Quote du jour/James M. Barrie

God gave us memory so that we might have roses in December.
James Matthew Barrie

And sometimes we don't need memory! This rose just arrived via that wonderful brown truck, from our cousin, Ginny. What a treat in these short days to have a rose plant in my house. I put it under the grow lights so it would think it was summertime.

Today's Christmas cd/Christmas with Weezer-

Christmas with Weezer
Weezer
2008

I have loved Weezer since my twelve-year-old daughter came home with their first album all those years ago. And now, they have a Christmas album! With the exception of We Wish You a Merry Christmas, each song is gasp! a religious one. In my childhood, all the popular singers did Christmas albums, and they included the songs we sang in church. That happens quite rarely now, unless it is a cd by Amy Grant or Celine Dion. I don't know why. After all, Christmas is Christmas. It has a meaning. I bought the cd at iTunes for five dollars; maybe the best money I spent this Christmastime! I couldn't be happier.

Christmas Corner/Wreath

Though not decorated like last year's wreath, I love the simple, natural beauty of this one. And honestly, that door is so colorful, it would be almost too much to have a beribboned one! Our daughter and her boyfriend got it for us. And you'll love the story. They were driving on a back road, and saw a display of homemade wreaths for $5 each, with a sign saying to leave payment in the mailbox.

Christmas Corner/Village

I'd like to be one of these people in the bustling little Christmas village

Folks are singing merrily in their sleigh

A kind storekeeper offers cookies to the young carolers - note the blurry little fellow holding a light so the others can read their songbooks

And right next door people are going to church

These boys are struggling with the yule log. What is the one looking at while he's working so hard?

Why, these skaters who are having a wonderful time!

I wonder what books this cute little couple just bought

Passing the Time

One of my many idiosyncrasies is that I rarely mind things that drive some people crazy. I like waiting in traffic because I almost always have an audio book or music I love in the car's cd player. I also don't mind standing in supermarket lines. This is my chance to read the latest gossip magazines on the rack. Closer to home (in the computer/blogging sense), I truly don't mind the word verification item that comes up when I leave a comment on several blogs. Because I read everything from signs to cereal boxes, these letters offer just another sort of reading. The ones on Typepad are the more pedestrian; 'just the facts' - though 63z7g9 looks a little like a British or Canadian postal code which makes me smile. But Blogger, oh, those cute little words are so artsy and fun. kitio - like the 1950s 'daddy-o.' clechem reminds me of pacem (peace) or a country somewhere. fereprec sounds like a cleanser for false teeth. excicell might be a new cell phone company. tornian could be a character out of Tolkien or Rowling. And damoll- well that's a hoodlum's woman, right?!

Spicy Egg Cups

This recipe comes from a Bed & Breakfast place we stayed at years ago. As with the cheesejacks, they are incredibly popular in this house. They're very easy to make in addition to being nutritious and delicious, which makes them an excellent choice for a quick snack any time of day. The nice thing is you can make as many or as few as you wish.

Spicy Egg Cups

Open an egg into a custard cup.
Add a little salsa.
Grate some cheese on top.
Sprinkle on a little parsley or basil, or both.
Pour a bit of olive oil over the whole thing.

Bake at 350º F. for 20 minutes or until set.

Before baking

After baking

Housework/Front Door update

A couple months ago, I showed you the "before" shots of the front door, and here is the "after!" Tom did all the painting himself, and we both are thrilled with the result. Every time our kids drop by, they tell us how much they like it. So, a great success!

Today's Picture/Blue Skies

Today's poem by Oliver Herford

I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December
A magical thing
And sweet to remember.

'We are nearer to Spring
Than we were in September,'
I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December.

Oliver Herford
(1863 - 1935)

Today's Pictures/Ice and Snow

Second photo is about two hours after the first. We've got quite a storm going on up here, though not as bad as in the rest of the state. We still have power.

Book Report/Little Heathens

Little Heathens: Hard Times and High Spirits on an Iowa Farm During the Great Depression
by Mildred Armstrong Kalish
read by Ruth Ann Phimister
nonfiction, 2007
finished, 11/20/08

This book has been on the edge of my consciousness for a while now. I'd see it on the library shelf or on the internet, but I was put off by the title. Actually, I still am. As far as I can recollect, it was just used once or twice in the book. I believe it is a grandmother who used to call the kids by this epithet. I don't know. Maybe it's an old-fashioned way of saying, you little devils, which I don't like either. I'm always uncomfortable when a parent calls their children anything disparaging, particularly in the hearing of those children. Parents may think they are being cute, but names stay in a child's head, as this one must have in the author's.

Other than my own particular problem with the title, I loved everything about this book. I listened to a tremendous reading by Ruth Ann Phimister, who also narrates the Dearest Dorothy books. She is a young woman with the voice of an old one, much like Bailey White. It felt to me as if the author, who is in her eighties now, was telling me stories of her growing up years in Iowa during the Depression. And the stories she told! What I loved the most were the details of everyday life. She tells us about washdays, and cooking (with great recipes!), and haying. Her yearly life was split between living on the farm in the country with her mother during the warmer months, and living in town with her mother and her father's parents for the winter months so she could get to school. I recall my mother talking about living in town and working during part of the school year, probably for the same reason. Actually, I felt that other than locale, this story was much like the life my grammy and grampy lived on their farm, bringing up ten children, whose births spanned almost 25 years! Can you imagine? My aunt Susie, whom I've mentioned here a couple times, said no thank you to marriage and children. As the oldest girl, she had taken care of enough babies to last her a lifetime.

This split between mother and grandparents was more than geographical. Kalish' mother was quite a free spirit. There wasn't a particular order to their days; they ate when and where and what they wanted.

Mama almost never made an attempt to serve a balanced meal. If she had just taken bread from the oven around the middle of the day, our noon meal would consist of freshly made bread, homemade butter, whole plum jam, and a huge pitcher of milk. If, in the garden, she noticed that the sweet corn was ready, we had nothing but buttered sweet corn for supper.

Sounds perfect to me! And in fact, we eat much the same way ourselves.

Home with the grandparents was almost completely opposite. The grandfather, who got up first in the morning, decided what breakfast would be. If he wanted oatmeal, they'd all eat oatmeal. They all had to go to bed at the same time.

The book should be kept in some library's archives as a detailed description of how things were done in those days: how to cook on a woodstove, home remedies, harvesting nuts.

The author is cheery and her story is uplifting and fun, even with all the troubles of those days. Kids were a real part of the family work. They contributed and knew they were important to the running of the farm. I think this is something that all children want - to know they are important and necessary in the life of a family. There are lessons galore in the book, but they aren't expressed in a didactic or preachy manner. Mildred just tells her story, and we listen as children at her feet, learning without being aware we are doing so. This is such an important book for all ages. Those who lived through these days will enjoy reminiscing and those who can't imagine such a life will learn how it was lived. I loved it, and bought three copies as gifts. One was for Tom's birthday because he was so interested when I kept telling him things. I know he'll love it, too.

Christmas Corner - Old Toys

We put these toys out each Christmastime. The blocks and clown are from Tom's childhood. The swing belonged to our children, and someone gave us the music box. It plays the song, Toyland. Even as a child, when I "dwelled within it," the words made me cry.


Toyland, Toyland,
Little girl and boy land
While you dwell within it
You are ever happy then.

Childhood's Joy land,
Mystic, merry Toyland,
Once you pass its borders
You can never return again.

Babes in Toyland
Book and lyrics by Glen MacDonough,
Music by Victor Herbert, 1903.

Q and A session - cookies and G. Taber

Here is my first question and answer session. These are the ones I've had in my head for a while. If you have asked a question, and I haven't answered, please let me know, and I will do so.

1. In October (!), arcadian advocate asked:

can you please post what you reckon to be the best choc chip cookie recipe ever

Well, those sour cream choc chip ones are certainly one of the top favorites, though I did say about Alton Brown's: "they just may be the very best I've ever tasted." If you want oats in them the choc chip oat cookies are "outstanding," and if you like toffee bits, then you might want to try these. So, I am really no help at all in terms of a definitive answer! In fact, I have a recipe I haven't yet posted on whose card I wrote: " the best I've ever tasted- use exclusively for choc chip cookies." I'll make these soon, and let you know if they measure up to those words I wrote years ago.

2. I can't find the post where I was asked the following questions, but I know that Mary has waited a long time for the answers. First, she wanted to know where the Gladys Taber quote at the top of my sidebar comes from. It is from a book called Stillmeadow and Sugarbridge, 1953. I read it shortly before beginning my blog in November, 2006, and those words seemed so fitting. Second, she wondered about Gladys' books in general. Here is a website that lists each book and the date it was published. I have read a few, but by no means all. I own only one, having borrowed wonderful old copies from the library over the years. The time has really come to buy some for myself. Many of them are monthly writings, and I like to read them in that way.

Writing back

I can't thank you enough for taking the time to answer my comments question. You were each so eloquent and exact in your replies that you really helped me to come to a solution. Most everyone thinks that I should respond to comments on the actual blog entry. I think what I'll do is moderate comments a couple times a day, and at the same time offer replies. In the past, the problem has come when I've published comments, and then gone on to do something else after reading them. What I will really try hard to do now is write my comments as soon as I publish yours. So please do come back if you have asked a question or perhaps want to continue a conversation. I really do love this idea!

In addition, I may once in a while do a comments q & a post. It is a good way to answer questions that I didn't get to on the actual blog entry, or that I feel may be of interest to others. There are a few past questions that I haven't answered, and this seems like a good way to do so.

Again, thank you very much for your thoughtful, helpful comments.

Muffin Monday/Cranberry Orange Muffins

I just bought a new muffin pan, and thought I'd try this recipe I found online a few years ago.

Cranberry Orange Muffins

3/4 cup milk
1/2 cup melted butter
1 egg
1 tablespoon grated orange peel

2 cups flour
1/3 cup sugar
1 Tablespoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup chopped cranberries

Heat oven to 400 degrees F.
Grease bottoms only of 12 muffin cups or line with paper baking cups.
Beat milk, butter, eggs, and orange peel.
Stir in flour, sugar, baking powder and salt, all at once, just until flour is moistened (batter will be lumpy).
Fold in cranberries.
Divide batter between muffin cups.
Sprinkle with sugar if desired.
Bake until golden brown, 18 to 20 minutes.
Immediately remove from pan.

Sorry no pics. My daughter is using the camera. Oh my, these are good! Cranberry and orange go together just perfectly - the sour and the sweet balancing one another. They took a very short time to make, and now I'm eating them warm with some nice cold milk.

Do you have a preference?

I'm wondering about comments. I want to ask those of you who read my letters, and leave frequent or occasional comments, a couple questions. I am very, very interested in your answers.

As far as I can figure, there are three ways to deal with comments. If you ask a question, or make a comment which I'd like to respond to:

One. Do you like to go back to the particular blog entry comment section to read an answer or response?

Two. Would you prefer I come over to your blog, and answer or respond? (Of course this won't work with those who don't keep a blog)

Three. Would you like to see a weekly question and answer (q & a) entry on my blog which answers or responds to the previous week's comments?

Thanks a million for your input.

Book Report/Ten Little Indians

Ten Little Indians
by Agatha Christie
unabridged audio read by Norman Barrs
mystery, 1939
finished, 12/7/08

In a Grey's Anatomy episode, Cristina says that Meredith is "dark and twisty inside." Well, those are the perfect words to describe each and every one of the characters in Ten Little Indians by Agatha Christie. This book is a psychological study of the evil that lies within some human beings. To quote John Lennon, these characters are "crippled inside," and as wicked as any Robert B. Parker or Dennis Lehane has created.

A mysterious fellow named Mr. Owen invites eight people (the two servants make ten) to an island off the Devon coast which he owns, Indian Island. They do not know him, or each other, but they accept his invitation for their own personal reasons. At dinner the first night, Rogers the butler, puts on a record that his boss has ordered him to play for the guests. They are startled to hear the words, "you are charged with the following indictments," followed by a list of deaths the guests, including the butler and his wife, are said to have caused. Very soon afterward, a man who ran over two people as he sped along in his car, and received just a fine, dies after swallowing his drink. That same evening, Rogers' wife also dies. And so it begins. People who have gotten away with murder are slowly killed off in spectacularly original ways, following an old children's rhyme.

Ten little Indian boys went out to dine,
One choked his little self, and then there were nine.
Nine little Indian boys stayed up very late,
One overslept himself, and then there were eight.

It continues until the ending line,

And then there were none.

This is actually an alternate title of the book. There isn't a racial slur on Indians per se in the book, other than the name of the island and the rhyme. The title has changed over the years (one was really bad!), and I think And Then There Were None is more accurate and more frightening. A warning: there are a few serious racial epithets used in the book. It was written in 1939, when they were used much more openly and about all sorts of people and nationalities. I'm not one who believes it is our responsibility in the present day to change words in old books. As much as I wince, and even feel outraged, that's the way they were written.

To go on, this book is so chilling. There isn't a pleasant person or situation to delight in. There is no comic relief. There is just one grisly death after another. Because the people are unknown to one another, no one can vouch for anyone else's good character. After all, they have all heard the recording. They know the dark details of each other's lives. This is the ultimate locked-room mystery, with an island substituted for a room. There is no escape. The island is wide open without hiding places. The house is modern, without the nooks and crannies of an old house. There is no one else on the island, so one of them must be the killer. Uneasy alliances are formed and broken quickly. There are some interior monologues, which reveal what some of the people are thinking about their pasts and the present situation, but they certainly don't give us any great clues into what is going on. I was completely baffled. I would think to myself, ah, that one is the killer, when all of a sudden that person was found dead. Not only is the rhyme followed to the word, but also there are ten little china Indians on the table, and each time a person is killed, one of them disappears.

This is an excellent mystery thriller, and the conclusion was most satisfying, though, indeed, "dark and twisty."

Cheesejacks

This comes from a cookbook Tom and I got years and years ago at a London healthfood store called Cranks. The original recipe calls for melted butter, but I substitute olive oil, and it apparently tastes fine. When our son came up today for Tom's birthday, this was the one thing he wanted me to make. Sadly, I couldn't get any photos because he ate them all up.

Cheesejacks

1 1/4 cups rolled oats
1-1 1/2 cups cheddar cheese
1 egg
1/4 cup olive oil

Beat egg, and then beat in olive oil. Stir in oats and cheese. Put in greased 8x8 pan and bake in preheated 350º F. oven about 40 minutes.

I can't tell you what a huge, huge hit these are with our kids. Tom rarely gets to taste them.

Tattoos

When I wrote about my mother, I mentioned that she was an advocate for long-haired hippies. It was one of her finest traits, that she never judged people by how they looked or what they wore or what they did for work. In the late 1960s, there was a lot of criticism from older people toward young men with long hair. When someone would say something to her about the subject, she always defended it, and always said, look at Tom; he has long hair and he's a wonderful person.

I've tried very hard to live up to this legacy of acceptance. Much of it comes naturally to me, but it still took some getting used to when my eighteen year old daughter got her first tattoo. I think as parents it isn't easy to see our baby's beautiful skin with a permanent dye. In this generation of young people, it isn't hair styles but piercings and tattoos. And even some of us who had long hair forty years ago, have a hard time with tattoos because they are permanent. Hair can be cut or changed, but tattoos can't be removed so easily. In the past, tattoos were pretty much a military thing - if you saw a guy with one, you could be pretty sure he had been in the service. Or a biker, of course.

It is difficult for some people to understand the desire to endure pain for a permanent design on one's body. All of the young people I know don't seem to mind it so much. They feel it is worth it for the result, a work of meaningful art. I sort of see them as bumper stickers for the skin. They express something about the person. If I could bear needles, I'd have a small international vegetarian symbol. The joke in my family is that if I'm under general anesthesia, they should haul the tattoo artist into the operating room. :<) Each one of my children's tattoos has special significance for him or her. My daughter's first one was her Korean name.


You should have seen all the legwork I did on the computer to be sure it was just right! Her second one has a connection to her work as a massage therapist. Her other two are more just for the beautiful designs. She made the decision to not have any on her arms or legs so that they would not show in a working environment.

My son's first tattoo was in honor of a deeply loved family friend who died at twenty-eight years old. His second one was a Korean flag. Then he got two stars, one on each arm, which have a special meaning for him. He wasn't as concerned about having them on his arms. He just wears a long-sleeved shirt if he doesn't want them showing. As is quite common with second children, we tend to not get as upset about things. We did pretty well with all of his, as we did with hers once we got used to the idea. But then, he made the decision to tattoo his entire arm. That was a bit hard, even for me. :<) He has had his childhood tattooed on his arm. Honestly, it is just amazing. I almost cried when I saw the red wagon. And the tire swing on the maple tree out front. It isn't all filled in yet, but he has an outline of the state and even a couple dog bones to remember our dog, Lucy who loved being under that particular tree. Whew! How can a mother not love it? How can I not feel proud and warmed that my little boy, who is not little at all anymore, remembers his childhood so lovingly? That he feels it was so wonderful he wanted a permanent remembrance of it on the outside of his body, as well as in his mind and heart?




So, there you have it. My mom's legacy coming through. She'd be proud of me, I know. And she'd be proud of both these grandchildren she never knew.

Waiting for ornaments

Waiting for ornaments!