Yesterday I saw a bluebird on the porch. It was perched on a flower pot. I had to look again as I didn't think that bluebirds wintered over. When the bird flew away, I put some sunflower kernels on the snow in the flower pot. The kernels were still there this morning, so the bird must not have returned. Evidently the squirrel hasn't either.
Today an armful of seed catalogues arrived. So the day will be spent perusing the seed catalogues while visions of heirloom tomatoes dance in my head. I don't really need more seeds as I have plenty of them left over from the past Spring and tomato seeds last forever. I think that I will concentrate on herbs and spices. I still have basil and sage and a dwarf lemon tree growing in the bedroom window. Still, some cucumbers and maybe some peas and maybe some...... Once again this Spring I will need a weed whacker to pass through the porch. Seed catalogues the first sign of Spring, or maybe the first Bluebird is.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
I hope
The New Year approaches. 2011 will be a time of renewal and growth. I will weed out the bad things in my character and nurture the good. The curmudgeon will fade and the bon vivant will emerge from his long, long sleep. The icy fingers of Winter and cynicism had delved too deep this time. I feel the need to rejoin the dance of humanity and the festival of life. For too long I have been walking in a wiener wonderland and I feel the urge to dance around a Maypole.
I have dreams and they will probably remain dreams but I will continue to dream. I dream of Tuscany and Provence and Akrotiri. I dream of Arlington and Nashville and Saint Leo's. I dream of watching my genes laugh and giggle and smile and quietly watch the world in their unique pensive way. I dream of finally achieving gravitas instead of flitting through life as a boy does on a Summer day.
These are dreams, what I will achieve I don't know. I might settle for a beat up old hat and a bed among the leaves of grass. I think of a quote from that wordsmith of the plains "There once was a man that lived alone, with his wife.". Still there is another dream, that I might meet up with some gap-toothed old harridan that smokes unfiltered Camels and drinks straight bourbon from the bottle and bounce our way through life. There is not much gravitas to that dream but it is a lot more possible than the other dreams. The soup kitchen dream depends too much on the pipe dream and will probably never happen. So 2011 will be a time of renewal and resolutions but there are always the words of the poet. "Life is what happens while we are making other plans.". 2011 will be a time of dancing and laughing. It will have to be. The prediction of the Mayas waits in the wings.
I have dreams and they will probably remain dreams but I will continue to dream. I dream of Tuscany and Provence and Akrotiri. I dream of Arlington and Nashville and Saint Leo's. I dream of watching my genes laugh and giggle and smile and quietly watch the world in their unique pensive way. I dream of finally achieving gravitas instead of flitting through life as a boy does on a Summer day.
These are dreams, what I will achieve I don't know. I might settle for a beat up old hat and a bed among the leaves of grass. I think of a quote from that wordsmith of the plains "There once was a man that lived alone, with his wife.". Still there is another dream, that I might meet up with some gap-toothed old harridan that smokes unfiltered Camels and drinks straight bourbon from the bottle and bounce our way through life. There is not much gravitas to that dream but it is a lot more possible than the other dreams. The soup kitchen dream depends too much on the pipe dream and will probably never happen. So 2011 will be a time of renewal and resolutions but there are always the words of the poet. "Life is what happens while we are making other plans.". 2011 will be a time of dancing and laughing. It will have to be. The prediction of the Mayas waits in the wings.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Ask
There is an old saying "Be careful what you ask for, you just might get it". I have been asking for Winter. Boy, did I get it. The streets are not plowed, the driveway is as slick as a lawyer's conscience, and I am housebound. I like being housebound as I was able to make another attempt at onion soup. The soup turned out not bad. Not bad but not great, I am still soup challenged. I roasted a pork blade roast. I used maple syrup and Dijon mustard and port as a glaze. It came out pretty good. Today I think that I may try some cookies or bread. I will wait for the inevitable melting to venture out.
Asking will, from now on, be confined to the only prayer I have ever endorsed. "Please God, don't let me outlive any of my children.".
My children, the pride of my life and the loves of my life. Each of them has turned out to be a wonderful, caring, intelligent, and compassionate human being. I take no credit for those things. There is so much of their Mother in them. Maternal DNA is a powerful and awesome force.
Asking will, from now on, be confined to the only prayer I have ever endorsed. "Please God, don't let me outlive any of my children.".
My children, the pride of my life and the loves of my life. Each of them has turned out to be a wonderful, caring, intelligent, and compassionate human being. I take no credit for those things. There is so much of their Mother in them. Maternal DNA is a powerful and awesome force.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Duh!
The contents of the previous post have been bothering me. I was tempted to erase it but I think that I will leave it as a monument to my incredible ability to misunderstand things.
Once more I attempted to understand the term Logos. I still don't understand that term but it helped to invalidate all that I had written before. Ratzinger's explanation helped quite a bit. Creative Spirit, I seem to be able to deal with but all of the rest remains hidden from me. The Breath of God is going to require a lot more delving.
Can any human being ever understand any of the convoluted reasoning of another human being? Certainly not me, a person who cannot discover why dropped toast always lands butter side down. This leads to the concept that reason did not come first.
I will never understand these things, as if it makes any difference to the Universe that a weak minded human being can't understand things. Things just are and I'm going to have to learn to live with them. The Universe may go on forever and a human being just ends up as toast.
Once more I attempted to understand the term Logos. I still don't understand that term but it helped to invalidate all that I had written before. Ratzinger's explanation helped quite a bit. Creative Spirit, I seem to be able to deal with but all of the rest remains hidden from me. The Breath of God is going to require a lot more delving.
Can any human being ever understand any of the convoluted reasoning of another human being? Certainly not me, a person who cannot discover why dropped toast always lands butter side down. This leads to the concept that reason did not come first.
I will never understand these things, as if it makes any difference to the Universe that a weak minded human being can't understand things. Things just are and I'm going to have to learn to live with them. The Universe may go on forever and a human being just ends up as toast.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Happy Birthday Little One
On this day of joy, so many conflicting thoughts ramble through my mind. On this day of joy, so many questions once again peek out from behind my little grey cells.
As a Catholic, the life and fate of Mary is more on my mind than it might seem to be for other denominations. This time of year has always been a time for a little blasphemy for me.
" God so loved the world that He gave his only begotten Son". Did God let the Boy's Mother know about the plans that He had?
Mary gave the strength of her body to form the Boy. Joseph worked to provide sustenance for the two of them. Joseph left his home and his trade to protect them from a wrathful king. By today's definition, whose child was the boy?
Thirty some odd years later the boy would make the journey to Jerusalem and on to Calvary.
The agony of that fate is often on my mind. I don't just think of the reward that the world received from it, I think of the incredible agony that it finally entailed. Did God keep that always hidden from Joseph and Mary? They raised up a child, comforted Him and nursed Him, did they know that the Cross was coming?
"God so loved the world that". Was all of that torture necessary? God the all-powerful need only have thought of eternal life and it would have been. Was that pain on the Cross and the pain at the base of it the only way to reward the human race?
What do we know of what happened afterwards? We know things because of a group of self-promoting lackeys that wrote extensively about the miracles they witnessed and miracles they were part of.
What happened to Mary? What happened to Joseph? The Man that was the Boy, entrusted the care of his Mother to one of those underlings. Was that trust kept? Shoudn't there be some mention of the fate of the Mother of God somewhere in the endless prattling about rules and procedures? Did she end up in Ephesus?
These thoughts were originally brought on by a song by The Boney M. "Mary's boy-child Jesus Christ , was born on Christmas Day" were the lyrics that predicated these thoughts. "Mary's boy-child". She was destined to stand at the foot of that Cross and writhe in the pain of seeing those things happen to her Son.
I could not have endured the pain that He did. I could not have faced the fate that He faced. I could not have kept faith with a God that decreed such a fate to my son. How did she go on? She brought Him into the world with pain. She watched Him go out with pain. She was not at the committee meeting when His return was announced. Afterall, who would invite a mere woman to an important meeting of the Men? You mindless dolts, She was the Mother of God! Did they send her a memo when they found out?
So when the joy of Christmas is upon me I often think of that poor woman, destined to stand on that terrible hill. What was her fate? The committee might have at least included a small footnote in their extensive elaborations.
When the joy of Christmas is upon me, my mind always turns to that terrible Friday. I will wait for the following Sunday to express my joy.
As a Catholic, the life and fate of Mary is more on my mind than it might seem to be for other denominations. This time of year has always been a time for a little blasphemy for me.
" God so loved the world that He gave his only begotten Son". Did God let the Boy's Mother know about the plans that He had?
Mary gave the strength of her body to form the Boy. Joseph worked to provide sustenance for the two of them. Joseph left his home and his trade to protect them from a wrathful king. By today's definition, whose child was the boy?
Thirty some odd years later the boy would make the journey to Jerusalem and on to Calvary.
The agony of that fate is often on my mind. I don't just think of the reward that the world received from it, I think of the incredible agony that it finally entailed. Did God keep that always hidden from Joseph and Mary? They raised up a child, comforted Him and nursed Him, did they know that the Cross was coming?
"God so loved the world that". Was all of that torture necessary? God the all-powerful need only have thought of eternal life and it would have been. Was that pain on the Cross and the pain at the base of it the only way to reward the human race?
What do we know of what happened afterwards? We know things because of a group of self-promoting lackeys that wrote extensively about the miracles they witnessed and miracles they were part of.
What happened to Mary? What happened to Joseph? The Man that was the Boy, entrusted the care of his Mother to one of those underlings. Was that trust kept? Shoudn't there be some mention of the fate of the Mother of God somewhere in the endless prattling about rules and procedures? Did she end up in Ephesus?
These thoughts were originally brought on by a song by The Boney M. "Mary's boy-child Jesus Christ , was born on Christmas Day" were the lyrics that predicated these thoughts. "Mary's boy-child". She was destined to stand at the foot of that Cross and writhe in the pain of seeing those things happen to her Son.
I could not have endured the pain that He did. I could not have faced the fate that He faced. I could not have kept faith with a God that decreed such a fate to my son. How did she go on? She brought Him into the world with pain. She watched Him go out with pain. She was not at the committee meeting when His return was announced. Afterall, who would invite a mere woman to an important meeting of the Men? You mindless dolts, She was the Mother of God! Did they send her a memo when they found out?
So when the joy of Christmas is upon me I often think of that poor woman, destined to stand on that terrible hill. What was her fate? The committee might have at least included a small footnote in their extensive elaborations.
When the joy of Christmas is upon me, my mind always turns to that terrible Friday. I will wait for the following Sunday to express my joy.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
A Day of Firsts
Today is the first day of Winter. The first snow fall is gently dusting the trees and lawns. It seems appropriate for New England that our most noteworthy form of weather is gentle and beautiful. For that is what New England is, gentle, slow, and beautiful. We have very few catastrophies of weather. We have no tornadoes or hurricanes or droughts or floods or firestorms.
Occasionally we have a blizzard. The power goes out. The television, the radio, the computer, the lights, and the heat are disabled. It is a time of peace and relaxing. Watching the snow pummel the landscape and watching it slide sideways across the air calls for reading and napping and pondering what is really important in life. Heating water for cocoa over a candle is a simple basic pleasure and leads to appreciation of the times when there is power. It always makes me think of how I should get a gas stove. Then the old adage of "Go Modern, Go Gas, Go Boom!" banishes that thought. When the daylight fades, it is time to hunker down under several blankets and listen to the snow tinkles on the window.
Each of our seasons has its own identity. Spring is the time of planning and seed catalogues and visions of tomatoes and squash and fresh peas dance through our heads. Summer is the time of nurturing and hunting for the dreaded denizen of New England, the tomato horn worm. It is a time of fried clams and hot dogs and chowders. It is the time of fresh corn and lobster and steaks on the grill and ice cold beer and not so icy white wine. The crispness of Fall is a welcome harbinger of what is to come. It is the time of crisp newly picked apples and hot spiced apple cider and cinnamon doughnuts and the New England uniform of wool sweaters and hats. Then comes the blessed relief of Winter. The time of cocoa and roasts and naps and watching the birds at the feeder is upon us. It is the time of ease and reflection upon the blessings of living here in this place where so little happens.
New England is rarely exciting but always enticing. It is kind of like a good bread pudding
Occasionally we have a blizzard. The power goes out. The television, the radio, the computer, the lights, and the heat are disabled. It is a time of peace and relaxing. Watching the snow pummel the landscape and watching it slide sideways across the air calls for reading and napping and pondering what is really important in life. Heating water for cocoa over a candle is a simple basic pleasure and leads to appreciation of the times when there is power. It always makes me think of how I should get a gas stove. Then the old adage of "Go Modern, Go Gas, Go Boom!" banishes that thought. When the daylight fades, it is time to hunker down under several blankets and listen to the snow tinkles on the window.
Each of our seasons has its own identity. Spring is the time of planning and seed catalogues and visions of tomatoes and squash and fresh peas dance through our heads. Summer is the time of nurturing and hunting for the dreaded denizen of New England, the tomato horn worm. It is a time of fried clams and hot dogs and chowders. It is the time of fresh corn and lobster and steaks on the grill and ice cold beer and not so icy white wine. The crispness of Fall is a welcome harbinger of what is to come. It is the time of crisp newly picked apples and hot spiced apple cider and cinnamon doughnuts and the New England uniform of wool sweaters and hats. Then comes the blessed relief of Winter. The time of cocoa and roasts and naps and watching the birds at the feeder is upon us. It is the time of ease and reflection upon the blessings of living here in this place where so little happens.
New England is rarely exciting but always enticing. It is kind of like a good bread pudding
Monday, December 20, 2010
Chili Disaster
Once again, chili that tastes like crap. I like to tell myself that I am a decent cook. I can make tomatoes over elbow macaroni (probably my very favorite dish) or tiramisu or Sachertorte. I can make Sunday Sauce or lasagna or cannolini.
As simple as chili or pot roast are, I can't seem to make either. I can't make a decent soup. I can make Yankee Chili.
Yankee Chili consists of tomatoes and onion and garlic and sauted beef and green peppers and lots of B+M baked beans. They are my last resort from now on. I refuse to fall back on Hormel, although I have fond memories of it when I was younger and living on my own. I bet that Joey and Chandler would understand.
Chicken, Rice, and Mushroom gravy will always be on the menu. Cream of mushroom soup is a staple of almost every American. The price of Cream of Mushroom soup never varies. It never goes up and it never goes down. Long ago America abandoned the gold standard. Now the dollar fluctuates all over the charts. Perhaps it is time to go on a new standard, the Cream of Mushroom soup standard. You can't eat gold and you can't eat silver or copper. Wouldn't it be nice to have a nest egg that you could eat when times get hard?
As simple as chili or pot roast are, I can't seem to make either. I can't make a decent soup. I can make Yankee Chili.
Yankee Chili consists of tomatoes and onion and garlic and sauted beef and green peppers and lots of B+M baked beans. They are my last resort from now on. I refuse to fall back on Hormel, although I have fond memories of it when I was younger and living on my own. I bet that Joey and Chandler would understand.
Chicken, Rice, and Mushroom gravy will always be on the menu. Cream of mushroom soup is a staple of almost every American. The price of Cream of Mushroom soup never varies. It never goes up and it never goes down. Long ago America abandoned the gold standard. Now the dollar fluctuates all over the charts. Perhaps it is time to go on a new standard, the Cream of Mushroom soup standard. You can't eat gold and you can't eat silver or copper. Wouldn't it be nice to have a nest egg that you could eat when times get hard?
Friday, December 17, 2010
Chili Day
Yesterday was a chili day. My Brother took me to the grocery store and I got some blade steak to make chili. While I was there I noticed that the store now carries ox tail. Visions of ox tail soup burst ino my mind but I passed on it. Ox tail is full of gristle and fat and bone. The store wants over four dollars a pound for it. The intensity of the flavor of the meat is astounding but four dollars a pound for something that requires so much work is a bit of a stretch for me.
So upon returning home, with a stop at the local comestible store, I started making the chili. The new recipe requires one bottle of lager beer. Unfortunately for the recipe, they don't make one packs. I didn't use store chili powder for the recipe. I got four kinds of chili peppers and whirred them up with some oregano and salt and pepper and cumin and chicken broth and a little flour, and a lot of onions and garlic. The flavor is so much different from store chili powder. There is heat but there is also a barely perceptible piquancy also. Three hours in the oven and the chili is now developing in the refrigerator. I brined the beans and they finally came out soft. I have long produced chili with rock hard beans so it appears that brining is the answer.
I will test the chili later today and probably add more cumin. To me, cumin is the flavor of chili. I always end up adding more. I will bake some corn bread and spend a chilly day having a chili day.
So upon returning home, with a stop at the local comestible store, I started making the chili. The new recipe requires one bottle of lager beer. Unfortunately for the recipe, they don't make one packs. I didn't use store chili powder for the recipe. I got four kinds of chili peppers and whirred them up with some oregano and salt and pepper and cumin and chicken broth and a little flour, and a lot of onions and garlic. The flavor is so much different from store chili powder. There is heat but there is also a barely perceptible piquancy also. Three hours in the oven and the chili is now developing in the refrigerator. I brined the beans and they finally came out soft. I have long produced chili with rock hard beans so it appears that brining is the answer.
I will test the chili later today and probably add more cumin. To me, cumin is the flavor of chili. I always end up adding more. I will bake some corn bread and spend a chilly day having a chili day.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
My Friend
Yesterday was pretty uneventful. I went for a short walk. It was short because it is getting cold around here. The cold is no bother but the wind can make a difference.
So I tucked in and roasted a chicken. Is there anything easier than roasting a chicken? Clean it up, stuff it into the oven, and two hours later it is done. The gravy was good even though I did not have any white wine to add to it. I am growing sage and thyme and basil in the bedroom window, along with the lemon tree (which has dozens of tiny lemons on it) so I stuffed the chicken with fresh herbs and an onion and a cut up orange. Chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans made a wonderful dinner. By the way, Wondra makes making gravy much easier.
I decided to share my bounty with my friend the squirrel. I put a dish of grains and nuts and fruit on the deck, under the overhang so that he doesn't have to worry about the hawk that frequently circles overhead.
For years I fought the battle against squirrels and the bird feeder. Then I began to appreciate the ingenuity of the little rascals. No matter what I did to keep them out of the bird feeder, within a day they found a new way to get into it. My little friend will come to the deck for scraps and water, sit in the railing, and stare into the window at me. The birds simply flit in and out without so much as a "Thank You very much". The squirrel sits on the deck as still as a stone if the hawk is overhead. The deck is grey, the squirrel is grey, so as long as it doesn't move I think that it is invisible to the hawk. The squirrel lives in the attic of the house next door. I often see it scampering across their roof, their grey roof. I don't know if squirrels hibernate but I will continue with the food and water as long as it keeps disappearing. It seems better to feed the squirrel than to put food in the bird feeder to feed the cat.
The squirrel seems to have better control of its bowels than the birds do. It has yet to leave me a little calling card on the porch.
Feeding the squirrel is a small gesture but it feels so good to do it. I wish that I had the resources to feed my fellow human beings. The small contributions that I make to the local food bank and the Salvation Army somehow don't seem to be enough to me. I wish that I could invite the whole human race over for dinner. I would hope that they like little fishy things.
So I tucked in and roasted a chicken. Is there anything easier than roasting a chicken? Clean it up, stuff it into the oven, and two hours later it is done. The gravy was good even though I did not have any white wine to add to it. I am growing sage and thyme and basil in the bedroom window, along with the lemon tree (which has dozens of tiny lemons on it) so I stuffed the chicken with fresh herbs and an onion and a cut up orange. Chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans made a wonderful dinner. By the way, Wondra makes making gravy much easier.
I decided to share my bounty with my friend the squirrel. I put a dish of grains and nuts and fruit on the deck, under the overhang so that he doesn't have to worry about the hawk that frequently circles overhead.
For years I fought the battle against squirrels and the bird feeder. Then I began to appreciate the ingenuity of the little rascals. No matter what I did to keep them out of the bird feeder, within a day they found a new way to get into it. My little friend will come to the deck for scraps and water, sit in the railing, and stare into the window at me. The birds simply flit in and out without so much as a "Thank You very much". The squirrel sits on the deck as still as a stone if the hawk is overhead. The deck is grey, the squirrel is grey, so as long as it doesn't move I think that it is invisible to the hawk. The squirrel lives in the attic of the house next door. I often see it scampering across their roof, their grey roof. I don't know if squirrels hibernate but I will continue with the food and water as long as it keeps disappearing. It seems better to feed the squirrel than to put food in the bird feeder to feed the cat.
The squirrel seems to have better control of its bowels than the birds do. It has yet to leave me a little calling card on the porch.
Feeding the squirrel is a small gesture but it feels so good to do it. I wish that I had the resources to feed my fellow human beings. The small contributions that I make to the local food bank and the Salvation Army somehow don't seem to be enough to me. I wish that I could invite the whole human race over for dinner. I would hope that they like little fishy things.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Thinking
Winter is finally here. There are small snowflakes falling outside and there is ice on the deck. Christmas is approaching. Once more my thoughts turn to an isolated incident of World War One.
On Christmas day, both the British and Germans in one isolated section of the trenches, stopped firing at each other. They got out of the trenches and had a football game in No Man's Land. They exchanged chocolate and tea and displayed pictures of their families. At the end of the day, the horrible carnage resumed.
The next year, the British generals were so afraid that the incident would repeat itself, regulations were put into effect that would insure that the incident would not recur.
That horrible war was brought on by the death of a prince. It was the result of a myriad of secret diplomatic treaties. It was stopped for one day, to celebrate the birth of the Prince of Peace.
Wouldn't it be wonderful if all the war we are involved in at the present could be stopped on the birthday of the Prince. He did later reference the fate of the Peacemakers. He met his fate at the hands of secular and religious leaders. They were afraid that He would give voice to the people and give them peace.
The leaders of his country were unable to deal with Him, so they made a deal with leaders from another country to prosecute Him. (How do you spell Wikileaks?).
The people of the world want peace. Someday their leaders are going to have to step aside and let them have it. Wouldn't it be a wonderful gift to the American people to receive for Christmas, the return of their sons and daughters from violent places of the world in which we have no damned business being in the first place.
Bad things have happened. Do we need to be enslaved by the policies of the past, or might we turn the other cheek and look forward to a future of Peace on Earth? It would certainly be a better birthday present than frankincense or myrrh.
On Christmas day, both the British and Germans in one isolated section of the trenches, stopped firing at each other. They got out of the trenches and had a football game in No Man's Land. They exchanged chocolate and tea and displayed pictures of their families. At the end of the day, the horrible carnage resumed.
The next year, the British generals were so afraid that the incident would repeat itself, regulations were put into effect that would insure that the incident would not recur.
That horrible war was brought on by the death of a prince. It was the result of a myriad of secret diplomatic treaties. It was stopped for one day, to celebrate the birth of the Prince of Peace.
Wouldn't it be wonderful if all the war we are involved in at the present could be stopped on the birthday of the Prince. He did later reference the fate of the Peacemakers. He met his fate at the hands of secular and religious leaders. They were afraid that He would give voice to the people and give them peace.
The leaders of his country were unable to deal with Him, so they made a deal with leaders from another country to prosecute Him. (How do you spell Wikileaks?).
The people of the world want peace. Someday their leaders are going to have to step aside and let them have it. Wouldn't it be a wonderful gift to the American people to receive for Christmas, the return of their sons and daughters from violent places of the world in which we have no damned business being in the first place.
Bad things have happened. Do we need to be enslaved by the policies of the past, or might we turn the other cheek and look forward to a future of Peace on Earth? It would certainly be a better birthday present than frankincense or myrrh.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
A Loss for Words.
Yesterday was a dismal failure for me. My daughter from Florida called. I had not heard from her in quite some time. I was napping on the couch when she called. I was thrilled to hear her voice but I was a little buzzy from the nap and couldn't think of anything relevant to say. I am not usually at a loss for words.
Her voice was full of its usual vibrancy and joy. The conversation soon degraded into "The weather here is cool.", "The weather here is also.".
How my life has fallen into a state of routine, dull, repetition. How could I not think of things to say to this child who has always fascinated me with her incise comments and joy of living? Lives are not just separated by distance. They are separated by age and circumstance and attitude. I miss the sparkling repetoire we used to share. It is a loss of more than words. Care for her and love for her and respect for her will always be in my heart but they seem to have withered on my tongue. Dear Sweet Hanna-Boo, you are always on my mind, what is left of it.
Her voice was full of its usual vibrancy and joy. The conversation soon degraded into "The weather here is cool.", "The weather here is also.".
How my life has fallen into a state of routine, dull, repetition. How could I not think of things to say to this child who has always fascinated me with her incise comments and joy of living? Lives are not just separated by distance. They are separated by age and circumstance and attitude. I miss the sparkling repetoire we used to share. It is a loss of more than words. Care for her and love for her and respect for her will always be in my heart but they seem to have withered on my tongue. Dear Sweet Hanna-Boo, you are always on my mind, what is left of it.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Just a few things
Yesterday my Brother and my Sister-In-Law took me to the grocery store. I wasn't feeling very well but I thought that I might pick up a few things and the trip might cheer me up. Well, the few things turned into a bulging cart full. I have enough food to last the year out. It is so comforting to know that you have enough food to last out a storm. I have a side by side refrigerator and both sides are packed so full that it would be hard to slide a toothpick into them. The cabinets are overflowing.
Cold meatballs and beets sound tasty but the meatballs that I have are Italian and combining them with beets might be a little iffy. I have not made Swedish meatballs in quite a while so thank you for the suggestion and I look forward to doing so.
How do you know if a meatball is Swedish? Drop it on the floor and if it bounces and goes "Dinka, Donka, Dinka, Donka" it is Swedish. If it floats to the floor like Forest Gump's feather, it is a well made Italian meatball.
I purchased a Shank end ham and am looking forward to cooking it. I have done this before and a ham glazed with maple syrup and mustard and pineapple is stupendous. Of course, the problem will be the sheer size of the ham. There will be ham on the menu for many days. All this just to get the ham bone so I can make Swedish Yellow Pea Soup. Yellow Pea Soup with corn bread MMMMMMMMMMM!
Cold meatballs and beets sound tasty but the meatballs that I have are Italian and combining them with beets might be a little iffy. I have not made Swedish meatballs in quite a while so thank you for the suggestion and I look forward to doing so.
How do you know if a meatball is Swedish? Drop it on the floor and if it bounces and goes "Dinka, Donka, Dinka, Donka" it is Swedish. If it floats to the floor like Forest Gump's feather, it is a well made Italian meatball.
I purchased a Shank end ham and am looking forward to cooking it. I have done this before and a ham glazed with maple syrup and mustard and pineapple is stupendous. Of course, the problem will be the sheer size of the ham. There will be ham on the menu for many days. All this just to get the ham bone so I can make Swedish Yellow Pea Soup. Yellow Pea Soup with corn bread MMMMMMMMMMM!
Thursday, December 2, 2010
The Weather Outside Is _ _ _
It is December and the weather is still bright, sunny, and way way above freezing. It is disconcerting. By now the ground should be rock hard and we should have had at least one snow storm. It is a situation that lies uneasy on the mind.
The other uneasiness I am experiencing is a plethora of meatballs. For three days I have been dining on meat and sauce and pasta. My stomach is uneasy and communicating this fact with gurgles and rumblings. I am even considering eating a vegetable or some fruit. Maybe a vegetable and fruit casserole with some nicely browned cheese and bread crumbs on the top is in the future. There is a term for that, French I am sure, but I cannot remember it right now.
Wait a minute, it just came to me. Gratinee.
The other uneasiness I am experiencing is a plethora of meatballs. For three days I have been dining on meat and sauce and pasta. My stomach is uneasy and communicating this fact with gurgles and rumblings. I am even considering eating a vegetable or some fruit. Maybe a vegetable and fruit casserole with some nicely browned cheese and bread crumbs on the top is in the future. There is a term for that, French I am sure, but I cannot remember it right now.
Wait a minute, it just came to me. Gratinee.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Meatain
There is now a mountain of meatballs in the sauce. There is enough sauce and sausages and braciole and pork tenderloin and meatballs and mushrooms and pepperoncini to feed the Third Marine Division or one hungry Italian family. It all amounts to about eight quarts and is reposing in the refrigerator. Luckily I have more pasta than the Ronzoni family does. It is not hard to predict what the menu is going to be for a long, long time. Someday I am going to learn to cook for just one, (sure I am). I will freeze some but I don't know how all of those meats will react to freezing.
The Illiad has a most interesting concept. The concept that prayer follows sin and avarice and pride around the world, a grey, sad lackey to misdeeds. It reminds me of the Flip Wilson routine wherein the Devil tells the minister "Without me, you wouldn't have a job.". People pray for forgiveness. "I am sorry, I didn't know, please forgive me.". What they are really after is mercy. "I knew it was wrong, I deserve to be punished but please have mercy.". Prayer for the wellbeing of others may be the only valid prayer. There is an obverse to almost every situation.
Christmas comes to mind. It is Jesus' birthday, so we all get presents. How would we feel if, on our birthday, all of our friends and relatives gave presents to Jesus instead of us? Dickens comes to mind and the child nestled in the robes of the future.
That a child anywhere in the world should be hungry while I enjoy the cornucopia of America, makes me think that I need mercy more than forgiveness. That a child in America should be hungry is a sin that, someday, someone will have to answer for. Wall Street got mercy, Main Street needs some compassion.
The Illiad has a most interesting concept. The concept that prayer follows sin and avarice and pride around the world, a grey, sad lackey to misdeeds. It reminds me of the Flip Wilson routine wherein the Devil tells the minister "Without me, you wouldn't have a job.". People pray for forgiveness. "I am sorry, I didn't know, please forgive me.". What they are really after is mercy. "I knew it was wrong, I deserve to be punished but please have mercy.". Prayer for the wellbeing of others may be the only valid prayer. There is an obverse to almost every situation.
Christmas comes to mind. It is Jesus' birthday, so we all get presents. How would we feel if, on our birthday, all of our friends and relatives gave presents to Jesus instead of us? Dickens comes to mind and the child nestled in the robes of the future.
That a child anywhere in the world should be hungry while I enjoy the cornucopia of America, makes me think that I need mercy more than forgiveness. That a child in America should be hungry is a sin that, someday, someone will have to answer for. Wall Street got mercy, Main Street needs some compassion.
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