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I’ve always been terrified of cooking Thanksgiving dinner. There are too many expectations to live up to, especially because I married into a family of gourmet cooks. And while I know my husband, who is a wonderful cook himself, would be more than happy to help me prepare the feast, I worry that anything I make will be haunted by the ghosts of far superior roast turkeys, stuffing, mashed potatoes, and the other table-crushing assortment of dishes we both enjoyed in the carefree Thanksgivings of our youths. Plus it’s just a heck of a lot of work.

So mostly I try to get out of the Thanksgiving responsibilities. Over the years we’ve enjoyed many turkey dinners in restaurants. This is always nice because the food just magically appears at your table, and then just as magically disappears, along with all those dirty dishes, when you’re done.

But this year we decided to go to Disneyland. It was a crazy idea, at least for us. We’re both a little phobic of large crowds, and Thanksgiving in the Land of Mouse promised to be mayhem. Plus I had gone to Disney World when I was 10, and the only memory I had was of frantically chasing after my little cousin, trying to catch her before she vanished into the mass of people all around us. She was two years-old, the same age my youngest daughter is now, and I dreaded the thought of reliving that experience. But of course, as soon as I spoke the idea aloud, my oldest was beside herself with excitement. So we went.

The first day (a Monday) I was worried that we had made a terrible mistake. There were crowds–big ones–and long lines for most of the rides. By the time we had ridden Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, Peter Pan’s Flight, and the carousel, we were already tired. My daughter even asked to go back to the hotel.

But then we stumbled into the Enchanted Tiki Room, where at least there were benches and pineapple ice cream drinks while we waited outside for the show. And then we went inside. The mechanical birds began to sing. My daughter’s eyes grew round. She turned her head to look back at me. And then she smiled. And I relaxed.

The rest of the trip was wonderful. The crowds were much smaller the next day, and by Wednesday we hardly had to wait for more than fifteen minutes for most of the rides. And although my two year-old refused to ride in her stroller, she did hold onto my hand in the crowds. She even did okay in the lines, although she insisted on climbing every square inch of railing, and then clinging to it like a kudzu vine whenever I tried to move her. (She also clung to the cart of the Go Coaster when we were supposed to get off, and screamed, “No! I try again! I try again!”)

Occasionally I thought about what it meant to be spending Thanksgiving at Disneyland. It wasn’t, after all, a traditional experience, although we did spring for the Thanksgiving Feast in the Disneyland Hotel, which had every manner of traditional Thanksgiving food and then some. The dessert table alone was a decadence bordering on obscenity. The children’s buffet had a carver waiting to personally slice your child’s pizza. If the goal of the Thanksgiving meal is to stuff yourself like a foie gras goose, Disneyland more than delivered.

But it still didn’t feel quite like a traditional Thanksgiving. And I wondered about tradition, and why it matters. Growing up, my family was never particularly bound by tradition. We once had Thanksgiving without the turkey when I was a vegetarian, and one year we had a bouquet of roses instead of a Christmas tree. But I do have a lot of nostalgia for the traditions we did keep when I was a child, especially making hard candy with my Mom, and playing and singing music around the piano as a family. Those memories are indelible: I think about them and suddenly I am five, or eight, or fifteen again. I am all of those ages at once.

I was worried that this was the one element that was missing from our Disneyland trip, unless we could somehow afford to repeat the experience every year (I was afraid of that expectation too, since the happiest place on earth is definitely not the cheapest). And then I found it, of all places, on the Space Mountain ride.

My husband does not like Space Mountain, so I agreed to ride it with my daughter. She was chattering nervously the whole way through the Fast Pass line, while I laughed to myself about the Space Mountain signs, which were written in that font that was supposed to look so futuristic and high tech to those of us who were born in the seventies. Now it just looked dated.

We got on the ride, and made that slow clicking ascent that always gives you time to wonder if strapping yourself into this thing was such a good idea (what if it’s not just the font that’s outdated?). And then we were zooming in a fast spiral in the dark through a galaxy of stars that appeared to emanate from something that looked very much like a disco ball. And suddenly I was fourteen years old, screaming in the dark next to a friend who had come with me on our eighth grade band trip to Disneyworld. The cool breeze from the ride felt wonderful after walking all day in the sweltering Orlando heat. I felt alive, and scared, and courageous all at once. It all came back, even though I knew I was two thousand miles and over two decades away from the time, place, and person I was in that memory.

I didn’t tell my daughter about my trip back into the past, but I was happy that we had come. We all had a great week together, and although he was grief-stricken on our last day of the park, my son was already planning our next visit. I don’t know if we’ll be able to manage the trip every year, but we’ll definitely be back. I think it will be a wonderful tradition, and hopefully some day my kids will be able to ride Space Mountain, or some other ride, with their own kids, and remember a time when they sat there next to me, waiting for the excitement to begin.

So, below, here is the original recipe with my pictures and my hints in parenthesis.

Best Ever English Toffee Recipe

• 2 Giant 8 oz. Hershey bars, or 16 oz. (450 g) milk chocolate divided in half  (Trader Joe’s offers delicious 17 oz. bars of Belgian chocolate called Pound  Plus that are excellent for this recipe and that is what I used.  Cost wise, it ends up about the same)
• 2 cups (300 g) finely chopped walnuts or pecans (I am a Georgia girl.  I used Pecans)
• 3 cups (600 g) granulated sugar
• 1+1/2 lb. (681 g) SALTED real butter Do not use unsalted butter or  margarine, or the recipe won’t turn out.

Recipe Directions:

1. Break 8 ounces of the chocolate and set aside.
2. Boil sugar and butter while stirring constantly (they mean CONSTANTLY.  This is the hard part.  This stuff will burn in a nanosecond.  Be vigilant) on medium heat to hard crack  level (300-305*F or 149*C) on candy thermometer. IT MUST REACH THIS LEVEL, NO  MATTER HOW IT LOOKS.
3. Tip: Start off at medium high and then lower the temp as it gets closer to  300*F (149*C). Watch it like a hawk.
4. Pour mixture onto large ungreased cookie sheet with sides (jelly roll size)  and immediately spread on the grated chocolate. Smooth over top.

I did the above step totally differently.  First, I lined the Cookie sheet with parchment paper.  This makes turning it over later on MUCH, MUCH easier.  Also, instead of immediately spreading the grated or pieced chocolate onto the hot toffee and letting it melt, I waited until the toffee had cooled enough to still be gooey, but thicker.  Then, I used the Oxo scraper to make score marks in the toffee.  Doin this makes the toffee eaier to break along regular lines later on.  See the pictures below for my way….

5. I melted the 8 oz. chocolate in my makeshift double boiler and poured it on the chocolate. See below.

6. Sprinkle half of the nuts on top. Cool till hard.   (When it is fully hardened and cooled, you need to spread some tin foil on the counter and tip the whole pan upside down.  This is where the parchment paper comes in handy.  It helps the whole pan of toffee come out with no trouble at all!  And it leaves the pan in one big piece which makes step 8 easier)  See below for before and after the chocolate pouring.

7. Melt the other 8 oz. (225 g) or other bar of chocolate in double boiler or  in small saucepan on very low heat, stirring constantly.

8. Tip the cooled toffee out onto wax paper (see my notes on step #6) and spread other side with the  melted chocolate ; sprinkle rest of nuts on and cool till hard.

9. Then crack into small pieces with knife. (This is where the scoring with the Oxo scraper pays off.  See below.  My pieces came out in almost perfect squares.  It wastes a lot less of the toffee because you get a lot fewer crumbs.  Of course, the crumbs aren’t really a waste.  You can top your ice cream with them or make your own Heath crunch Blizzards!)

I packed it all up into Christmas tins and they are ready to go!

Read more at Suite101: Best Ever English Toffee Recipe: How to Make English Toffee Candy | Suite101.com http://diannesmith.suite101.com/best-ever-english-toffee-recipe-a163128#ixzz1eOiFdOwc

This is a bit of a follow up to last week’s post about where I work. I thought I’d write a little about what I do and why I do it.

Music has always been a part of my life. I remember my mom sang to me all the time and even taught music at my preschool. In elementary I began my music lessons on piano, then joined the band in fifth grade and played the clarinet. When it was time to pick colleges, I had no idea what I wanted to do. I started going on scholarship auditions at the schools I had been accepted to. Our guidance counselor had recommended that we choose a “safe” school that we knew we could get into and that we could afford. Georgia College (the amper sand had not been added yet) was that school for me. Forty-five minutes from home was not necessarily my first choice! I went on the audition and over lunch heard about this Music Therapy thing. It sounded like what I was looking for. A chance to continue playing music that I loved and help others.

Fast forward a few years and I became a practicing Music Therapist. Working in a large state run psychiatric hospital. There was a long time that I really didn’t think I knew what I was doing! I just played music, had a good time and along the way found that I did make a difference to people.

The American Music Therapy Association defines Music Therapy as “the clinical and evidence-based use of music interventions to accomplish individualized goals within a therapeutic relationship by a credentialed professional who has completed an approved music therapy program.” But here’s what it is. I use music to teach you something or improve the quality of your life. We’ve all used Music Thearpy. Try saying your ABCs without singing them. When you’ve had a really trying day do you put some kind of music on your car stereo to cheer you up? What was the song playing at your first high school dance, at your wedding? Music evokes emotion and enhances memory.

For years I have joked that the one question I can answer without even thinking is “what is Music Therapy?” Every Music Therapist gets used to answering that question because we’re asked it over and over again. But times are changing! Watch this clip from Diane Sawyer’s piece on Congresswoman Gabrielle Gifford’s rehab and try not to cry. “The Music Never Stopped” is a recent movie based on an essay by Dr. Oliver Sacks. There is evidence supporting what we do. This works.

This past weekend I had the pleasure of attending my third National Music Therapy conference. I saw people I haven’t seen in years. Heard all kinds of great things about what Music Therapists are doing in their settings, but it was the last thing I saw as I was leaving the conference that really reminded me of why I do what I do. As I was walking out the front door, I saw a fellow conference attendee standing outside leaning against a planeter and taking her guitar out of it’s case. I thought this was a strange site outside the entrance, but heck, we’re Music Therapists, some of us are a little odd. As I walked by, I turned around and saw her approach a young mother with three kids. She had one in her arms and was trying to keep up with the other two. The Music Therapist knealt down to the child’s level and started talking to her about the guitar and the little girl reached out and strummed it. This person used her talent to help someone else. That’s what we do. We use the talents we were given, the talents we cultivated and use them to make someone else’s life better. Is there anything more beautiful than that?