Independence Day.

Yesterday the PP, who is not traveling with me at this point, said this in an e-mail:

Speaking of tomorrow, we have a holiday over here called Independence Day. I assume you do not celebrate it over in the UK. Or if you celebrate you might want to do it quietly. Seriously, is there any notice of the date at all there?

Well, no, today really is no day of note here, and perhaps that is no surprise. I do not think, for instance, that in the US we have a day to celebrate the hasty removal of folks from the roof of a certain embassy, or the sinking of the Maine, and I can tell those of you living above the Mason-Dixon line that there are no official southern holidays celebrating union victory.

But since I do not hate freedom, I have been thinking a bit about Independence Day this morning. I am trying, for instance, to stop wondering: If we had lost that war, would we still be on the Pound, so that everything would not be so damned expensive for those of us earning in dollars?

It is frankly hard to think of the United States as an oppressed nation, given the way we have presented ourselves on the world scene for the last eight years, and really for another fifty or so before that.

But the letter writers to my local paper would remind me that even saying that is a freedom that I am now taking for granted. They are right.

Here in Britain, many people have been thinking hard about systems of government and, for instance, the prisons they employ in order to maintain justice, not just because of this show, which has been hot beyond hot, and which includes a pretty awful and frank plotline about what really happens in the joint. It is a bit of a reminder of what it means to free, on a personal level.

Having spent some time in recent years thinking hard about British colonialism and its effect on colonized places, it is strange to think of "the colonials" in what would become the USA revolting against their horrible oppressors, who were of course of their own culture. When I compare the situation of the folks of English descent in the colonies, I realize their situation was so different from those in Asia and Africa who were governed far more brutally by their English colonizers. But still: I believe that taxation without representation is a horrid thing, as is quartering troops among us, or making military power independent of and superior to civil power. And most of us in the US still believe in the importance of a fair trial by jury.

In fact, on this day more than any other day, it is worth going back and thinking about (or at least rereading) what it was that made those signers throw off allegiance to the Crown, because in doing so, we can remember the ideals that make us know how important it is to resist those who would distort this nation and what it believes in.

And tomorrow I will check out a real independence day.

Happy Fourth, Everyone!

Because nothing says "Happy New Year" . . .

. . . like new panties!

(Go over to eternally cool if you want to know why.)

Meanwhile, though I wish I were in Rome, I'm not, so from here in the Upstate (where I have some gnocchi alla romana to make for tonight's dinner) I am wishing you and yours a happy and healthy 2008.

Me? I'm hoping for a year of healing and getting stronger.

See y'all on the other side!

Family Recipes

On the day that my parents left here to return home, we found a few recipes in the kitchen, forgotten by my mother. I set them aside on my desk, planning to mail them to her once I finished The Subtle Knife and The Amber Spyglass, which I had already promised her, having sent her home with The Golden Compass.

When my parents got home (after 8 hours of driving), I received their usual phone call, letting us know they had gotten home safely. But my mother also said, "You have the only copy of the Almond Butter Sticks recipe."

This filled me with fear for two reasons.

First, these are my favorite Christmas cookies.

Second, the recipe looks like this:



The textual scholar in me immediately recognized what a tremendous responsibility I now had, with both a unique manuscript containing the only existing remnant of occult knowledge AND an item that was fading fast!

So, for the sake of posterity, because I believe in free access to knowledge, and for all of you out in TV land who may not have had these amazing treats before, here is a fair transcription:

ALMOND BUTTER STICKS
1 c. butter, softened
8 oz. cream cheese, softened
2 1/4 c. flour
2 t. baking powder
1/8 t. salt
1 1/2 c. sugar
4 1/2 t. almond extract

In large mixing bowl combine all ingredients except sugar & almond extract. Blend with mixer until dough forms. Knead on floured surface until smooth.

ADDENDUM: The dough should be refrigerated for 45 minutes at least, before attempting the rolling process.

Roll out dough, half at a time, to 14x8 rectangle. Combine sugar & extract. Sprinkle each rectangle with 3-4 T. of sugar mixture.

For each rectangle fold one end of dough over center. Fold other end over to make 3 layers. Turning dough 1/4 of way around, repeat rolling & folding 2 more times, sprinkling with sugar each time. Roll out again to 14x8. Cut into 3 x 1 1/2" strips. Place on ungreased cookie sheet.

Bake at 400 degrees for 8-10 mins. Remove from cookie sheet immediately. Cool.

Merry Christmas.

Christmas, I suppose, is always a blend of sameness and difference. Just when you think something will always be the same, it changes, and the samenesses sneak up on you until you take them for granted.

It is also a time we feel losses differently than we do on other days, perhaps because of their interruptions of sameness. It is a time that lets us mark growths, compare past with present, remember things calendrically.

My mother went outside in her new shawl and could swear she felt, saw, and heard sleet today, even though temps were in the mid-50s and no one believed her. Jacques Monod had a romp through piles of wrapping paper, viciously maiming anyone who came close. We have made the obligatory phone calls, passing along greetings, finding out about gifts, giving thanks. I have a brand new bottle of Talisker. The PP will not take off his knitted cap, even though temps are in the mid-50s and he is sweating and red in the face. My father is just back from his daily constitutional, having taken a brief break from his new sweater. We have around us tins and tins of big chocolates, almond buttersticks, pecan fingers, peppermint rounds, spice cookies, jam thumbprints, and assortments from the neighbors, too. When I block the PP's sweater, it will be long enough (meanwhile we keep tugging on it...). My family is wrapped in knitted things, save for the cats, who are not as patient as turtlegirl's.

And as for me, I put a sweater on over my head--the first time that has happened since November 20.

Now the sun, if we could see it, is making its way toward and over the yardarm, and soon we will be getting out little plates for cheese and olives and bresaola, and then heading on towards dinner of roast and mashed potatoes and Brunello and maybe some Ridge wine. Life is good.

Merry Christmas to all!

Finished!

I am here to pat myself on the back and proclaim that my Christmas knitting is FINISHED. (With two days to spare--not bad considering I started in July.)

That's four scarves, three hats, two sweaters, one hair wrap, and one shawl.

(And a partridge in a pear tree.)

Pictures will follow after The Big Day, but for now know that I am toasting myself with a glass of Chimay.

Long, long night.

It's the longest night of the year tonight, and here it will feel even longer because of the dreary weather. (But this means we have been getting some rain--a very needed thing.)

Several years ago I went to a soltice celebration where we went round and round a fire carrying pinecones, which we through in the fire to make it even brighter--little evergreen grenades.

Tonight my parents arrive from parts somewhat north and quite a bit east.

Tonight we light every nice little candle and treelight and porchlight and penguin string lights and little sconce lights around the table in hopes of luring the sun back and fending off the darkness without with lightness within.

So for today, instead of a Friday Random 10, A Distinctly Unrandom Solstice Ten:

1. "Bring on the Night," The Police, Regatta de Blanc
2. "Dark Was the Night," Ry Cooder, Paris, Texas
3. "Light Bath," David Byrne, The Catherine Wheel
4. "The Winter Solstice," Sufjan Stevens, Songs for Christmas, Vol. 5
5. Nørgård: "Winter Hymn," Estonian Philharmonic Chamber Choir, dir. Paul Hillier, Baltic Voices 2
6. "Winter Wind," Patty Larkin, Angels Running
7. "Barefoot," k. d. lang, Unplugged Collection
8. "Put Your Lights On," Santana f. Everlast, Supernatural
9. "(Ultraviolet) Light My Way," U2, Achtung Baby
10. "Here Comes the Sun," The Beatles, Abbey Road

So here's wishing you and yours a bright Winter Solstice.

Ocular proof.

In an earlier post, I mentioned a couple of old family heirloom ornaments, made by my parents "back in the day." (M. or Mateen, can you confirm an actual date?)

And here, my patient friends, and courtesy of my father, is shot of them both!

Mighty fine, eh?

Not all about shoulders.

"M" (presumably not for "murder") asked, "How many days left for the sling?"

The best case scenario is 26.

Yes, Twenty. Six.

That is because I am supposed to wear it until I see my surgeon again, which happens 4-6 weeks after the post-operative appointment. And because in my carefuly planning around the academic calendar I forgot about the Christian and federal holiday calendars, four weeks would be Christmas, five weeks would be New Year's, and so it is January 9 that I see him.

Sigh.

But that's not what I came to tell you about.

I came to talk about decorating Christmas trees. (Though I will take this moment to note that you would be surprised to what extent you use two hands hanging Christmas ornaments....)

I am not sure how you store your ornaments, if you store ornaments, but last year anyway, we seemed to organize ours by material. In one box are all the really fragile ornaments, made of glass or porcelain or stonewear, and most of them have their own little boxes and stashes of tissue paper or bubble wrap, or else they are wrapped in disintegrating Kleenex and stored in a plastic baggy. Then there are all the little crocheted ornaments, mostly made for me by the mother of some childhood friends, and along with those are a few cotton-stuffed felt ornaments with zigzagging and sequins and cotton balls affixed to represent ornamentation or lights or Santa's beard. The wooden ones are all in their little group, though I wonder sometimes whethere there is a yearlong feud between the flat ones and the ones with little moving arms and legs (I bet on the latter every time). Also, we have a sizable stash of homemade ornaments that are covered with gemlike beads: these all have their own box.

Ricketiest of all are the baked cookie-like ornaments that we made back in the mid-1970s. I only have a few of those, since most of them live with my parents, but the ones I have are mostly the same: a cut-out shape decorated with special magic markers, then with a paperclip glued to the back as the hanging apparatus. In most cases, the glue or the dough has caused the paperclips to rust, sometimes to the point they have broken apart. The ones my mother decorated still look really nice. The ones I decorated have a sort of abstract expressionist quality, but cut me some slack--I was four or five at the time! And one lesson we cannot seem to get through our heads: do not wrap these ornaments in Kleenex if you do not want Kleenex-adorned ornaments on your tree.

Somewhere, apparently with my parents' stash, is a black Christmas tree, that my father "decorated" during the Vietnam War. And similarly, there is a round one decorated with a peace symbol.

Our more recent acquisitions tend to gesture to people's hobbies and recent experiences. We have several rock-climbing Santas and a climbing shoe, as well as a little skier with the PP's name on it. There is a pair of cats wearing snorkels and diving masks and seeming to be chasing fish, as well as a female swimmer on a diving block. There is a trout commemorating some beautiful meals my Mother made us in France. And yes, there is a Santa decked out all in Spartan green. Thanks, Dad.

Lowest on our tree go the unfragile ornaments. (Have I mentioned that we have two cats?) These were mostly made by me, in school. There is one made of red burlap with a Christmas-card picture of Santa on it, adorned in some glitter. There is a big ball made from circles cut from Christmas cards (can you sense a theme?). There is a wooden snowman.

Because we have had accidents. For instance, about 4 years ago, some cat or another brought the thing down (or could you have sworn that it might have been both?). I do not know if anyone heard it happen, but when people emerged from sleeping, there was the tree, lying diagonally across the living room floor, with numerous glass and pottery shards around it.

Now we wire it to a window frame and a doorjam.

That mostly protects things, though it did nothing for the wooden penguin that took a foot-severing dive early this morning, bringing a felted Santa with it.

Truth be told, that was only one of many penguins. Too many to count, really. This all started some years back, after people came to learn about my fascination with things polar. (Especially narratives about polar exploration and dogsledding!) Then the penguins started appearing. First it was an ornament or two, then a few plush toys, or a book, or even a large light-up porch ornament, or a DVD of March of the Penguins, and then an entire string of lights adorned with penguins! Those were supposed to be Christmas decorations, but we decided to keep them up all year, and here is why:

Some years back I was at the meat market of my profession and I was walking into a hotel with an admittedly surly colleague. If you have spent time in big hotels during the holidays, then you know that they typically have big Christmas-oriented displays in their lobbies. In this particular hotel was a North Pole scene, complete with Santa, elves, polar bears, and penguins. Being the polar expert that I fancied myself to be, I said to my colleague, "Hey! Penguins don't live at the North Pole!" He sort of snorted back at me and said, "Neither does fucking Santa."

Lying on a slag heap of blankets and magazines.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Luckily for you, I'll keep this brief, because the left arm is only partly armed and operational and I get feeling a bit dizzy if I am sitting up all the way for too long.

But yes, I am home, and the surgery went well. The doc says I had a type-2 SLAP lesion, which means there was "Separation of the superior portion of the glenoid labrum and tendon of the biceps brachii muscle from the glenoid rim." That clears it all up, right?

Essentially "separation" is the key word there, and now I have two little anchors (ahoy, mateys) reattaching the labrum to the glenoid rim. (I have some great photos from the arthroscope, so once I'm a bit more operational I'll post a couple of those.) Also, he sanded down the bone a bit, to take care of some impingement elsewhere in the shoulder. I was pleased that he was able to find such obvious things and then easily fix them.

Also, the whole thing went SO much more easily this time than back in April. I suppose not being really sick from an infection makes a big difference. And this time, since the surgery was planned in advance, I was in an actual orthopedic ward of a brand-new (and nasty germ-free) hospital, so the staff was very knowledgeable about how to deal with what was going on with me. I.e., no begging for pain meds, and they brought me broth after the surgery instead of a full meal--that kind of thing.

Now it is very good to be home, as I have company from the little kitties and such familiar comforts. (I do miss the movable hospital bed, though.) And it is "slingle bells" for me for about a month, and then gradual recovery.

As for all of you, I hope you get everything you want at Alice's Restaurant!

An update from the Christmas factory.

Not that I manufacture Christmas, mind you, but rather that today has been one of those days when all I have really been doing is working on Christmas presents.

Mind you, some of my work is already done: I have three scarfs ready for three different people. And then there is one thing that I cannot really name, and it is in progress, too.

But back to my work today, in which I played hooky from schoolwork. For one thing, I took a trip to the LYS to buy the yarn for a hat that a friend of mine requested in the University of Oregon colors. Given that he didn't exactly keep his mouth shut when the Ducks did in the Wolverines earlier in the season, I think it is mighty fine of me to be making him such a hat.

In the last week, I have also made the same hat for the PP in this yarn, and man was a pleasure!

Mostly, though, today has been about weaving in ends and sewing seams on a couple of sweaters.

(Jacques Monod likes weaving in yarn ends but not the flash.)

I will confess, weaving and sewing are my least favorite parts of knitting. I never was much of a seamstress anyway, and this always feels like the burnt out ends and days of knitting. At the same time, though, there is something cool about seeing your raglan sleeves attach as they should to the body of a sweater. I just kind of stared at them for a while.

(Sazha does not care about knitting: she eats plants.)

Am I tempting the Christmas fates if I say that I just might get all my gifts done in time?

Don't answer that.

Shimmy Shimmy, Ko-Ko Bop.

I thought I had a pretty good New Year's Eve party planned. There will be champagne with pomegranate seeds in it (for extra festivity). There will be a sit-down dinner, featuring a fabulous (if I may say so myself) Asian-inflected panko-topped baked salmon and some vegetables or other. There will be desserts brought by my guests. There will be plenty of wine for everyone. There will be an array of ridiculous hats that people can take turns wearing. There will be leftover Christmas crackers, with the dumb jokes, the little toys, and the hilarity-generating paper crowns. There will be "Dance for Our Evil Pleasure."

What? You have never played "Dance for Our Evil Pleasure"? The game started from a game I used to play at New Years with my friends from college. At that time it was called "Crazy Crazy Eights," and basically you play Crazy Eights but we made up a whole array of special "values" for each number. There would be a large poster on the wall, so that you would know what it meant to play any individual card to the person sitting next to you. Sure, there were things like "draw 4" or "change direction of play" like in Uno. But then there might be:

King = drink
Queen = remove an item of clothing
Jack = change direction
10 = wear something dorky on your head
8 = wild
6 = draw four
5 = drink some more

You get the idea. Then one year we added

7 = dance for our evil pleasure

Everyone else got to choose the music and you had to dance to it until we thought it was hilarious enough and then you could sit down.

So for our friends last year I decided that we were all drinking plenty, and probably no one was interested in undressing, and frankly everyone was already wearing hilarious hats. What was missing? Dancin'! So we assigned "dance for our evil pleasure" to several different numbers and away we went.

You should try it with your friends, but first you need to collect an array of appropriate music. Here are some tracks I can personally recommend:

"Another One Bites the Dust" by Queen
"Rock Lobster" by The B-52's
"Walk Like an Egyptian" by The Bangles
"Deep in the Heart of Texas" by Gene Autry
"Dancing Machine" by The Jackson 5
"The Ride of the Valkyries" by anyone at all
"Brick House" by The Commodores
"Hit Me with Your Best Shot" by Pat Benatar
"Axel F" by Harold Faltermeyer
"The James Bond Theme" by the Monty Norman Orchestra
"Land of 1000 Dances" by Wilson Pickett
"Honky Tonk Women" by The Rolling Stones
"I Wear My Sunglasses at Night" by Corey Hart
"Milkshake" by Kelis
"Jam on It" by Newcleus
"Arabski kjuchek" by Yuri Yunakov
"Soul Bossa Nova" by Quincy Jones
"Balkanization of Americanization" by J.U.F.
"Grazing in the Grass" by Hugh Masakela
"Middle of the Road" by The Pretenders

But really the possibilities are endless!

Well, anyway, I thought my New Year's Party plans were the very best of the best, until I came across this! Now, that would seriously rock.

I hope your New Year's Eve is fun and safe. What are your plans?

Perchè oggi è giovedì.

You're right: it is not really Thursday yet.

Several years ago, when I was spending the summer in Roma, I went to a restaurant (not far from the Campo dei Fiori) with friends. The woman who owned the restaurant explained the specials to us, listing off several delectable items, and ending with, "e gli gnocchi, perchè oggi è giovedì"--and gnocchi, because today is Thursday. I ordered them, of course, but I thought, What is so special about Thursdays and gnocchi? Is there something Romans know about Thursdays that I don't? And how long will it take me to learn it? We pondered this at length over dinner, and very quickly "Perchè oggi è giovedì" became a catch-all explanation for many otherwise inexplicable things.

Two years ago, over Christmas, my mother and I made gnocchi. She had made them before, with friends of ours from home who used the authentic recipe of a particularly culinarily talented grandmother, and they were always a treat to eat. But I had never made them. We tried using Mario B's recipe which called for a 2:1 ratio of potatoes:flour, as well as the inclusion of an egg and some oil.

Friends, we worked that dough, adding and adding and adding and adding and adding flour for the better part of an hour. And adding. Sure, it was a humid day, but please: these are supposed to be simple, right? Luckily they came out well, not at all rubbery and not at all falling-apart-in-the-cooking-water, and a wonderful meal was had by all.

We knew, though, that there was something wrong with this recipe, because surely making gnocchi is not supposed to take all day. We vowed to make them monthly, so that we could get the hang of it.

We did not do this.

In fact, I have not made them since then, until Christmas Eve. This time we started with Marcella Hazan's recipe, on the theory that everything I have ever made from her cookbook has been perfect and reasonable. But we consulted numerous other cookbooks, too, finally concluding that to her 1 pound:1 cup::potatoes:flour arrangement we should add salt (1 teaspoon for 3 pounds potatoes) and one egg. Marcella says the egg can make the dough tough, but that sometimes its omission can lead to a gnocchi disintegration disaster (not her words, more's the pity). We decided that risking the former beat risking the latter.

THIS WAS SO MUCH EASIER. Indeed, boiling the potatoes was the biggest part of the process, but that allowed time for extensive research in the cookbook library. Then after some peeling of hot potatoes, and running of hot potatoes through the food mill, we added most of the flour, added the egg, and started to make the dough.

Things became dough so quickly! Not like last time when we thought we had moved into a potato glue factory.

Here is the dough being rolled into little snakes:


Here is a dough snake being cut into little globs:


Here is NOT the authentic forking technique, but the technique that my friend's culinary grandmother prefers:


I prefer the authentic technique, where you roll each gnoccho over the tines of the fork, but the PP did not get a picture of that.



Here they are, ready to go in the boiling water:


I made two sauces, one the traditional sage butter sauce, and the other an olive-oil based conglomeration of prosciutto di Parma, toasted pine nuts, olives, and sundried tomatoes. The latter was very tasty, but the former was a bit better suited to gnocchi, because it adhered better to the little grooves.

And the good news? We made a big ol' batch, so there is a dinner's worth of the little nuggets in the freezer for the PP and me to enjoy soon!

Saturday Random 10: What happened to Friday? Edition.

Oopsie. It appears that Friday kind of slip slid away. So it goes over holiday break, I guess.

Here's hoping everyone out there is enjoying the holidays, wherever they have taken you, and whatever new additions to your family you have around. I am happy for the time with my parents visiting and the opportunities for extra swimming, which is just what the body needs this time of year, if you know what I mean. And for a change, I seem to have my act mostly together--tree up and decorated, outdoor lights and garlands up, grocery shopping done, Christmas cards done, gifts wrapped, stockings hung by the chimney with care.

I have recently rebuilt my two Christmas music playlists, so in honor of that, here is a Random 10 taken entirely from one of them. Originally I had everything together, but Andy Williams singing "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" can be a rather abrupt transition from the Monks and Nuns of Prinknash & Stanbrook Abbeys. So now I have one big mix with the more classical stuff (easily the majority of what I have) and another little one with Sufjan Stevens and friends. This random 10 comes from the former. (I should note that the classical mix also has some music not specifically for Christmas (Hildegard von Bingen, Arvo Pärt, Erik Satie, etc.) that to my ear sounds wintery.):

1. "Angelus ad virginem," New York's Ensemble for Early Music (Nova: A Medieval Christmas)
2. "Greensleeves (alternate take 6)," Vince Guaraldi (A Charlie Brown Christmas, with bonus tracks)
3. "Evergreen," London Symphony Orchestra (Winterscapes)
4. "Let There Be Peace on Earth," Peter Kater (For Christmas)
5. "Vox clara, ecce, intonat," Anonymous 4 (On Yoolis Night)
6. "Motet: Singt, ihr lieben Christen all," Hazel Holt & Maureen Keetch (Sopranos); Roger Norrington/Heinrich Schütz Choir (A Baroque Christmas)
7. "Senher Dieus-Lux refulget," Boston Camerata, dir. Joel Cohen, Sharq Arabic Music Ensemble (A Mediterranean Christmas)
8. "Ego Humilitas," Sequentia (Hildegard von Bingen: Ordo Virtutum, disc 1 of 2)
9. "Comfort ye, comfort ye my people," London Symphony Orchestra & Chorus, Sir Adrian Bolt (Handel: Messiah Arias)
10. "Magnificat Antiphonen - II O Adonai," Estonian Philharmonic Chamber Choir / Tönu Kaljuste (dir.) (Pärt: Beatus, Choral Works)

I've been memed!

Joe tagged me, so here goes:

1. Egg nog or hot chocolate? That depends—which one has the whiskey in it?

2. Does Santa wrap presents or just sit them under the tree? Santa wraps presents, for goodness sakes! How else is Santa supposed to destroy his knees except by sitting on the floor with his legs folded, wrapping gifts?

3. Colored lights on tree/house or white? And why not both?

4. Do you hang mistletoe? This year—you bet. The PP and our neighbor went out on a great mistletoe-conquering mission, and they came home (OK, only from about a block away, and no, there were no shotguns given this is within the city limits) with two giant “sprigs.” Ours is hanging in the living room, like a battle trophy.

5. When do you put your decorations up? LATE. Outdoor decorations went up on December 7, but the tree went up, um, today.

6. What is your favorite holiday dish (excluding dessert)? Roast beef tenderloin with red pepper cream sauce. Mmmmmm.

7. Favorite holiday memory as a child? The time I was wrapping presents with my Dad, and he asked me to wrap one of his for him. It was just a brown cardboard box. On Christmas morning I realized it had been a gift for me. I don’t remember now what it was, just that great hilarious feeling of having been “gotten.”

8. When and how did you learn the truth about Santa? Can’t remember what year, but I cried and cried!

9. Do you open a gift on Christmas Eve? Indeed, and on Christmas Eve Eve, and on Christmas Eve Eve Eve. We just cannot help ourselves.

10. How do you decorate your Christmas tree? First lights, then the angel (see #17), then decorations, some old, some falling apart, many handmade.

11. Snow! Love it or dread it? I love it, but today it is 75 degrees!

12. Can you ice skate? Yes, but it isn’t pretty.

13. Do you remember your favorite gift? No.

14. What's the most important thing about the holidays for you? Being with family, staving off the darkness, reveling in great food and wine, celebrating the return of the light.

15. What is your favorite holiday dessert? Big chocolate cookies.

16. What is your favorite holiday tradition? Honestly, my very favorite tradition goes with Thanksgiving, not Christmas.

17. What tops your tree? A cast-iron angel. Do not mess with the cast-iron angel.

18. Which do you prefer, giving or receiving? Please see #3.

19. What is your favorite Christmas song? “The Carol of the Bells,” sometimes called the “Ukrainian Bell Carol" or some other such thing.

20. Candy canes? Sure, but they tend to stay around too long, and then melt and leave sticky candy-cane-ness all over whatever they are in or on. Blech.

21. Favorite Christmas movie? Does A Charlie Brown Christmas count?

22. What do you leave for Santa? XO Armagnac.

By popular request...

Meet Report: TG Holiday Mini-meet.

This past weekend was the Holiday Mini-meet, though I am sorry to say we did not compete. Well, not that sorry: all the competitors were ages 5-11.

We did, however, have quite the time at the meet.

Why?

Here's why:

Some of you might recognize a strong family resemblance between Santa and the PP. And don't you like Santa's "boots"?

Sad for Santa, though, it was about 80 degrees and 100% humidity inside the natatorium, which made for a very sweaty Santa. He was festive, though, giving away hugs, handshakes, and candy canes. He had some funny things in his sack, too. He'd say to a kid at the meet, "Would you like a treat?" to which they would respond, "Yes!" and then he'd pull a milkbone out of his sack. "No!" they would cry, and then he'd give them a candy cane.

A number of folks noticed that this was the skinniest Santa they had ever seen. When they noted that to the head age group coach, he would reply, "Well, he works out."

Santa posed for many pictures, with kids, with parents, with meet officials, with coaches--even with all the little kids on our team. All the kids in the photo were wearing their blue swimsuits and green caps, and there in the front was Santa. I asked our coach afterwards, "Did the new kid in the red outfit get any best times?"

"In every event," he answered.

Now, with video.

Quick post today, because all in an effort to get myself out of the house before I spend another day not getting any grading done, I have not put on my warm fuzzy clothes, nor turned up the heat, nor turned on the little gas fireplace in my study. But there is coffee!

I just wanted to quickly note that there is now video available of the Anderson Christmas parade. Those of you not from the upstate, or who did not happen to listen to Morning Edition on December 4, might not understand why that is a big deal, so let me tell you.

On Monday, December 4, I was brushing my teeth and The New Bob Edwards read as he always does a funny little anecdote at 6:30. Usually these clips are not about the Upstate, but this one was about this parade. I nearly choked on my Crest. (But, really, I have to ask why it is only things like this that get my area on the national news....) Meanwhile, the PP had just brought in the paper, and had read the same story on the front page, and so was in the process of extricating coffee from his nose.

Turns out that the driver of a float for some dance school or another was doing a bit of nipping while driving the float, then seems to have caught a dose of road rage, because he pulled out of his place in line (behind some slow-ass tractor) and sped away at something like 60 mph, while all the little dancers in their little waltz of the flowers tutus were scared out of their minds.

Friends, is this the Christmas spirit?

The Anderson Police Department says no, and has slapped a DUI on his ass. But what we were wondering, was, "Did anybody get it on tape?????"

So were the authorities and all the news outlets in the area, and for several weeks the TV news and newspapers and everybody kept saying, if you have video, call this number.

Somebody did. Heh. Admittedly, it is funny, but not as funny as the whole thing was in my end-of-term-sickened imagination.

OK, now off to a coffeeshop for grading.

Gibestkt.

This is a rough time of year, as nearly anyone will tell you. It is the end of semester for anyone living an academic life, and that means Everything Wraps Up Now (except meetings with administrators, who live a 12-month lifestyle, and thereby forget the deadlines others are sweating). It is winter, which makes for frequent dreary skies. It is the holidays, which brings all kinds of pressure, sadness, anxiety, topped off with a larger dose of bad traffic than anyone can experience while maintaining regular blood pressure. This is how the Furies punish those of us who get our summers off--by combining outrageous amounts of work stress with the expectation that we give to others of our time, hearts, and shopping energy. And on the eighth day, the Furies created the MLA--mwah ha ha. You thought you had a holiday break? Think again!

I am dodging the furious MLA this year, thanks be to the Kindly Ones.

(No thanks for the cold, Kindly Ones.)

Several years ago the PP and I were eating lunch with my grandfather and some of his friends in Assisted Living Land. You should know, for this story to be funny, that the PP has quite the receding hairline. Anyway, he was telling a story about something or another that was supposed to bring some virtuous end, and one of my grandfather's feistier ladyfriends leaned over the table and said, "But it doesn't grow hair, does it, PP?"

All to say, it doesn't make the traffic go away, does it?

It is about this time every year that I look at all my commitments and deadlines and wonder what I was thinking and how in the world this will all come together. (Insert tears of desperation.)

All to say, it doesn't get the Christmas card made.

estaminet late last night accidentally coined the perfect word for this feeling: "gibestkt." Indeed. It is the perfect word for it: you do not really know what it means, you have a hell of a time spelling it, but you know it is bad and makes you feel sort of ill. And it all sounds so Germanic, like a horrible syndrome. Or a monster from Beowulf. Or the actual name for the wolf in the Grimm's brothers' tales. Or something only Heidegger could have come up with to describe the horrors of Being in Christmastime, and you know what that means--all the philosophers who follow him will leave it untranslated in their texts.

All to say, it doesn't get the exams graded.

Perhaps this time of year brings out the small confessions from those of us who under the surface of competence have to exert a little more effort to keep it together. Ian's post for today is about the small correctionals, or what he calls "Tiny Corrections Over a Long Period of Time." (Thank the Kindly Ones he wasn't writing in German, so we do not have to leave his term untranslated.) He wonders what we can achieve not when we expect immediate results, but when we continuously make tiny changes and then wait patiently to see results later.

I am wondering whether this idea might offer some easing of gibestkt. You know, instead of clearing the decks all at once and saying, "Forget Christmas! Buy your own presents! Make your own dinner! No Christmas card this year!" we do not let it get that far. Surely there are little valves that we could open up at, say, midterms, or even earlier, so that the gibestkt does not all build up this much?

This is the question I will be pondering over the holidays, in anticipation of my New Years Resolutions.

Deck your own halls.

Look out, folks. The PP and I have started our Christmas decorating.

We were shamed over the weekend by our neighbors, who were in the midst of hanging light icicles from their eves. "Be warned," they said, looking down from the ladder. "You live next to the Griswolds!" They told us they were not sure whether their transformer could handle the load. They told us that should their house catch fire, we should let the muthafucka burn, because, after all, who wants a half-burnt house?

It turns out they have a great looking set-up, with wreaths and garlands and ribbons and the aforementioned icicle lights. And a spotlight, which shows off their wreaths at night. This spotlight is almost not noticeable from the street (unless you get to wondering why you can see the wreaths at night), but from inside their living room, apparently, it looks like Close Encounters Does Christmas.

Oh man, we thought. And all we were trying to do was go for a walk, get a little sun, and take a wee break from work. Now we have Another Project To Deal With. So in walking around the neighborhood we thought about options: lights or no lights? how to attach wreaths? should we put an inflatable santa on our roof?

Before you know it, the PP had a plan.

We both took Wednesday off work and we went to Garden Ridge in search of garlands, ribbons, and fresh wreaths. That last part was my insistence, because I thought the fresh ones smell nicer and the fake ones might look, well, fake.

Do not go to Garden Ridge if you are afraid of Christmas, or if you are looking for real greenery, or if gigantic inflatable snowglobes give you the heebie-jeebies, or if you have problems with the phrasing "All Christmas On Sale," or if you are inclined to grow impatient with other shoppers who are trying to decide which kind of ribbon to buy while standing with their gigantic cart blocking the aisle. While you are there, you must beware of men creating hazards by trying to dodge slow-moving carts, and of your eyes' tendency to glaze over as the sheer magnitude of the season numbs your soul.

We found cheap-looking garlands, but the PP did not want them. "They look cheap," he said. We found pre-made bows, but no no no I wanted to make my own from ribbon. We found the ribbon, which was loosely sorted by color, and found a decent red with gold accents. We found candle rings made of fake cranberries that I thought I could probably deconstruct to affix to our wreaths. I was looking at the fake fruit, trying to decide whether to go Williamsburg in my wreath decor when the PP showed up with an armful of "holly" sprigs, with "pinecones" attached. We decided little fake cherries would be more visible from the street than any of the other things, found more expensive garlands that looked more convincing and even had "pinecones" and "berries" in them. "Should we get snowman heads for the wreaths?" I asked. "Just keep moving," said the PP. Then the PP: "Look! 60 gift bags for $6.99!" See? This is the kind of thing that can happen to you at Garden Ridge.

Then to Lowe's for wire ties, and to the Marché frais for real wreaths (with real pinecones!) and a chicken potpie for dinner (because unlike some people, I don't make my own) and home we went.

You know? Our little array of "garlands" and wreaths with "cherries" and homemade bows does not look half bad! The only trouble is, you can't see the wreaths at night. Perhaps if we arranged some kind of spotlight....

If you want to end war and stuff, you've got to sing loud.

It has long been a tradition in my family to listen to "Alice's Restaurant" on Thanksgiving. It all started about 19 Thanksgivings ago (that's 19 years ago on Thanksgiving), when my aunt and uncle were visiting us in Newport News, and together with me, a high school boyfriend, and my parents, we got talking about that song, how it takes place on Thanksgiving, and about how we should listen to it on Thanksgiving. And so we did: some people were sitting in chairs, and others were sprawled on the floor, and we were all full of turkey. Full bellies did not stop the giggling and the singing, though. And given my family's tendency to multiply jokes with repetition, it was not long before "I wanna keeuhl!" became the repeated line around the Parcheesi board.

Now when my family celebrates Thanksgiving it is usually done with another family, who have become like family over the years. This is no ordinary Thanksgiving celebration. Everything starts on Tuesday night with Dungeness crab, brought fresh in suitcases by the family members flying in from San Francisco, who until the wine-buying options in Newport News recently improved, also brought with them several cases of wine. (There was one sad year when all the suitcases made it through except the one with the crab.) Then on Wednesday it is over to my parents' house, where my mother constructs a striper feast. November is prime striper season, as you may know, and there is one person in our clan who used to fish for it all the time before he moved inland to Kentucky. Now we all benefit from his nostalgia, because she has a mighty fine crumb topping that she bakes on it. This year, I understand, there was fish leftover for the first time in my memory. Then Thursday is the turkeystravaganza, usually featuring something like 30 people, all in one dining room. After dinner there is always the mother of all napkin battles, followed by Christmas crackers and everyone wearing paper crowns while reading dumb jokes aloud.

Then we adjourn to the living room to find bits of chair or floor, for the ritual listening. Some people have a hard time keeping from saying the lines along with Arlo. There is significant eye contact when he says, "Let me tell you about the town of Stockbridge, Massachusetts." Then at the end we all rouse ourselves from triptofan dreams to sing along.

In fact last year at the PP's and my wedding, when the DJ was seeming not to show up, we thought perhaps we could have everyone sing something together--something everyone would know the words to. What we came up with was

You can get anything you want
At Alice's Restaurant
You can get anything you want
At Alice's Restaurant
Walk right in it's around the back
Just a half a mile from the railroad track
And you can get anything you want
At Alice's Restaurant.

Can you imagine 100 people standing up at our wedding, singing a bar of "Alice's Restaurant," and sitting down? Friends, it could have been a movement--but the DJ did show up.

But back to Thanksgiving. This year, we had a small group here at our house--myself, the PP, his mother, his sister, a longtime friend of mine from work, her husband, and their bitty baby. We had crab appetizer, a beautiful turkey, cranberries, two kinds of stuffing, mashed potatoes, roasted root vegetables, pumpkin pie, and carrot cake--and wine. But this was not the occasion for Alice's Restaurant.

But fortunately last night we went over to other friends' house, where there was a veritable family and friend posse. They had leftovers and we had leftovers, and bottles of wine were opened for the cause, and together we ate another Thanksgiving dinner that couldn't be beat. Then after pie, we adjourned to a living room, moved parts of wooden train sets aside, and pulled up chairs and floor for the ritual listening. It turns out that someone else there had had this as a family ritual, so she and I were always giggling in advance of the same expected pleasure of a storyline known too well.

Given the situation in Iraq, I don't think we made much progress on ending war and stuff, but it was good to know we had done our part. And even though we were not singing in unison with the crowd in Newport News, I'd like to think we had a bit of a doppler effect massacree going on. With four-part harmony. And feeling.