New Year's Day is more exciting to me than New Year's Eve ever was. "Huh?!" you say, puzzled.
It's because I am a forward-thinking person. I honestly would have to pause and think before I could tell you what I had for lunch last Saturday. Nope, not a fall on my head, not incoming senility or Alzheimer's. That's just the way I've always been. Tomorrow is always going to be a great deal more interesting than whatever yesterday held. Full speed ahead! Richie is the one who will wistfully say, "A week ago today, we were in (fill in.)" He's the sentimental one; I'm the sarcastic one.
I've had my 2013 calendar since well before Christmas. I keep a typed page of birthdays, by month and person, in the December section of the previous year's calendar. They're now ready to be entered for all of 2013. The most far-flung in time appointment right now is the dental tech on March 11th.
I also keep a list of deaths and this includes the cats. Very sadly, this year 10 people that we cared about in varying degrees have died. RIP to you all.
The old calendar reminds me that we went to Palm Springs twice, Las Vegas once, Dallas once and of course, the wedding in Marseille. I intend to do better than that in 2013. I suppose that if you really stretched it, that could be a resolution. Resolutions are all very well and good, but how many people are still committed to whatever it was on February 1st? Few. I say don't let your mouth write checks you can't cover.
Speaking of marking your calendar, if you know someone who will be 80+ or a couple that has a 50th+ wedding anniversary in 2013, you can write to the white House for a presidential greeting to be sent to the person(s) involved. The Website said that the Obama White House is reporting delays of up to a month or two, so mail your request accordingly.
Mail to: Presidential Greeting Card, The White House, 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington, DC 20500
Be sure to include the recipients name, address, title (Mr. Ms) and zip code. Be specific: "Harry and Maud Smith were married on July 15, 1940; thus July 15th, 2013 is their 73rd wedding anniversary." Include your own name, address and phone number or e-mail if they have any questions.
Okay - housework is done, rug is back on the floor. Bring it on, 2013! Show me what you got!
Monday, December 31, 2012
Update
Those of you who have not started toasting the New Year yet will recall that yesterday I waxed enthusiastic about champagne. I wondered aloud how an 83 lb. bottle of champagne is served and vowed to write my nephew, a professional sommelier, on this subject.
Today I got the little smart-aleck's reply: "They bring in the "World's Strongest Sommelier"! ha ha ha"
Too late for this year, coal in his stocking next year. Must make a note - where's my calendar?
Today I got the little smart-aleck's reply: "They bring in the "World's Strongest Sommelier"! ha ha ha"
Too late for this year, coal in his stocking next year. Must make a note - where's my calendar?
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Champagne! The Rich Man's Alka-Seltzer!
Dom Perignon famously said after his first sip of champagne, "Come quickly! I am tasting stars!" and I agree wholeheartedly with that sentiment.
Somehow toasting "new things" such as weddings, births, raises, a new house or apartment and New Year's with champagne has become an American tradition. Extensive research didn't tell me why though. I would like to think it's the energetic effervescence of the drink itself. Few things sound as cheery to me as the pop! of a bottle of champagne being opened. It's very nearly a guarantee that good things are just about to happen.
When we serve it here at the house, the guys present like to open it out on the balcony -- to see how far the cork will fly out into the yard below. Guys (shake of the head) - It's always a contest, you know?
Heloise the Practical took pen in hand to advise us not to let champagne age; it's a "now" drink. Amen, Heloise! She went into sizes of the various bottles -- some of them I didn't even know existed (but well worth looking into.) Here is Heloise's list:
Split - 18.7 of a centiliter; a centiliter is a 10th of a litre.
Half bottle - 37.5 centilitres
Bottle = 75.0 centilitres
Magnum = two bottles
Double magnum or Jeroboam = four bottles
Rehoboam = six bottles
Methuselah or Imperial = eight bottles
Salamanazer = 12 bottles
Balthazar = 16 bottles
Nebuchadnezzar = 20 bottles and weighs 83 pounds! How the hell you'd serve one is beyond me so I hastily e'd my nephew, a professional sommelier, about it. As he is also a bachelor, he is unlikely to give me an answer before noon on a Sunday, so ... when I find out, you will, too. I would imagine it's set in a tilting rack of some sort for pouring.
HuffPost.com printed advice on how to get champagne stains out of clothing, napkins, etc. and frankly, I take issue with that. Champagne doesn't stain! And I ought to know, okay? I am a veteran champagne swigger. The worst it can do is a light stickiness. HuffPost says to keep a small bowl of warm water with mild dishwashing soap in it to daub at the sticky spot and then rinse with daubs of clean, warm water.
Humph - what a bunch of spoilsports! They'll never taste the stars...poor things.
Somehow toasting "new things" such as weddings, births, raises, a new house or apartment and New Year's with champagne has become an American tradition. Extensive research didn't tell me why though. I would like to think it's the energetic effervescence of the drink itself. Few things sound as cheery to me as the pop! of a bottle of champagne being opened. It's very nearly a guarantee that good things are just about to happen.
When we serve it here at the house, the guys present like to open it out on the balcony -- to see how far the cork will fly out into the yard below. Guys (shake of the head) - It's always a contest, you know?
Heloise the Practical took pen in hand to advise us not to let champagne age; it's a "now" drink. Amen, Heloise! She went into sizes of the various bottles -- some of them I didn't even know existed (but well worth looking into.) Here is Heloise's list:
Split - 18.7 of a centiliter; a centiliter is a 10th of a litre.
Half bottle - 37.5 centilitres
Bottle = 75.0 centilitres
Magnum = two bottles
Double magnum or Jeroboam = four bottles
Rehoboam = six bottles
Methuselah or Imperial = eight bottles
Salamanazer = 12 bottles
Balthazar = 16 bottles
Nebuchadnezzar = 20 bottles and weighs 83 pounds! How the hell you'd serve one is beyond me so I hastily e'd my nephew, a professional sommelier, about it. As he is also a bachelor, he is unlikely to give me an answer before noon on a Sunday, so ... when I find out, you will, too. I would imagine it's set in a tilting rack of some sort for pouring.
HuffPost.com printed advice on how to get champagne stains out of clothing, napkins, etc. and frankly, I take issue with that. Champagne doesn't stain! And I ought to know, okay? I am a veteran champagne swigger. The worst it can do is a light stickiness. HuffPost says to keep a small bowl of warm water with mild dishwashing soap in it to daub at the sticky spot and then rinse with daubs of clean, warm water.
Humph - what a bunch of spoilsports! They'll never taste the stars...poor things.
Saturday, December 29, 2012
When the "Other Woman" in Your Marriage Is ... Your Husband
"Sex Changes, A Memoir of Marriage, Gender and Moving On" by Christine Benvenuto St. Martin's Press 294 pages $25.99
Nutshell: Benvenuta and her husband had been married 20+ years and had three children. The citizens of their small town in New England (never identified) admired their "perfect" marriage. And then one night, right after having had sex, he turns to her and says, "I'm thinking constantly of my gender," a prelude to informing her that he now wants to live the rest of his life as a woman.
To say that she reeled in shock is understatement. The husband becomes a total narcissist, a sea change from being a funny, kind guy who was an excellent father to their children. All of a sudden, his life was more important and "meaningful" than those of his children. He began to wear women's underwear under his Dockers and flannel shirts. He let his hair grow out. He had his facial hair lasered off.
His therapist, a trans-gender specialist, encouraged him, praising him for his bravery. His wife, though, was terrified that he would start wearing skirts and dresses in public, the last thing she wanted their kids to see. They were puzzled enough by his preoccupation with self and his lack of interest in their daily doings.
She makes a point of the attitude of the citizens there by calling their village "The Valley of the Politically Correct." This translates to: everyone thought he was a hero, completely ignoring the fact that he was abandoning his wife and three children. That apparently didn't matter. They fell over themselves to prove that they were "politically correct" and supportive of him. So much so, that many of them chided the wife for not being supportive!
They stayed "married" and lived in the family home for two, very long, secret-filled years before getting into a bitter custody battle over the children.
Based on the information given (and there was a lot more than I needed to know about trans-genders and their reasoning and causes of this condition) his father, a rigid, stern, cold man wanted his only son to grow up to be just like him. The son, terrified of his father, decidedly did not want to be just like his old man. But ... if he were a woman, he couldn't be! Simplistic, I know.
It's an interesting tale and Benvenuda tells it well.
Nutshell: Benvenuta and her husband had been married 20+ years and had three children. The citizens of their small town in New England (never identified) admired their "perfect" marriage. And then one night, right after having had sex, he turns to her and says, "I'm thinking constantly of my gender," a prelude to informing her that he now wants to live the rest of his life as a woman.
To say that she reeled in shock is understatement. The husband becomes a total narcissist, a sea change from being a funny, kind guy who was an excellent father to their children. All of a sudden, his life was more important and "meaningful" than those of his children. He began to wear women's underwear under his Dockers and flannel shirts. He let his hair grow out. He had his facial hair lasered off.
His therapist, a trans-gender specialist, encouraged him, praising him for his bravery. His wife, though, was terrified that he would start wearing skirts and dresses in public, the last thing she wanted their kids to see. They were puzzled enough by his preoccupation with self and his lack of interest in their daily doings.
She makes a point of the attitude of the citizens there by calling their village "The Valley of the Politically Correct." This translates to: everyone thought he was a hero, completely ignoring the fact that he was abandoning his wife and three children. That apparently didn't matter. They fell over themselves to prove that they were "politically correct" and supportive of him. So much so, that many of them chided the wife for not being supportive!
They stayed "married" and lived in the family home for two, very long, secret-filled years before getting into a bitter custody battle over the children.
Based on the information given (and there was a lot more than I needed to know about trans-genders and their reasoning and causes of this condition) his father, a rigid, stern, cold man wanted his only son to grow up to be just like him. The son, terrified of his father, decidedly did not want to be just like his old man. But ... if he were a woman, he couldn't be! Simplistic, I know.
It's an interesting tale and Benvenuda tells it well.
Friday, December 28, 2012
Sililcone Kitchen Tools Confuse Me
But first, what is it? It's a largely inert, man-made compound of inorganic silicon plus oxgen with a side group that attaches to the silicon atms. Okay, we should now know what silicon is, but not having had any chemistry experience at all, I still don't know for sure.
The advantaes that silicon has:
It doesn't melt easily (although it sure looks like it would) and can withstand temperatures to 400 degrees.
It's hard to stain.
If something in silicon falls to the floor of the dishwasher while it's running, it won't melt.
Silicon is not porous. Unlike wood breadboards or wooden spoons, it won't absorb germs.
A disadvantage: They look and are "floppy" and to our snake brains "Floppy" = "Fragile." (At least that's what mine is telling me.)
The Sil-Pat baking sheet above is used for baking and candy making. Since you don't have to butter Sil-Pat, you'll have less grease in the finished product. You'll never have to buy parchment paper again.
I visited chowhound.com and got opinions from people who bake. To a person, they said that cookie bottoms crisp up better on parchment paper. They say they re-use the parchment until the whole batch of cookies is baked.
They all complained that Sil-Pat felt "slimy." When I asked Richie (the one who uses it) he said, "They're fine! No complaints at all."
The green frogs (above) are pot holders. When Richie saw Michelle's in France, he had to have some, too. I never use them. They seem clumsy.
The purple "cup" is one of the two egg poachers - called "poach pods" by maker Fusion Brands. To use them, start a pot of water boiling, oil down the inside of the pod and float the pod on the boiling water. Break an egg into the pod, put the lid on the pan and let cook for six to eight minutes. When it's done, pick up the pod with a pair of tongs, run a spoon around inside to loosen the egg, invert over the dish and poke the bottom of the pod with an index finger. The egg should come right out. There are three little holes around the top so that you can hook them over a diswasher post in the top portion of the dishwasher.
The lemons are a jar lid opener and I bet it will last longer than its predecessor which was raised-welt rubber... still it really does have a slimy feel to it. Confusingly enough, I know I'm holding something with a slimy feel too it, but I'm also sure that it will grip hard and really do the job. "Slimy and grip hard." Oxymoron to this moron.
Thursday, December 27, 2012
So We Invited Ourselves to Dinner!
Wouldn't you? This is the classic English Trifle
We have friends from Great Britain and when I read briefly about their traditional Boxing Day celebration (a national holiday across the land) I wondered what they did to celebrate? No point in wondering when I had a source that could tell me. Subsequent e-mails...
Angie - A modest proposal. If you will allow us into your home to see how Boxing Day is celebrated, I'll bring the dinner. (sign) How I long to hear the ancient songs and see the celebratory dances...9a
Nina - Sure. Come ahead. We may be wearing pajamas, which is a custom on that day.
A - Do guests wear pajamas, too, or only the natives? I want to do the right thing...9a
9a - It's optional ... but beware, as we are armed with cameras. A
A - Cool for me. I wear a hooded track suit, but, uh, Richie sleeps in the nude. He does pull on sweats and slippers to go out and get the newspapers - is that okay? 9a
Nina! I'm trying to poke a mental needle into my eye to erase that vision!
Come to find out, no one wore pajamas, there were no ancient songs nor celebratory dances unless you count Angie and their two year old daughter gyrating in front of a kids' program on TV.
John's Mom said that Boxing Day is related to the much older St. Stephen's Day or St. Stephen's Feast. In Ireland, it commemorates the biblical stories of Jesus, a wren and St. Stephen, an early martyr who was stoned to death for heresy. His tomb wasn't found until 415 AD. The day itself is celebrated December 26th in Western churches and December 27th in Eastern churches.
The Irish put on old clothes, don straw hats and take a faux dead wren in a little box from door to door, begging for a penny to bury the poor wren. This dates back to the Middle Ages, but is said to be waning in popularity now, unfortunately. How cool would it be to have a stranger, dressed like a bum show up at your front door, holding a box with a dead bird in it, asking for pennies to bury their poor bird! ("Richie - get the camera quick!")
Boxing Day is a national holiday (12/26) and dates back to the time when great houses had oceans of servants. Naturally, the servants worked Christmas Day to serve the lords and ladies and their families, but were given the next day off to go visit their own families. Traditionally, the Master gave them each a box filled with things for said families.
The traditional foods on Boxing Day are Christmas leftovers in a buffet and a Trifle for dessert. This is a heavenly light concoction of: a sponge cake bottom, well marinated in booze, topped by a cream pudding which is then topped with clouds of whipped cream and sparkly, colored sugar.
When we invited ourselves to dinner, we didn't know this would be the dessert. Thank God we were so rude!
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
Books...
This may go far to explain why I was too impatient to sort out the Christmas lights... I was busy, dammit!
"Life Is A Gift, the Zen of Tony Bennet" by Tony Bennett Harper (books) 250 pages $28.99
The "zen" of this book are little talking points that follow each chapter. That isn't too "zen-y" to me, but ... Bennet thanks and praises everyone he apparently met in his long career (he wrote this book at age 86.) If he's not lying, he is one of the more modest entertainers ever. Everyone sang better than he did!
As he's able to sing and/or paint every day, he remarks that he doesn't feel he's worked a day in his life.
"Creole Belle" by James Lee Burke Simon & Schuster 528 pages (one of his longer books) $27.99
Burke has started to go south on my reading pleasure of his works. His villains are always deformed in notable ways. Tiring. This book does have fewer weather/landscape details, but 'way too much WW2 history. Burke will be in the middle of an action scene -- and interrupt himself to pass on Words of Wisdom in the form of comments on wars, quotes from famous warriors. Tedious. Still, his magic can prevail. He described a shot and a beer back so eloquently that for a second, I wanted to try one. But if an editor takes out all of his "like a" and "as a" in similes, his writing career is finished.
"Hotels, Hospitals and Jails" by Anthony Swofford 12 (press) 276 pages $26.99
This is a son's account of his no-account, martinet of a father and their last attempts to bond when they are both well into adulthood. Swofford remarks that he thought a road trip in Dad's RV would do it, but it took three different trips to come to an understanding.
Swofford is amusing enough (lots of bad language and used properly, I like that) but his diffident "Ain't I a tough guy -- with a sensitive streak, too!" is too apparent for too long. The crux of the entire book is their explaining the other's misdeeds to the do-er. Both are stubborn, both are determined to win. In the end, death does.
"Life Is A Gift, the Zen of Tony Bennet" by Tony Bennett Harper (books) 250 pages $28.99
The "zen" of this book are little talking points that follow each chapter. That isn't too "zen-y" to me, but ... Bennet thanks and praises everyone he apparently met in his long career (he wrote this book at age 86.) If he's not lying, he is one of the more modest entertainers ever. Everyone sang better than he did!
As he's able to sing and/or paint every day, he remarks that he doesn't feel he's worked a day in his life.
"Creole Belle" by James Lee Burke Simon & Schuster 528 pages (one of his longer books) $27.99
Burke has started to go south on my reading pleasure of his works. His villains are always deformed in notable ways. Tiring. This book does have fewer weather/landscape details, but 'way too much WW2 history. Burke will be in the middle of an action scene -- and interrupt himself to pass on Words of Wisdom in the form of comments on wars, quotes from famous warriors. Tedious. Still, his magic can prevail. He described a shot and a beer back so eloquently that for a second, I wanted to try one. But if an editor takes out all of his "like a" and "as a" in similes, his writing career is finished.
"Hotels, Hospitals and Jails" by Anthony Swofford 12 (press) 276 pages $26.99
This is a son's account of his no-account, martinet of a father and their last attempts to bond when they are both well into adulthood. Swofford remarks that he thought a road trip in Dad's RV would do it, but it took three different trips to come to an understanding.
Swofford is amusing enough (lots of bad language and used properly, I like that) but his diffident "Ain't I a tough guy -- with a sensitive streak, too!" is too apparent for too long. The crux of the entire book is their explaining the other's misdeeds to the do-er. Both are stubborn, both are determined to win. In the end, death does.
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