line at the one location of Cracker Barrel in Albuquerque. It's way up on the Northeast side of town, and while it was never convenient while we lived there, it's certainly out of the way now that we've moved to the West Side, or as some of our friends refer to it, Arizona. Just the other day, I was saying to Dan that I could not believe that Cracker Barrel does not have a location on our side of town.

This is why I almost drove off the road tonight when I was returning from a trip to Walgreens and saw for the first time, a sign in front of a lot that Dan and I had recently noticed is being cleared for some sort of development about four blocks from our house. The big beautiful yellow sign read: "Coming Soon: Cracker Barrel." I could have cried for happiness.

So now that my buying world is complete (Our new Pottery Barn opened this week, as well as a second location of Ann Taylor Loft), what would you like for me to add to my list of retail longings, fellow citizens of Albuquerque? I've decided to start loaning my petitions out, since I clearly have a direct line to the commercial deities. Right now, I'm feeling benevolent enough not to charge for this service, televangelist style. But get your requests in before I change my mind. Or start camping out in front of the Cracker Barrel.

I just had a revelation: This is the first election night since I started working as a newspaper reporter in 2002 that you could not have found me sitting around in a county courthouse waiting for election returns until midnight or later. I now work at a publication that focuses on coverage of business, so we have no real need to give blow-by-blow coverage of the evening, and I have to say I'm pretty happy about that. Not that I don't have some fond memories of election nights past.

One election night in Clovis, while we waited for the pizza my editor David had ordered, the biggest, baddest thunderstorm I've ever seen rolled into town. For a while we were wondering what would be the bigger story: The election or the apparently eminent total destruction of the whole town. I remember standing by the little tiny window of the back door to the newsroom with my co-workers Gwyn and Kate, watching trash blow by in the wind and thinking about how I was glad the courthouse was just across the block.

After covering one or two of these shindigs as a print reporter, you learn to bring a book or something else to keep you occupied while the votes are tallied -- because it turns out that the process of democracy is slow and remarkably lacking in drama until the end result is known.This is why when you watch live television coverage of elections, there are huge stretches of time when all you get is random people speculating about what might possibly be indicated by the fact that Candidate A is leading now that 1.5 percent of the vote has been counted.

Tonight, I can't say that I'm sorry that I'm not occupying a folding chair in a musty, fluorescent lighted municipal building. But I will say that I'm thankful for the experiences I have had in doing that work. For one thing, being a reporter forces you to be a somewhat informed voter, because you have to write about the bond issues and sheriff's races and school board elections for months before the voting starts. I think it's also made me more committed to actually going to the trouble of voting. I'd like to say this is motivated by a lofty, overarching sense of duty to my country. But really it's because I know that right now, there are volunteer poll workers making a second pot of coffee for everyone and candidates standing around in the halls making small talk and trying not to look too nervous.

It's not a flashy scene, but it's an important one, and it helps me remember that voting isn't really about all the ridiculous campaign messages that get left on my answering machine and the barrage of political commercials and mailings we've endured lately. That's the sideshow. This is the part that matters.

So here's to democracy, and all the many people who make it possible, including you and your vote. And now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed. I'll look forward to reading about who won what tomorrow morning. It will be nice to be surprised like everyone else.

I can tell we're getting close to Thanksgiving because the Christmas commercials have already started. Tonight, Dan is very sick, poor thing, so we've been sitting on the couch and watching television in the kind of dazed, non-committal way you do when you don't really even care what's on. We hadn't said anything in ten minutes or so until this commercial came on and we had one of those great marriage moments where have a thought at the moment when you KNOW your spouse is thinking the exact same thing.

I think it's a Hallmark commercial, and the setup is this: A crowded airport, apparently Christmas Eve. A blizzard is raging outside, and left and right, passengers are getting the news that their flight is delayed for at least two hours. The camera zooms in on this woman with two small children who are leaning on her, asleep. She's looking all bummed out, but then, she perks up, and reaches into her luggage and whips out this stuffed toy with three snowmen on it. She hits a button, and these plush snowmen start swaying back and forth and singing a Christmas song. And in the commercial, all the tired, cranky, stranded holiday travelers start gathering around and singing along with the snowmen. The message, I suppose is, "Awww! Happy Holidays from the airport!" This is a hilarious sentiment in itself, comparable to saying "Merry Christmas from The Department of Motor Vehicles!"

Dan and I have spent considerable time in airports during our marriage, a lot of those trips having occurred around the holidays. So we watched this, and then I turned to Dan and said: "In real life, holiday airline passengers would destroy those snowmen with their carry on luggage before they made it through the first stanza. And I would help them."
"I know," he said. "And that woman would never make it on the plane."

Then we laughed cynical laughs and went back to channel surfing. It was a nice moment. But if any of you are contemplating firing up a stuffed, singing snowman in a packed airport around December 23, keep your head down and move fast, because Dan and I will be ready.

Heads up, people. You're going to want to go pick up a copy of Regina Spektor's second album "Begin to Hope." I know, it's been out for months, but I just got around to buying it.

I have declared it good. I know you are caring so much right now. Still, what follows is my review, should you be able to sustain consciousness much longer. The only people who are not excused from reading this are two people for whom I highly recommend this record even though they might have bought it already because they are way cooler than me:
Leigh (Hey mama)
and Chris ( and that cool wife of yours, you lucky man.)

One of the joys and frustrations of trying to find new artists to love and enjoy is that first albums are often creative, fresh, and somewhat rough around the edges, which isn't always a bad thing. But if an artist attracts any substantial level of recognition, whether from the critics or the consumers, the sophomore album seems to suffer. I am convinced that this is because record labels put pressure on artists who have commercial potential to make something more "accessible," which seems to be code for "something we can play on the radio until everyone hates you and your music."

Regina Spektor's first major album "Soviet Kitsch" seemed to set her up perfectly for this. It's not radio material, but it's very smart, with simple piano-based melodies serving as the backdrop to some really great, well-written lyrics. Spektor's voice is about as unique as they come, as is the uninhibited way she uses it, with a lot of hiccups and beatboxing and talking while singing that would be ridiculous from anyone else, but that work for her. If "Soviet Kitsch" has a downfall, it's that she has a tendency to get into a kind of a stream-of-consciousness thing too much. Some songs are just too long because she's being repetitive, and it seems out of place and undisciplined on an album that is otherwise so spare and simple.
This is my only criticism is of her first album, which I loved, and which got a lot of favorable press. (I should here give a plug to the coolness of my sister, Hannah, who gave me the album for Christmas last year. I'd like to think of this as my big-sisterly investment in Hannah's early musical taste paying off for me in the form of impeccably-tasteful recommendations from her. But really, she's just cool in her own right.)

So as a fan, I'm happy to say that Regina Spektor seems to have succeeded in doing something very rare with "Begin to Hope": She's made a second album that is A) more accessible than her first one and B) better than her first one, both artistically and from a writing standpoint. I could not be happier.
It's clear from the first track that "Begin to Hope" is a very different record than "Soviet Kitsch." It's more heavily mixed, there are some killer instrumental arrangements and great bass backing up the still-prominent piano. Track two, "Better" has (gasp!) a guitar, used to good advantage, and a lot more orchestration and momentum than her early tracks.
By the third track, "Samson," we're back to a more traditional piano-and-singing Spektor song, but even this one has a touch of backup that gives the repeat phrase a really nice richness. More to her credit, she does not use her voice in a harsh way, or let the song ramble on too long. It's really just perfect. This is probably my favorite song on the whole album.
After that, there's a fantastic song called "On the Radio" --- fun, light, and, I'm sure, the song on the album destined to get some popular play. The great thing, though is that it's actually a good song.
I won't bore you with a tour of the whole album, but suffice it to say that it's a very eclectic, skillful recording with something for everyone. She even has a bluesy-type track with "Lady." There are still those odd moments of trademark Regina Spektor when the eccentricity can throw you the first couple of times. But overall, it's a fantastic album, worth listening to when you've got time to really enjoy it.

I'll get back to blogging about things people actually care about soon.

At our church, we have this great Thanksgiving event called Pie and Praise. On the Sunday night before Thanksgiving, everyone brings a pie to the church and then we all eat pie to our hearts' content and share what we're thankful for and pray and thank God for it. It's one of my new favorite traditions for my all-time favorite holiday. So since it's so encouraging in person, I thought I'd try it out on the blog.

I have no pie for you, but if you want, list your blessings in the comments section. This is just quick post from me, and I plan to do another post soon about all the many things we're thankful for this year. In the meantime, I'd love to hear what makes you thankful.

Yesterday afternoon and evening, I was cooking a few things that we'll be taking over to the home of some good friends of ours for Thanksgiving dinner in a few hours. I enjoy cooking, especially when I have plenty of time and good things to make, so it was a pleasant afternoon. I started to run out of room on my kitchen counters so I decided to just put everything that I would have to take today on the table so it would all be in one place. When I got done, I realized that just the food and drink and dishes that I'm going to bring to this one meal, this one day, fill our entire kitchen table. So much, and so much more than we could ever need.

That's pretty much how I feel about this year. Plenty. It's not just adequate daily provisions we have, but extravagance. It hasn't been as eventful a year as others have been, and really that's part of the blessing for us. Overall, it's been a year of the kind of happy news and simple, common landmark events that make life so joyful.

I'm sitting in our living room in the home we were able to buy this year. I'm thankful for how fast this got to feeling like our home. We love this house and I think we're going to love it for a long time.

It's been a year for weddings. Since last Thanksgiving, we saw Dan's sister Dinah get married to Chris, who we're so glad to have in the family. Before that, I got to attend the weddings of two of my best friends -- within six weeks of each other! Those couples, Chris and Lindsay, and Robin and Jeremy are celebrating their first anniversaries these days. My cousin Jenni got married to Nate. Aaron and Kelly just celebrated their second year of marriage. We've been married for three and a half years now, and it's truly amazing to me how it's possible to love the person you marry more with each passing year than you did when you married them. So we've had an abundance of love.

Our families are well and healthy and happy. Ryan is in Africa, and we miss him, but he keeps us updated, and we're looking forward to seeing him in the spring. My baby sister Audrey is a senior in high school. This means that I am plenty old, in case you were wondering. Kelly will graduate from college in a few weeks. My sister Hannah moved to Tennessee to go to school and got herself a job at Starbucks, which I am hoping means lots of free coffee for me. Aaron was elected the Attorney General of the Student Government Association at MSU, a position which has proven thus far to have relatively few perks for me, but maybe if I get a speeding ticket, Aaron can bail me out. Dan's sister Hannah graduated from college at Texas A & M.

I could go on, but you get the picture. It's all so typical and undramatic, but it's beautiful. We have more blessings than we can count, and for that, we're thankful. Happy Thanksgiving, y'all.

Now thank we all our God with heart and hands and voices.
Who wondrous things hath done, in Whom this world rejoices.
Who from our mother's arms hath blessed us on our way
With countless gifts of love and still is ours today.

Oh may this bounteous God through all our life be near us.
With ever joyful hearts and blessed peace to cheer us.
And keep us in His grace and guide us when perplexed
And free us from all ills in this world and the next.

All praise and thanks to God the Father now be given
The Son and Him who reigns with them in highest heaven.
The one eternal God whom earth and heaven adore.
For thus it was, is now, and shall be evermore.

Martin Rinkart, 1636

We spent a fabulous Thanksgiving at the home of friends along with a couple of other sets of friends. Excellent photos of the day are posted by Mrs. J here, but I wanted to share the one truly great photo I took. After dinner, the men of the house busted out the Risk board game and promptly entered into a 30-minute discussion about what set of rules to play by. As I was walking by, I noticed that Chloe, the two-year-old daughter of our hosts, was sitting at the end of the table, quietly perusing the rules book, looking for all the world like she was trying to find the answer. So here is my photo of Choe, the Risk Referee:

Lately, I've been enjoying cooking a lot, so much so that I'm thinking about taking a class to learn a few new things. This new hobby of mine has had me leafing through cookbooks that have sat on my bookshelves largely untouched for two years, and in doing so, I came across a Southern Sideboards recipe for something called Buttermilk Chicken that I wanted to try.

Here's me in the kitchen. I'm actually cutting up some chicken in this photo, but I look like I'm cutting up a random collection of stuff in the wrought iron plate holder to my right, and looking kind of evil while I'm at it. Nonetheless, here I am:

So last Tuesday night, I made the Buttermilk Chicken. It's not a complicated dish, and basically once you assemble your various ingredients in the baking pan (in my case, it was a glass Pyrex baking dish.), you just put it in the oven. That's what I did, and as it got closer to time for the dinner to be done, I opened the oven to check on the dinner. Then, I closed to oven and turned around to get some oven mitts so that I could take the pan out. But I never got that far, because at that moment, there was this enormous shattering sound IN THE OVEN, and I opened it to find this sight:

Yes, the Pyrex dish, supposedly made from the most indestructible stuff on earth, EXPLODED in my OVEN. It was disgusting, with chicken and sauce and glass shards being turned into a cloud of black smoke. There was really nothing to do until the oven cooled off, so we got takeout. But it did occur to me to be glad that I was not holding the stupid dish when it exploded, and the next night when I was writing an email to Ryan, who as you may recall, is stationed in Africa right now with the Marines, I told him about my culinary brush with potentially moderate injury.

When Ryan wrote back to me, with his usual sense of humor, I remembered why you never tell "I almost got hurt" stories to your brothers who are in the armed services: Because you're always going to wind up sounding like a weenie. Ryan wrote this to me:

"Your adventures in the kitchen sound pretty perilous. I'm glad that chicken IED didn't get you."

Yes, to quote George W., "There is madmen and there are terror" in my oven. And even Improvised Explosive Devices. But i will stay the course. Because I still want some Buttermilk Chicken, and a new Pyrex dish, too.