The Christmas Interviews: Part II: The Sweetheart Files

Mama: Are you having a good Christmas?
Sweetheart: Yes. This might be my favorite Christmas.
Mama: What's your favorite gift this year?
S: Probably the Playmobil set with the unicorns. Maybe the leather purse, or the glass things in it.
M: What was the worst part about Christmas?
S: That I didn't get Build-a-Bear clothes.
M: What's the best gift you gave?
S: Probably Sticky Notes to Houdin or the Hot Wheel car I gave to Monet.
M: Was there anything you really, really, really wanted but you didn't get?
S: No.
M: Was there anything you didn't ask for that you're really glad you got?
S: I didn't ask for anything.
M: Was there anything you got that you don't like?
S: No.
M: Do you remember any of the gifts you got last year?
s: All I remember was when Dad had to drive an Amish person and it took really, really long and we had to wait for him forever and when he got home, we started ripping presents open. Oh! And Bard gave me a purple glass doll to put on my Christmas tree.
M: What can you do this year that you couldn't do last Christmas?
S: Play piano.
M: What do you hope to be able to do by next Christmas that you can't do this year?
S: Play guitar or harp.
M: What does Christmas mean to you?
S: Giving, taking, love and hope.
What is your favorite thing about Christmas?
Her: That you get presents and you get cookies, and you get to spend time with your family. And the wonderful meal you have.

The Loot List:

Glass dolls (ornaments. --Ed)
A ballerina
Gum from my Secret St. Nick
Playmobil unicorn set
Polly Pocket
Chocolate orange and candy
Early pajamas
A leather purse
Clothes
A velvety poster that you color
A thing that goes over my bed (a canopy. --Ed)
A pretty quilt with little girls on it.
Pillowcases that were embroidered with kitty cats and butterflies.
Books
Pink Converse tennis shoes
Coloring books
Markers
A little book of fairies that you color like stained glass windows
Pringles
A wonderful dinner

The Christmas Interviews: Part I: The Monet Files

Mama: Are you having a good Christmas?
Monet: Yeah. Really great. We didn't get as much presents, but I still like the presents that I got.
Mama: What's your favorite gift this year?
Him: The Playmobil pirate ship. It only has three guys on it, so it's not a very big crew, but I got more pirates from different sets, so I've got a bigger crew now.
M: What was the worst part about Christmas?
Him: I don't really know. The worst part...that Houdin didn't get very many presents, but he got an Air Soft gun.
M: What's the best gift you gave?
Him: I think...the coolest gift or the best gift?
M: Doesn't matter.
Him: During Christmas?
M: Any Christmas gift.
Him: I think the Hot Wheel car I got for Houdin. I really liked that.
M: Was there anything you really, really, really wanted but you didn't get?
Him: That BIG, HUUUGE red Playmobil castle. It's the Lion's Castle. That's what, like, team they are. The lions. But that's a huge, biggest one. And it's really cool because it has a trap door.
M: Was there anything you didn't ask for that you're really glad you got?
Him: Yeah. A pirate ship. THE pirate ship. The End, the last Series of Unfortunate Events book.
M: Was there anything you got that you don't like?
Him: Not really. I really liked all of them, but the one I didn't like as much would probably be...I don't know. I liked all of them.
M: Do you remember any of the gifts you got last year?
Him: We got a castle...Playmobil. And I think I got a pocketknife and a CD player, which I have a pocketknife, the same one I lost that I thought I'd never see again, I got it back this year.
M: What can you do this year that you couldn't do last Christmas?
Him: I can do Flash cartoons. I even have a logo!
M: What do you hope to be able to do by next Christmas that you can't do this year?
Him: Drive.
M: That's not gonna happen.
Him: Draw really good.
M: What does Christmas mean to you?
Him: Well, it means to me joy and happiness, and you get a lot of presents, but that's not all. Snowing. But it didn't snow this year. Well, it did, but not very much. Not enough to sled on. It means that we get to celebrate the birth of Jesus, and that's the happiest time of the year. That when my birthday comes, everything will be green.
M: What does that have to do with Christmas?
Him: There are no leaves on the trees, but when my birthday comes, there will be leaves on the trees. On my birthday, leaves. On Christmas, no leaves. It really doesn't make any sense.
M: What's your favorite thing about Christmas?
Him: Presents and snowing and good decorating. Caroling, and drinking hot chocolate.

The Loot List:

A couple packets of Runtz
A lot of chocolate, which I didn't eat and I gave to The Baby
A pirate ship
A bunch of sweaters and a coat
Pajama pants that say "Anger Management School Dropout"
A chocolate orange
Some school books (I think)
Hot wheels car
Series of Unfortunate Events book
Polymer clay
I got an early present--Flash
A drawing model
A good Zig pen
A bunch of ball-point pens
My pocketknife back
A pirate sticker book

Memories of Christmases Past

 I hope you enjoy a few photos of our past Christmases. It's a decent substitute for new photos while my camera's out of commission.

What a wonderful day we've had, beginning with a Christmas Eve service which included a scrumptious breakfast, lots of singing and many smiling faces. We came home to the aroma of roasting turkey and beef--both had been put on to cook before we left. Everyone pitched in one way or another and around 4:00, we had a feast fit for a family. The turkey was fabulous, the stuffing was amazing (I got the "pattern" for the stuffing from Fine Cooking, a magazine I picked up at the thrift store for a dime! I'll post the stuffing recipe later and explain about the "pattern" thing), the mashed potatoes were light and fluffy, and the gravy was only slightly lumpy. :-) Bard's pickle wraps were delicious, though there are many leftovers of all because there was so much to eat. Even now, the Turkey Carcass Soup broth has been started, so tomorrow's meal will be as yummy as today's! Come on by, if you need some food. ;-)

Now it's time to wash and wrap the Christmas pajamas (I finally found some!) and relax to the sights of candles glimmering and Turkey Carcass Soup simmering.

One more sleep 'til Christmas! Are you as excited as I am?!?

I'd like to post this as my banner...

...but, for some reason, Blogger has changed the way they store photos and I can't get them to show up in my templates when I insert the link now. So, pretend it's at the top of the page, and have a very, very blessed Holiday season.

It's Almost CHRISTMAS!

Today was a Good Day.

Well, it wasn't completely good, but what kind of day is ever completely good? It didn't start out so great, with an argument between my oldest children and me, but it improved from there, so that's something to be thankful for.

Bo and I used the day to wrap up our Christmas shopping. We only shopped for our children this year, as our overall Christmas budget is less than a week's worth of groceries, and most of their gifts came from the thrift store, which is, in my opinion, a way mobie cool way to go. I can't tell you what they got yet (they read the blog, doncha know), but I can tell you that Bo wrapped presents All. Evening. Long. He wrapped until he ran out of tape and has used almost an entire 200 s.f. roll of peppermint-stick-print paper. The little white tree in my room is completely surrounded by gifts, and I even managed to get a couple of small things for Bo.

While on our shopping trip, we had lunch out followed by coffee at this cute little Hungarian pastry shop in the Bigger City; the shop reminded me of the shop in Chocolat, which made me both inspired and slightly jealous. One of my dreams is to open a shop in our little town much like the one in Chocolat. First, I have to become as sexy as Juliette Binoche's character. I'm sure I'll be a success if I achieve that goal.

At Tulipan, the pastry shop, we each filled coffee cups and ogled over the goodies behind the glass. I indulged in some rum balls, linzer cookies, kifli and decorated spice cookies for the kids, who were dutifully cleaning the house while we shopped.

I was so inspired by the pastry shop that I was eager to do some baking when I got home. The house was so clean (thanks, Bard and Houdin!) that all I had to do was go around lighting candles and everything was cozy. With Bard's help, I made two batches of shortbread, one batch of pecan shortbread and one batch of tarts. A lot of the cookies will go to church with us for tomorrow morning's Christmas Eve service and meal. The rest will go to neighbors and be our dessert for Christmas dinner.

I decided to have our Christmas dinner on Christmas Eve this year, so after the cookies were baked, I got the turkey ready for brining. We raised our own turkeys this year, which was a good experience, and we grilled one for Thanksgiving, which was mediocre. I'm hoping that this turkey, a smaller one, will be tastier. I plan to use my electric roaster on this one. Next year, I want to raise a Christmas Goose and maybe our own pigs for ham.

I'm also making two roasts, three kinds of potatoes, an apple-pear pie with a pate brise crust, a Toll House pie, savory stuffing, pickle wraps, cranberry sauce with homemade whipped cream, some assorted veggies, and maybe some rolls, if I get to it in time. Christmas morning, I'll make two quiches and we'll have leftovers, which will probably include Turkey Carcass Soup.

Last night, we joined about twenty-five others and went caroling around the neighborhood of some friends', giving them batches of cookies. My contribution was shortbread cookies and buckeye candies. To see the faces of those we carolled was so rewarding. One elderly woman told us that she had never been carolled before!

While Bo and I were gone today, three of our neighbors sent plates of goodies--cookies and candies and snack mixes. Earlier this week, my dear friend Penny sent Petits Fours to the children, a tradition she has kept up with every year since we've lived here.

My feet are aching, my knees have all but given out, I've almost finished decorating, I filled out but didn't mail my Christmas cards, and I'm coming dangerously close to getting tired of shortbread and Christmas carols, but, finally, I feel like it's Christmas.

I hope you do, too, friend.

Happy Holidays to you and yours, and may you feel peace and joy this Christmas season!

::: gone, gone, gone :::

I'm so angry.

I just spent an hour writing an essay on Blogger only to have it disappear when I hit "publish." This is the third time this has happened since I've switched to Beta, and the "recover post" and autosave features didn't work. Very frustrating. For some reason, Blogger Beta won't save my login, so, apparently, if I take longer than 15 minutes or so to write a post, I get logged out and have to sign in again. And it seems that every feature I try to use on Beta makes me log in with my gmail account again, even if I just did so and asked it to remember me.

Boy, am I bummed. That really stinks. I actually wrote a post I liked, and it's been sucked into internetworldland.

Sigh.

Shortbread Cookies

Every time I make these simple yet fabulous cookies, I wonder why I bother with any other kind. I made a batch today as a gift for Bo's boss's family, acorn-shaped, and I dipped the acorn caps in a mixture of bittersweet chocolate, corn syrup and butter.

The keys are to be gentle with the dough, refrigerating it well before rolling and cutting, making sure to roll them thick (1/4 inch is good), refrigerating again, and baking them just long enough to harden them and slightly brown the edges.

I got this recipe from joyofbaking.com, which gives these tips:

Always use good-quality butter, NEVER margarine;

You can make them more flavorful by adding about 1/2 cup of chocolate chips or cut up semisweet chocolate, 1 tablespoon of instant espresso powder for a coffee taste, 1 teaspoon of ground cinnamon, or 1 tablespoon of finely chopped orange or lemon zest.

The texture of shortbread can also be changed by replacing 1/4 cup of the flour with rice flour to give them a slightly crunchy texture.

For a more delicate tasting shortbread with a melt-in-your-mouth texture, replace 1/2 cup of the flour with cornstarch.

Sprinkle the baked cookies with granulated white sugar or dip the ends of the shortbread in melted chocolate.

Shortbreads:

2 cups (280 grams) all-purpose flour

1/4 teaspoon (2 grams) salt

1 cup (2 sticks) (226 grams) unsalted butter, room temperature

1/2 cup (60 grams) powdered (confectioners or icing) sugar

1 teaspoon (4 grams) pure vanilla extract

In a separate bowl whisk the flour with the salt. Set aside.

In the bowl of your electric mixer (or with a hand mixer), cream the butter until smooth (about 1 minute). Add the sugar and beat until smooth (about 2 minutes). Beat in the vanilla extract. Gently stir in the flour mixture just until incorporated. latten the dough into a disk shape, wrap in plastic wrap, and chill the dough for at least an hour.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (177 degrees C) with the rack in the middle of the oven. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper.

On a lightly floured surface roll out the dough to 1/4 inch (.5 cm) thick. Cut into rounds or whatever shapes you wish using lightly floured cookie cutter. Place the cookies on the prepared baking sheet and place in the refrigerator for about 15 minutes. This will firm up the dough so the cookies will maintain their shape when baked. Bake for 8 - 10 minutes, or until cookies are lightly brown. Cool on rack.

Shortbread with keep in an airtight container for about a week or frozen for several months.

Makes about 20 shortbread cookies.

White Trash Recipe

Here's a holiday recipe that's easy to make and looks nice in zip-type baggies; makes a great gift and a quick take-to-the-party treat. I just finished three batches--making them, not eating them. Sheesh!

White Trash

3 cups of Rice Chex
3 cups of Corn Chex
3 cups of Cheerios
(I suppose you could use any neutral-type cereals you want. I used just Chex for this batch)
1 cup of salted peanuts
1 1/2 cup of broken pretzel pieces
1 pound of M&Ms and/or Reese's Pieces (to make a total of one pound)
1 1/2 pounds white confectioner's coating

Mix all of the dry stuff together.
Melt the coating in a double-boiler or very, very carefully on low on a stovetop, stirring constantly until coating is melted and smooth.
When it's completely melted, stir it gently but thoroughly into the dry ingredients until everything is completely covered.
Spread the whole thing on wax paper and cool.
Break into chunks and store in baggies.

YUM!

This has absolutely no calories if you eat it while standing.

Enjoy.

The Ice Storm

The photo that you see in my banner and buttons is the detail of a photo taken two years ago at Christmastime, the year of the ice storm. We were without power of the Christmas holiday for about a week, and some people in our community were powerless for longer. I snapped these photos on Christmas morning. Believe me, it was much more amazing in-person. Beautiful, but devastating. Our tireless electric company linemen worked long, long hours in the ice and cold over Christmas until power was restored.

Would it be wrong to admit that I actually liked having no power over Christmas. I mean, no, I wouldn't want it to happen again without notice, and I know people lost business and money and had property damage. And it was completely maddening not having a way to shower or do dishes or laundry. BUT it was a good excuse for us to all slow down, to do puzzles by candlelight, to have simple meals and stay off the roads.

I wish it wouldn't take an ice storm for us to choose a simple life. 

::: 2006 candlelight concert :::

Guest Post from Bard:

I have been told to write about this picture. Okay. If you want to see me, (my head the size of an atom) then look for the really tall kid in the back row. Then look to the left. That is me.
Christmas Candlelight concerts are the best in the whole universe. They're beautiful and fun and confusing, and you get to hold little lights and blind yourself, and spend three days in a row with all your choir buddies. Unless you don't have any choir buddies. In which case it's just too bad to be you, because if you don't have any choir buddies, you don't have anyone to be confused with. This year we did really well. Granted, we didn't do as well as that one concert in Italy, but we still basically rocked. And that is about all I have to say. Oh, I lied. I have one more thing to say: we look like bellhops.

The church they sang in

Top Ten Things that Get You into the Christmas Spirit Meme

Can you believe it's almost Christmas? I mean, really! Can you actually, truly believe it? I guess what I'm asking is, do you feel like it's time for Christmas?

My husband Bo came up with the idea for this meme. What makes it feel like Christmas for you?

When I see: icicles on the ledges of the creek by our house, a great big blanket of snow on the ground, my Christmas tree from the outside, and my kids in their Christmas pajamas.

When I make: hard tack candy and cutout cookies.

When I eat: cheesy potatoes, cranberry relish, pickle wraps, peanut butter buckeyes and hard tack candy.

When I watch: Elf, Miracle on 34th Street (the newer one with Richard Attenborough), Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer and Muppet Christmas Carol.

When I visit: with my husband's parents. When they come for the holiday, or when we go there, it feels like Christmas.

When I read: our Advent book.

When I sing or hear: Good King Wenceslas.

When I wear: Christmas earrings, big sweaters and long, long scarves.

When I go: caroling, which we did this past week and will do at least two more times this year, and also when I go to one of the choir's holiday concerts. All of the poinsettias and children dressed in black and white with their red suspenders and bow ties.

When I feel: like I have all of my shopping done and all the presents wrapped, when all my ducks are in a row.

Fine Art Friday: Pieter Bruegel

Bruegel the Elder was a new painter to me this year, one that we studied as part of our Ambleside learning guidelines. At first glance, I though that his paintings would be dark and boring, but as I began to study him, his culture, and the dangerous times in which he lived, his paintings became more and more fascinating to me. Of course, the material itself was never boring. In reality, they're quite intriguing and often bizarre, with layers and layers of meanings and hidden messages.

You can read more about Bruegel the Elder here, and if you like what you read, be sure to pick up Michael Frayn's book, Headlong, a British comedic novel about a man who believes he finds a lost Bruegel painting and what he will do to get his hands on it. The novel features a lot of interesting historical background on Bruegel's culture and art itself.

What are YOUR Bank's Check-Clearing Policies?

This morning, I opened my checking account webpage to see that, by some horrible error in our bookkeeping, we had overdrawn our account. Great. Just what we need right now, for our bank to charge us more of what we have none of. Well, it was my fault. I should have been balancing my checkbook more closely, since there are two of us using the same account. My bad, and I'll have to deal with the consequences.

However, the problem I really have is that my bank charged me *two* overdraft fees when they could have only charged one. Why? Because they incorporate a policy that I was unaware of until this morning. It's called the "biggest to smallest" policy, and it could cost bank customers a lot of unnecessary fees. It's certainly making the banks a lot of money.

I called my bank customer "service" representative, explaining to her that, if they had simply taken my smaller checks first, or had taken the checks in the order they'd come in, all of the little checks would have cleared and only the large check would have put me into overdraft, charging just one 37.50 fee instead of two. The amount over my balance would have been the same, but the fees would have been less.

"We don't pay attention to how the checks clear, ma'am. We just put them through as they come. "

I hung up the phone perplexed and then did a quick check of my transaction history. Every date--EVERY SINGLE DATE--I checked online showed that all of my transactions were deducted from my account in biggest to smallest order.

For example, just a random date on my statement:

$174.58 --electronic transfer
$74.94 --check
$58.69 -- check
$23.68 -- electronic transfer
$11.27 --check

It's like this for EVERY SINGLE DATE. There is no order to the type of funds, there is no order to the time that the check was written or received by the bank. The ONLY order is that the largest checks clear first and the order proceeds to the smallest.

Do you see why they do this? See, if they take the biggest amount first, and it eats up the bulk of your balance, they can charge you a fee for each small check that overdraws your account.

Example:

You have $700 in your account.
You write a check for $699 to pay your Annual Bear Lodge Dues.
Your wife writes ten checks for $1 each to put in Aunt Hazel's kids' Christmas stockings.
You forget to write those little checks into your register, or--and this never happens--your wife forgets to tell you about those ten small checks.

With the biggest-to-smallest policy that most larger banks now have in place, your checks will be cleared as follows:

$699
$1.00
$1.00
$1.00
$1.00
$1.00
$1.00
$1.00
$1.00
$1.00
$1.00

What that means is, that unless you have overdraft protection (ie, a high interest credit card that can get you into a heap of trouble), your $699 check will clear, the first $1.00 will clear, and the rest will either be cleared and you'll be charged a fee, or they will be returned, if that's how your bank does things. So, you will be charged $37.50 for each of the remaining $9 worth of checks! That's a total of $337.50 out of your pocket and into the bank's greedy hands simply because of their policy regarding the order in which they clear your checks!

I decided to call my bank again and, this time, ask a very specific line of questions. After waiting on the phone for ten minutes (after all, it was their dime), I was greeted by a pleasant and polite customer service representative. The conversation went a bit like this:

"Thank you for calling Gigantic Money-Sucking Bank. This is Marcia Rand. How can I help you today?"

"Hi, Marcia. How are you?"

"I'm fine, thank you. And how are you?"

"I'm doing well. I have some questions about my checking account, if you could be so kind as to help me."

"I'll do my best."

"What is your policy regarding check-clearing order on a consumer checking account?"

"Well, that has changed a bit from the past. We used to run the transactions in order of type, but then people complained so much, so now, for transactions on one date, they are always run by amount, and only by amount, from largest to smallest."

"People complained so much? What were their complaints?"

"Customers were mad because, well, their largest check was usually the most important, so we would put through all these small checks and then their, say, mortgage would bounce. And they would be angry, because that large check was the most important. So we changed the policy to clear largest checks first. Usually, the biggest item is most important."

"And was this policy-change put in writing?"

"Yes. It would have gone out with your statement, about a year ago in January."

"I see. So, then, is there a minimum amount that you can overdraft that you won't get charged a fee?"

"No. No, unfortunately there's not. There used to be a policy that if it was under a dollar, there would be no fee. But now, it's anything that overdrafts that account."

"Even a quarter, then..."

"Yes, even a quarter."

"So, is there a cap on the amount of overdraft fees that can be charged to a customer's account in a day?"

"Well, no, there's not. I hate to say it, but there isn't. I've seen, and especially around the holidays, people use their debit card to eat at McDonald's here and there, $5.00, $10.00, and they can have ten or more overdrafts in one day. "

"$375 in overdraft fees in one day."

"That's right."

I then gave Marcia Rand my scenario, about the Bear Lodge and stocking stuffer checks, and she said, "Yes. Yes, unfortunately, that's the way it would be. I hate to say it, but yes."

After my conversation with Marcia, in which I asked her how one goes about closing a checking account, I visited my bank's website. Nowhere among all the pictures of beautiful smiling people and sales pitches about their accounts and news of business and investor relations and quarterly reports could I find a list of policies, for checking or any other kind of account. I've e-mailed them and asked them to send them to me in writing, or to at least point to where it can be located on their site.

Think I'm being conspiratorial? I searched online and found the article below which was printed in USA Today on November 19th of this year.

In my opinion, this news should be front-page headline material.

In the meantime, I'll be switching to our small, hometown bank and watching my check register very closely.

Banks' check-clearing policies could leave you with overdrafts - USATODAY.com: "As we write checks and use our debit cards this holiday season, banks are forcing some of us to overdraw more often by clearing the largest transactions first, instead of processing them in the order they come in.

Eight of the nation's 10 largest banks Â? Citigroup (C), Bank of America (BAC), Chase (JPM), Wachovia (WB), Wells Fargo (WFC), HSBC (HBC), U.S. Bank (USB) and SunTrust (STI)Â? typically pay checks that arrive on the same day from the largest to smallest dollar amount, according to USA TODAY research. Most large banks do the same with electronic transactions, according to a review of deposit agreements and conversations with the banks.

The order in which banks process checks and other debits determines the overdraft fees they charge. Those fees make up 90% of service charges on deposit accounts, and they're expected to yield a record $53.1 billion for financial institutions this year, research firm Moebs Services says."

Read the entire article here.

Wednesday Evening Inventory

I borrowed this from Bella Dia and then adapted it for myself.

On my bedside table:
Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut
Reckless Faith by Jo Kadlecek
Reflections for Ragamuffins by Brennan Manning
Live More with Less
A New Way to Be Human by Charlie Peacock-Ashworth
Reason for Hope, A Spiritual Journey by Jane Goodall (who I had the pleasure of meeting a couple of years ago. I see she has one called Harvest for Hope, A Guide for Mindful Eating. I've put it on my PaperBackSwap Wishlist.)
At the Crossroads by Charlie Peacock-Ashworth
Several Christmas decorating books

Most of these came from PaperBackSwap. Some came from the thrift store. I got Reason for Hope, hardcover, at the thrift store for .50!

Latest interests:
Christmas decorating
Thrift store shopping (this really is an ongoing addiction...er, I mean interest)
Walking
Possibly changing eating habits

On my mind:
Christmas preparations
Money
A new blog look
A relationship issue

Learning:
The art of thrifting
Frugal cooking
Sewing? Someday?

Making:
Cookies
Hard tack candy
Hopefully, some knitted stuff

Avoiding:
Cleaning my room
Money issues
Doing laundry

Looking forward to:
Busy-ness being over with
A restful holiday
Cleaning my room...tomorrow!
Caroling on Friday
Christmas

Enjoying:
Several Christmas trees in various stages of decoration--I've been so blessed!
My "new" white Christmas tree from the thrift store. It turns around AND it plays "O, Christmas Tree." I have it assembled in my bedroom, but not decorated yet.
My husband and friends playing music downstairs. They'll be playing in church on Sunday!

Send Bard to Germany!

Recently, I was having a conversation with my sixteen-year-old daughter Bard about life. Specifically, we were discussing memories. She told me that she doesn't really break life down into good days, but great moments, and she proceeded to list the greatest moments of her life.

Many of them involved her experiences over the course of ten years with her choral ensemble.

She reminded me of the time she sang in Italy, how a group of monks at St. Peter's in Rome had cried as her choir sang. She claims that it was one of the most beautiful things she's ever experienced.

She talked about singing in China, and the impression that her tour guide made on her, how she enjoyed interacting with the Chinese people, and how tired she was after climbing the Great Wall.

Next summer, she has the opportunity to sing in Germany, Austria and Prague. This summer, she worked very hard to earn money for her trip, spending very little on herself and giving to her family when we were in need.

In order to get there, she needs some sponsors who are interested in contributing to the music education of a very special young lady. On our own, we can't afford to send her. With your help, she can add more beautiful moments to her life and those of others' through the international language of music.

If you're interested in donating, please see the button in the sidebar on the right, the one that says, "Send Bard to Germany."

In exchange for your donation, Bard will send you a travel report upon her return, and I will thank God for you.

(The above button is not clickable. See sidebar for clickable button.)

Top Ten Mistakes Bloggers Make--Yep, that'd be me

Yesterday, I was reading an article about the top ten mistakes bloggers make that sinks them into bloggy unpopularity. As I read through them, I realized that, yes, my blog falls under the category of an unsuccessful blog. I don't post with regular frequency, I don't narrow my topics to appeal to a specific readership, I'm still on Blogger instead of having my own domain. In fact, I think I'm probably guilty of all ten of the mistakes bloggers make.

I'd like to say something noble, like "I don't care, because I'm happy with things just the way they are."

But that would defeat the point of this blog.

Because the reason I started this blog wasn't to garner readership. I never imagined anyone on the face of the earth would read this blog. Well, okay, I imagined it, in a Walter Mitty sort of way. I imagined that someone would come along and "discover" me and I would land a column in the New York Times which would catapult me into literary immortality and make my family rich and proud.

That's called "fantasy," folks, and I'm here to tell you that it hasn't happened. Yet.

But I have been discovered. By friends. Friends I hadn't even known I'd had. Good people who live good lives and do good things, who keep their own blogs full of top ten mistakes. And their mistakes inspire me. Their lives inspire me.

And, true, I do wish sometimes that I could have more readers. That's the honest part. Sometimes, when I read other blogs who have massive readership, I feel jealous. Especially when the blog isn't all that great, or focuses on being nasty and sarcastic. But when I come back to the reasons for keeping this blog, I know that wide readership was never a goal.

I have five kids. I was an only child. Even having an only child, my mom didn't seem to be able to write stuff about my life that I could look back on, didn't keep a journal of any kind, though she did consider herself somewhat of a writer. I have very few photos and hardly any memorabilia from my childhood. I wish I did. I wish I could read about my mom's struggles with my dad, and her frustrations with me. And I would hope that, occasionally, she was proud of me for something. I'd like to read about her dreams and ambitions, her fears and failures. I'd like to have that as part of a very important history for me and my own children. But now that my mom has passed away, all of that stuff is gone with her.

With five kids, I have five times more difficulty providing those things than my mother did. I've always tried to keep some kind of diary for my children and I've tried keeping tons of pictures, but I haven't always been consistent with either one. With a public blog, I have something that can drive me more than my own need for nostalgia and sentimentality.

Pride and arrogance. The need for approval and kudos. Feedback.

Like I said, I'd like to say something noble. But that would be disingenuous. And that, remember, would defeat the point of this blog.

Because, while I write about my life and my children, I also want to touch people with honesty, truth and transparency. I could possibly increase my readership if I threw in more snark and sarcasm. I might get more hits if I tried to be exclusively funny. People might not run away screaming in boredom if I focused only on my thrifting and my crafts or any one area of my life. The whole blog would be entirely more interesting and professional if I'd pay for a domain name and have someone design me a few snazzy seasonal templates. Or if I'd just update the photos (The Baby, for instance, is now almost FOUR and no longer looks like a baby--see sidebar), for goodness sake.

I could be a super-spiritual person, too, only blogging Scripture or giving (sometimes contrived) life lessons.

But when I sit here at my computer cabinet, dusty and cluttered and open, I intentionally think of the reader who needs to hear from someone who's life is dusty and cluttered and open, who's feeling like everyone makes more money than she does, or everyone's kids are more well-behaved and accomplished than hers, or that he's the only one who struggles with selfishness, that his relationship has problems that no one would understand. That's the reader I want. That's the reader I hope to reach, so that I can say, "Hey. I'm here with you. Let's be dusty and cluttered and open together. But let's be fair about it. Let's look for the dustcloth, and scatter the motes, and sort out the clutter."

"It won't always be perfect. It won't always be spiritual. It won't always be funny. But it will always be real."

My Wish List

My Christmas Wish List

~Good running shoes (asics have been recommended--Thanks TrueVine) They're on their way from eBay!
~A stem for my Cuisinart food processor
~This yogurt maker
~A subscription to Feminists for Life of America
~A Thrift Store gift certificate
~Any cool thing *from* the Thrift Store
~A pot rack constructed in my basement stairway or some other reasonable place
~Someone to clean out my spice drawer--and all my kitchen drawers, actually.
~Anything with acorns on it.
~Some very good candles
~A new blog design

Japanese Mushroom Lip-Concealing Hydrating Cellulite Mousse

Apparently, I have reached the age of desperation. I have begun believing that health and beauty products are actually going to miraculously eliminate the physical landmarks of the aging process.

I know this, because I have been spending increasing amounts of time investigating the aisle in my local Stuf*Mart which attempts to pass for the cosmetic equivalent of the fountain of youth. In that aisle, there exists a plethora of promises that, up until recently, I scoffed at in my naivete. But, as I approach forty, I've begun to toy with the idea that these products, goos and ointments and creams that promise me everything from a sexier back to the impeccable eyebrow shape, might actually improve my aging appearance.

There's no shortage of anti-aging products available for those of us seeking eternal beauty. If I were to plop down a few million dollars for all of the products that are revealed when I do a Google search for "age reducing cosmetics," I could be the world's most perfect woman. How could I pass up great stuff like:

A Lip-Inflation Lip Plumper, for that freshly-plumped lip feeling;
A mini On-the-Go Smile Refresher, when my smile is experiencing that not-so-fresh feeling;
A new head-shaving gel for the male grooming market, or for those looking for that Sinead O'Connor or Captain Jean-Luc style;
An Air Repair kit, to pamper my skin during air travel or reinflate my deflated lips;
Japanese Mushroom Cosmetics to lighten my skin and cause terrible hallucinations;
Anti-aging lip contour corrector pens, just in case the Lip Plumper doesn't get it for me;
Solutions for Aging Legs, as if that's the only part of you that's getting old. The rest of your aging body will have to come up with its own solutions; and
Lip gloss that will help me lose weight and curb my smoking (thought I don't smoke), simultaneously.

I haven't always been interested in anti-aging cosmetics. Really, this all started when I burned the living daylights out of the back of my hand. That kind of thing tends to happen when one places one's hand against the wall of a 450 degree oven. I had believed I was wearing an oven mitt, when, in reality, I was merely holding a tiny square of a highly inadequate hot pad. Instead of age-defying cosmetics, I suppose what I actually need is some type of mental assistance program that will keep me from further harming myself.

But, the damage having been done, I ended up with a nasty spot of singed skin which would very definitely turn into a terrible scar, so I decided to be proactive (though I guess being proactive would have been to be sure about the oven-mitt thing) and pamper my healing hand.

So I took a trip to the Stuf*Mart and strolled along the skin cream aisle. Said aisle generally baffles me, because I can't imagine what could possibly be so different about skin creams that would warrant such a huge selection. And every single one of them seems to be the very best choice for rough, dry, problem skin. But there, nestled among the skin softening stuff, was the section I had come to find--the scar-healing section. Unfortunately, the only scar-healing cream I saw cost over $20, so I decided to look for alternatives and made a mental note that oven mitts are cheaper.

That's when I remembered that my holistic practitioner had once suggested a stretch-mark cream for my youngest daughter when she had developed a beastly inexplicable open wound on her hip which turned into an equally beastly scar.

Stretch-Mark Cream, eh? I thought, mentally envisioning the lovely silver-white stripes that refuse to tan which make it impossible to wear a bathing suit without feeling like my child has decorated me with a gel pen. Well, that would certainly be a useful product.

As I was lifting the Stretch-Mark Cream into my cart, I noticed that the Stretch-Mark Cream company was promoting a new product--Firming Butter. Now, I've always been quite fond of butter, which would explain the stretch marks, so I decided to further investigate:

This Firming Butter was especially created to return your floppy skin to its former firm, youthful perkiness anytime, even after weight loss or pregnancy, firming and toning your skin, providing added elasticity and firmness to all firmless skin, always and without fail.

That sounded like exactly what I needed to save my skin and improve all of my relationships, but I thought, "Wait. There must be more..."

There's something about shopping for a new goody that draws me to read the labels of every similar product and comparison shop with obsessive curiosity, like a rubber-necker who must see the graphic details of a terrible train wreck. I always think that maybe, somehow, there's a magical serum that's just been developed and made available to us non-Hollywood types which will effectively enhance my life AND be undeniably affordable.

Fortunately for me, I hit the jackpot this time. I found a box which, believe it or not, contained not only the moisturizing, elasticity-improving, non-greasy, lubricating Stretch Mark Cream, but a FREE 2.6379 fluid ounce bottle of toning, restoring, tightening Firming Butter. FREE!

I promptly bought the package with such excitement that I completely forgot about shopping for a new oven mitt.

I use my Firming Butter (FB) and Stretch Mark Cream (SMC) several times a day. The secret to remembering is that I keep both tubes of my miracle products on my bathroom countertop, next to my toilet. That way, I will never, ever, ever forget to use it, because when I am sitting there on my throne, I have a bird's eye view of almost every stretch mark I've ever acquired.

Almost every stretch mark.

Because, see, that's one of the downsides (no pun intended) of acquiring a product like SMC. I have suddenly found more uses for the stuff than I ever knew I had. Before the SMC and FB, I only had a few stretch marks here and there. Now, I realize that my 6.935741 fluid ounce tube of SMC will never cover all of the ground I have for it to cover. The acquisition of SMC has revealed to me all of the places on my body that have lost their elasticity and have tried desperately to stretch beyond their limits. My only consolation is that stretch marks are visible AFTER the weight has been lost. So, as far as I can figure it, I've gained and lost weight in places I didn't even know could gain and lose weight. That has to be a good thing, right?

Still, I apply my SMC and FB faithfully and liberally every day, even though, based on the labels, there really isn't any difference between the two, other than their thicknesses, which constitutes calling one of them "cream" and the other "butter." I wonder--if I whipped the cream in my food processor, could I use it in place of the butter? And which do I put on first, the SMC, or the FB? If I put the FB on first, will it shield my skin from absorbing the SMC? Do the areas where I need SMC really need the FB, too? Or should I apply each in little individual ovals based on what that particular patch of skin most needs?

It's a complicated routine. And while it may be working it's quite hard to tell. Generally, when I change my appearance, I count on those around me to notice, to offer me affirmation and kudos for all of my hard work. But, honestly, who do I know well enough that they will say to me, "Hey, you're looking firmer today! And, wow! You've really reduced those unsightly stretch marks! Have you been religiously applying SMC and FB in a circular motion? Keep up the good work!"

And even if it were readily apparent to those around me that I'd reduced my battle scars, would they even notice? I mean, if I were to, say, get an 1/16 of an inch scratch on my left eyelid, just under the eyebrow, people might say, "Wow. That's a terrible injury. How did you manage to do that?" But would they notice if I eliminated all of the scars and stretch marks from my entire body?

Just last night, I read that family members and coworkers cannot be counted on to provide an accurate gauge of things like weight loss success. If your coworkers have come to view you as fat, they will continue to view you as fat even after you've lost a significant amount of weight. They'll likely continue to view you as fat until you've lost over 70 pounds, or, like, 85% of your body weight and have kept it off for eighteen years. Then, someone might say, "Hey, did you get glasses?" and you'll have to tell them that you've lost 85% of your body weight and have kept it off for eighteen years. Even then, they'll probably still refer to you as "Big Barb" or "Tammy, Tammy Two by Four" or "Cousin Joe who pulled an Oprah" because that's what kind of human beings we are--we like to keep people in their boxes. It makes us more comfortable with ourselves.

So I doubt that my loved ones will notice once my skin takes on that youthful firmness and elasticity I'm striving to achieve with my twice-daily circular-motion applications of SMC and FB, though I keep hoping that they will.

Until then, I'll be surfing the web for new collagen face mask kits, under-eye anti-wrinkle patches, hydrating marine tonic (in case I come into contact with any dehydrated marines) and Anti-Cellulite Mousse.

Just reading all of the silly names makes me laugh. And laughing makes me feel young again.

I guess these age-defying products work after all.

A Good Day

It's nice to have a generally good day, don't you think? And I did. I had a generally, basically, pretty good day.

Started with a walk. Well, to be honest, it started with an alarm clock that annoyed me beyond belief, and then it continued with me, once again, trying to figure out a justifiable reason to not go walking. I couldn't think of a good enough one, so I insisted on getting out of bed, fired up the computer, put on about forty-two layers of clothing, then checked my e-mail. I was very pleasantly surprised to see that I had won a bid on a pair of asics 2110 running shoes--$15.00 for a gently used pair in what very well may be my size. We'll see when they arrive. Consider this a Christmas gift to myself. And the auction was for a worthy cause; the money went to a nature center in North Carolina. If the shoes don't fit, they've offered a refund, minus shipping costs. I hope they fit!

I actually arrived at my walking spot a few minutes early this morning and was able to take time to read my new bargain book, I'm a Stranger Here by Bill Bryson. It's the first time I've read Bryson, and I'm enjoying it. I'm also reading A New Way to Be Human by Charlie Peacock-Ashworth, but I may have mentioned that before. In it, he mentions an author who just happens to be the sister of the father of Houdin's debate partner. I was impressed with what I read about her, and then realized that the last name sounded familiar. It's not a common last name, so I asked the father at this week's debate session and was pleasantly surprised to find that the connection was there. I have several of her books on hold at the library and will tell more after I've read them.

The walk was brisk and cool at first, but I warmed up fairly quickly. Some days. the walk seems to take forever. Some days, it goes quite quickly. Today, it was medium, but the conversation, as always, was good.

Probably my favorite thing about walking, aside from the great conversation that I just mentioned in the very preceding paragraph--yeah, the very preceding sentence--is what comes right after the walking--THRIFT STORE SHOPPING! I take a very leisurely time checking all of my favorite areas of the thrift store; I check the books, the linens, the furniture, the dishes and mugs, the candles, the purses, the shoes, the coats, and then, the clothes, if I have time and/or need. It's excellent therapy, and quite inexpensive therapy at that. I generally see at least a couple of people I know, too, so it's a lovely social time, as well.

Today, I felt like I hit the jackpot. I found a nice stack of excellent books for decent prices, a good stack of Christmas cards so that we can finish that task (we filled out our last batch of thrift-store cards while listening to Advent a couple of days ago), a couple more dishes for the HUGE stack of plain white vintage ironstone dinner plates in two different patterns that I found earlier this week(bonus! finally a set of Christmas dishes!), a funky shabby chic metal table with white and mint-green paint and several Christmas gifts for the kids that I'm unable to disclose at this particular time, due to the fact that the recipients often read this blog. Hi, recipients!

I stopped at the grocery store and found my very favorite artisan bread in the sale cart. Cool! I vigilantly check this cart whenever I'm in the area for the very specific purpose of buying the bread that I can't afford under normal circumstances. The bread will complete a broccoli cheese soup meal, if it lasts until tomorrow.

When I got home, the mail had run, and in the box was a wonderfully familiar sight--a PaperBackSwap package. It was Brennan Manning's Reflections for Ragamuffins, a daily devotional based on Manning's writing.

This evening, Bo and I headed into town to meet up with fifteen-year-old Houdin who was portraying Peter Cratchit from A Christmas Carol for our town's Victorian night. He looked quite dapper in his thrift-store "Victorian" outfit, borrowed felt tophat and the six-foot-long ribbed scarf I knitted for Bo a couple of years ago for his birthday. The man who played Uncle Scrooge treated Houdin to dinner; they were preparing to eat just as we arrived. Scrooge invited us to order something, so we each had a cup of coffee, which I enjoyed greatly but am now suffering the consequences, at 2 a.m.

Playing at the restaurant was a young man I've been hearing about lately and have been wanting to hear perform. I'd talked to his mother recently about our houseconcerts and she told me about her son's musical endeavors and directions. It was very good to hear him live and chat with him. He seemed like a kindred spirit of sorts, someone who enjoys many of the same musicians we do, and I think it may work out to have him perform a houseconcert in May when he's in town.

At home, the young'uns and I wrapped our homemade caramels, and now they're all pretty and safely hidden, ready to give as Christmas gifts to friends and neighbors. Houdin and I also hope to make cheesecakes to give to neighbors--we've decided on mint chocolate chip.

Now, it's time to clear the clean laundry off of my bed and hit the hay. It's been a good day, and tomorrow, I hope to get the gang in the Christmas spirit by decorating the house. I think I'm looking forward to it--as long as I get enough sleep.

May your days be merry and bright!

My Kids ROCK!

Congratulations to my two eldest who did very well in their debate mini-tournament today. Bard was the first place speaker and she and her partner were the first place team. Houdin and his partner were the third place team.

Bard also received her test results from her PSAT and did very well, scoring in the 94th percentile. Her math was weak, which we knew and are working to improve, but she placed in the 94th percentile in writing and the 100th percentile in comprehension.

I'm proud of you both. You definitely rock.

Breast Milk Ensures Children's Survival:Mother Nurses Two Children Over Nine Days

NOTE: This article mentions that the father has not been found. Tragically, he was found dead in a mountain stream. Major kudos to this mom for being prepared for the ultimate emergency and using all of her possible resources. Another big reason for breastfeeding.

By DAN CHILDS
ABC News Medical Unit

Dec. 5, 2006 — - Trapped miles from civilization in a snowbound car in subfreezing temperatures, Kati Kim had to ensure that her children survived until search parties rescued them.

Nine days later, the helicopters came.

Remarkably, Kim's daughters, 4-year-old Penelope and 7-month-old Sabine, were reported to be in good condition after the ordeal.

The key to this fortunate ending may have been the fact that Kim breast-fed both of them to keep them alive amid the harsh conditions once no other food was available.

Experts say the episode suggests how mother's milk, in a disastrous pinch, can make the difference in whether a child survives.

"The fact that Kati Kim was able to breast-feed both of her children for the amount of time that they were stranded most likely was lifesaving for them," says Dr. Sheela Geraghty, assistant professor of pediatrics and medical director at the Center for Breastfeeding Medicine at Cincinnati Children's Hospital Medical Center in Cincinnati.

"Breast milk not only provides the calories needed to sustain life, it also helps prevents dehydration," Geraghty says.

"I'm really, really grateful that the mother had breast milk available for the baby, as well as for her other child," says Judy Hopkinson, assistant professor at the USDA/ARS Children's Nutrition Research Center at the Baylor College of Medicine in Houston.

"This is a remarkable fluid in many ways. There is nothing better you can give a child in a disaster than breast milk."

"Lucky for these children that mom was breast-feeding," says Kathy McCoy, a lactation consultant at Clarian Health Partners Methodist Hospital in Indianapolis. "No one ever expects disaster to happen, but when it does, breast milk is truly a lifesaver."


Not Just Nutrition


Breast milk is often reputed for its nutritional benefits for children, but Hopkinson says human milk confers more than just sustenance.

"These kids weren't getting, I'm sure, all the calories they needed," she says. "So the breast milk was also giving them protection against serious illness, in addition to nutrition."

The idea that babies get an immune boost from breast milk is not a new one.

According to the American Academy of Pediatrics, breast-fed babies suffer fewer illnesses such as diarrhea, earache and respiratory infections.

"Breast milk is really primarily an immune booster," Hopkinson says. "We think of it as nutrition, but it is really integral to the immune system."

Breast-feeding, in this case, may have also given Kim and her children another way to survive in the harsh conditions -- body heat.

"Breast-feeding her 7-month-old and 4-year-old child was undoubtedly what kept Kati Kim's children alive during their horrific snowbound ordeal," says Michelle Collins at the Vanderbilt University School of Nursing.

"The very act of holding her children against her body to nurse them would have preserved their body heat, allowing them to maintain their core body temperatures despite the freezing temperatures outside their vehicle."


Breast-Feeding Amid Stress

The Kims' situation was nothing if not traumatic.

After the car ran out of fuel, and Kim and her husband, James, burned tires for warmth, James left her and their two young children and set off into the wilderness to seek help.

He still has not been found.

That Kim was able to continue to breast-feed her children while fearing for the survival of her family is a notable feat, Hopkinson says.

"People always talk about how stress can undermine breast-milk production. In this situation, it's very important to see that it's not about external stress, but it's about internal management of stress."

"You hear stories of mothers breast-feeding during disastrous situations, such as in the blitz on London in World War II. This was obviously a very stressful situation, but she wasn't internalizing it to the point that she could not do anything."

"A huge advantage to breast-feeding is that it is available in any emergency situation," says one expert from the Breastfeeding Center of Boston Medical Center in Boston. "In the Superdome in New Orleans, there was no formula, and women who were not breast-feeding had nothing to feed their infants."

"In times of natural disasters, when water and food sources become contaminated or scarce, breast-feeding is a lifesaving measure for our smallest survivors," says Ann Peery, a registered nurse and lactation consultant at the Women's Center at the University of Virginia Health System in Charlottesville.

It is also possible that the very act of breast-feeding could have kept Kim's fear -- and that of her children -- in check.

"Breast milk contains naturally occurring substances to calm the nursing child and help them to sleep, which would have been imperative to help keep, especially the older child, from panic," Collins says. "It would have benefited Mrs. Kim as well, because when a woman nurses, a hormone is released that we know as the 'mothering hormone' -- prolactin -- which would have helped Mrs. Kim stay calmer."

Experts say it is also remarkable that Kim was able to continue to breast-feed her children with little or no food for herself.

"Although the mother herself probably had a very limited food intake during this time, a lactating woman is able to produce an adequate milk supply based on the demand for the milk for a considerable amount of time even under the most extreme circumstances," Geraghty says.

"Think about running a marathon -- it takes a lot out of you, but you can do it," Hopkinson says.

"Mothers can, and often do, operate of a calorie deficit. There is no evidence that a 24-hour fast reduces milk production."

Kim's body was apparently also able to adjust to providing enough milk for both of her children to remain healthy.

"In the vast majority of cases, the baby determines how much milk it needs from the mother," Hopkinson says. "It's really quite amazing how some mothers breast-feed triplets without any help."

"Who knows what the human body is capable of."

Copyright © 2006 ABC News Internet Ventures

Christmas Blues

It's like I can't have a good day.

Bo just called, and he asked me how I was doing. It's sad to admit this, but generally when he calls, I'm in a nasty mood. What does that say about me? I don't know. But, usually, I'm overwhelmed, depressed, anxious or grieving about something. Either I have a kid who isn't cooperating, or I have an appliance or vehicle that's broken, or I need to do something that I'm unable to do because of time or money.

Today, none of that was the case: I have a few groceries--not much, but enough to keep us fed for a couple of days; I taught my Women's History class today (more like faciliated, because the girls really do the majority of the talking) and it went well; Bard received her PSAT scores, and she scored in the 93rd percentile, her highest section landing her in the 99th percentile; At the thrift store, I found a stack of vintage white shabby chic style dishes to use for large gatherings so that I no longer have to use paper plates (21 dishes in two different, yet very similar, patterns) for less than $6 total; I was able to find 15-year-old son Houdin a $2 jacket for his in-character Dickens stint on Friday night (he's to be Peter Cratchit, Bob's eldest son, and he's roaming the streets of our town with "Uncle Scrooge" and "Tiny Tim"), and, in the process of searching, found him a black leather jacket that fits him perfectly...for $1; I'm not in great pain today, which is unusual, though my hip and thigh, which have been nagging me with a dull ache for weeks, are getting worse.

And I've been a decent mom, even. Can you believe it? We celebrated St. Nicholas day yesterday, the kids got bags of candy in their shoes this morning, and I made a batch of cutout cookies last night before they went to bed. I must have warranted a bonus of some sort, because I awoke this morning to Sweetheart beside me with a tray--breakfast in bed for me! Homemade granola, whole milk vanilla yogurt and a little pitcher of homemade eggnog. PLUS a little pair of angel earrings that she bought yesterday for $1.

So, things have been going generally pretty well today, wouldn't you say?

Then, just a little bit ago, Bo called. And I was able to say, "I'm doing pretty well, thank you. How are you?"

Well, it turns out that, while he sounded non-panicked and optimistic, he was calling to inform me that our loan officer for our mortgage has requested a meeting with us. He's known about it for a week, but the meeting is scheduled for tomorrow. Our mortgage has been running behind by one month consistently, and, she says, "the powers that be" are giving her a hard time. We need to talk, she says.

I feel like I'm slipping back into "Bah, Humbug" mode...but I won't. I won't let it happen. Even if it seems like SOMEONE, SOMEWHERE wants me to give up.

Blech.

It's like last year, on Christmas Eve, when I got a speeding ticket, though I was on cruise control going 60. He clocked me going 70, he said. And Merry Christmas. Just what I needed.

Years ago, when we first moved into this house, our whole family was sick during the holidays. Bo was incredibly sick. We found out later that he'd had pneumonia, bronchitis and sinusitis. On Christmas Eve, we had no gifts, no Christmas tree, and no plans for either. I had a majorly sick spouse and a mildly sick baby (she ended up with pneumonia, too). I called my mother-in-law in tears. She sent me this:

FIRST CORINTHIANS 13 [CHRISTMAS VERSION]

If I decorate my house perfectly with plaid bows,
strands of twinkling lights and shiny balls,
but do not show love to my family,
I'm just another decorator.
If I slave away in the kitchen,
baking dozens of Christmas cookies,
preparing gourmet meals
and arranging a beautifully adorned table at mealtime:
but do not show love to my family,
I'm just another cook.
If I work at a soup kitchen
carol in the nursing home,
and give all that I have to charity;
but do not show love to my family,
it profits me nothing.
If I trim the spruce with shimmering angels
and crocheted snowflakes,
attend a myriad of holiday parties
and sing in the choir's cantata
but do not focus on Christ,
I have missed the point.
Love stops the cooking to hug the child.
Love sets aside the decorating to kiss the spouse.
Love is kind, though harried and tired.
Love does not envy another's home
that has coordinated Christmas china and table linens.
Love does not yell at the kids to get out of the way,
but is thankful they are there to be in the way.
Love does not give only to those who are able to give in return; but rejoices in giving to those who cannot.

Love bears all things,
believes all things,
hopes all things, and
endures all things.
Love never fails.
Video games will break,
pearl necklaces will be lost,
golf clubs will rust;
but giving the gift of love will endure.

-AUTHOR UNKNOWN

That brought me to my knees in prayer and confession. And I've kept the copy of that e-mail to pull out every Christmas holiday as a reminder of what's truly important.

If we end up living in a cardboard box at the bottom of the ocean, all I've lost is a home and my stuff. My family and my salvation can never be taken from me. They will both last long into eternity.

It's time to hug the child(ren) and kiss the spouse.

Advent

So, we're a little behind on our Advent. But we're a little less behind today. We just finished our first two days of our Advent family worship. We talked about St. Nicholas, about how he saved some boys from being pickled by an evil innkeeper, and we discussed salvation and forgiveness of sins. We lit our first candle, and we sang together. Houdin knew today's Advent song, though none of the rest of us did. He has such a fine voice, that boy.

And then, we put the "ornament" on the Advent wreath. Only twenty days until Christmas!

Tomorrow, we will join some friends at the monastery for a celebration of St. Nicholas' day. The monastery is a new discovery of ours, and I really enjoy it. A simple yet dedicated service filled with more Scripture than I've heard in any church in years, the Greek monastery gives me a feeling of being connected to not just a Christ Jesus, but an historical Jesus, who dwelt among men. The deliberateness of the monastic service is comforting. While it is long and repetitive, it's also moving and thought-provoking. Afterwards tomorrow, I'm told, the children will gather around one of the monks and receive golden chocolate coins, cookies and stories about St. Nicholas. I'm looking forward to it.

Blessings!

Jar of Christmas Candy.

Baby steppin' to Christmas

Ms Booshay's little Christmas meme really did give me a bit of a jump start. Now, little by little, I'm warming my engine and getting into the Christmas spirit. It started that little autofill feature that, well, um...autofills the title field of my blog entry. I started to type "Christmas Meme," and, lo and behold, I already *have* an entry titled "Christmas Meme." Inspired me to go back and read my entries from last holiday. And you know what? We actually enjoyed Christmas last year, even on a budget only a bit less strict than this year's budget.

And the thing about those entries is that they serve as a reminder. For several years now, I've worked in the mail order department of a local cheesehouse (hi, Ashley!). The past two years, I headed up the mail order operation. Last year, I was miserable. I missed my family, we didn't do our traditional stuff, and I felt like Christmas just kind of rushed on without me. I vowed that I would never let that happen again.

And so, while it's very financially tenuous right now, I'm thankful that I'm, once again, a stay-at-home mom during the Christmas season. That's very important to me. After all, Bard will be seventeen in just two short months. While I hope she plans to stay at home for as long as she wants to, I know that my holiday seasons with her at home are numbered.

Monet and Sweetheart did some gift shopping for me. They spent their "free money" that their Illinois grandpa gave them to buy me treasures from the thrift store. Sweetheart is anxious to get them wrapped, but I told her to wait, that we'll soon get all of our Christmas decorations out and she can wrap them then. She knows that there will be meager offerings this Christmas, and she says she doesn't mind. As long as her stocking is full, she says, and she gets a couple of coloring books, that will be fine. I do know that I bought her a few little goodies at the thrift store, and she'll be pleased with them: a soft cotton quilt, a mosquito net for her bed and a hand-embroidered pillow case with a cute little kitty in a basket. She'll be happy.

Tonight, I prepared some holiday foods--a gallon of eggnog and a pan of homemade vanilla caramels. The eggnog is chilling in the fridge while the caramel loaf is cooling just a few feet from where I type, waiting to be set enough to be cut into pieces and wrapped in wax paper. Later, I'll make dozens of batches of hard candy--watemelon and wintergreen and spearmint and cinnamon and root beer and butter rum and cherry. Lucky for me, I bought a dozen or more jars of the oils last year and I still have them in my spice drawer, so the only outlay I have for that is corn syrup.

Making hard candy was originally Bard's idea. We were trying to think of a good gift for Grandma, and Bard thought of the hard candy, which she thought we could break into pieces and pour into a huge jar. Her idea was inspired by one of Grandma's hobbies--stained glass making. We've made the candy every year since, filling a large jar as full as we can with every flavor we can find. The first year we made it, I added the cinnamon oil too soon ended up with oil burns on my face. I was red for days. I've learned since then, and am much more patient when it comes to adding the oils.

We'll also make butter toffee, pulled molassass taffy and fudge. And this year, for our neighbors' Christmas gifts, Houdin and I will make peppermint cheesecakes, presented on platters found at the thrift store.

For tonight, though, I think we'll put on our jammies and settle in for a couple of our favorite Christmas movies.

Tidings!

Another Christmas Meme

The five senses of Christmas.
According to you.

I saw this over at Quiet Life and thought it would be a nice pick-me-up.

Christmas favorites...


Sight: Candles lit all around the piano room while the Christmas tree glitters in the corner. Seeing our children asleep under the tree, their faces illuminated by the tree's twinkling lights--it's a family tradition to spend one night there.
Sound: Our Christmas playlist, with Nat King Cole, Sting, Barenaked Ladies, Steven Curtis Chapman, The Three Stooges, Danny Kay and many others.
Smells: The fresh tree, cookies baking, nutmeg
Things to Touch: Freshly laundered Christmas pajamas.
Taste: Homemade caramels, White Trash, fudge, shortbread and Tasha Tudor's cutout cookies.

Wow. That actually did make me feel better. Now I can't wait to make some goodies this week.

In which I am a spoiled brat

Bah, humbug.

I finally convinced myself to shut down the computer and turn off the lights at around 4:00 this morning. Bo was asleep sideways on the bed, having spread out there right after we returned home from grocery shopping. He fell into a deep, snoring sleep shortly thereafter. I didn't want to wake him, though I hated the idea of sleeping sideways on the bed, especially since the corner of the fitted sheet had come dislodged from the corner of the bed. But I grabbed my trusty down pillow and knee-walked across the mattress, dropping my pillow somewhere around Bo's feet. Just as I was about to rest my head, Bo stirred, rose, and immediately began pulling the sheet back into place. I rose, too, and did my part, and then I curled up on my side of the bed and waited for sunrise.

As if the alarm wouldn't have come early enough, the phone rang obnoxiously at 7:00 a.m. When the phone rings at either 6:30 or 7:00, I always know that it will be an Amish neighbor. For some reason, they like to make all of their phone calls during hours when most people wouldn't think of calling another human being. Not late at night, but early in the morning, though I've also had calls from young Amish girls as late as midnight. I always feel guilty when I answer an Amish phone call, because I feel like I should be awake and milking cows or something, so I probably talk faster than I normally do, and I doubt that I make much sense. But that's what you get when you call me at 7 a.m.

After the phone conversation, I debated about whether I should go back to sleep or get up, since my alarm was set to explode in just a short 45 minutes. While I debated, I rested my eyes, then the decision was made for me.

When the whiny, nagging alarm clock started screaming at me, I slammed the snooze bar, even though John Tesh says that's a very, very bad thing to do. I couldn't help it. Why is it that I had to force myself to sleep at 3:30 in the morning, but when it comes to 7:45, I fight to stay in bed?

Again, the nagging alarm started its schpiel again, the internal arguing started. The sleepy me wanted to stay in bed and ask my husband to call my walking partner and tell her that I was sick. I was in no mood to walk, especially with the plummeting temperatures highlighting the fact that I don't know where my gloves are.

But the guilt-ridden me won over. I climbed out of bed, did no more than brush my teeth (I was still wearing my clothes which I slept in last night. That's truly depressing) and pull on some winter garb, forced myself into my husband's heatless Jeep and barrelled down the road.

Okay, okay. I'm glad I went, alright? I needed the walk, and I needed the talk. But I'm still dragging, and that idiotic guilt-ridden me won't let me take a nap. She keeps nit-picking me. "There are piles of laundry to do. The dusting needs done. Aren't you going to make Christmas cookies?" She's beginning to sound like my dad. Or my kids. Even more frighening, she sounds just like me. I have informed her, in no uncertain terms, that I am NOT in the Christmas spirit, that I have no interest in being merry and bright, that she can stick her glad tidings in her ear, and that I will most definitely NOT spend my evening making a popcorn garland while watching Will Ferrell act like an overgrown Elf.

After my walk, I hit the local thrift store and found a great papasan chair for $7, along with a stack of Bon Apetit magazines (ten cents each) and a fistful of vintage Christmas cards (also ten cents each). When I finally dragged my prodigal butt home, eleven-year-old Monet was waiting anxiously by the door for me to get out of the cold Jeep.

"Guess what! Guess what! We have a Christmas tree!" I gave him my standard "I'm-the-confused-mother" look and he elaborated. My walking buddy, Kim, who knows that money, the very root of all possible evils, is very tight for us and that, so far, a Christmas tree has not been in the cards for the Thicket household, delivered a Christmas tree while I was gone. Now it's here, in my house, waiting to be decorated and loved. I have no idea where she got it, but there it is.

That certainly changes things.

Now I *have* to make Christmas cookies, pull out the Elf DVD and mix up some eggnog.

Heck, we might even string some popcorn garlands.

May your days be merry and bright.

Just breathe

I don't know why I'm awake at 1:30 in the morning, listening to my husband's peaceful breathing as he sleeps this night away.

I don't know why I was awake at 1:30 yesterday morning.

Or 3:30.

Or 5:30.

But I was. And I am. And the only explanation that I can think of is that I'm thinking of too much. Verily, I say unto you, I have a lot on my mind.

Basically, I ache. My body aches, my mind aches. My psyche and my ego and my spirit all ache. And the completely sucky thing about it is that I don't feel that I can really write it all down publicly, that I can tick each thing off, one by one, and explain it so that it makes sense. It doesn't make sense. Instead, I just sit here feeling discouraged, disillusioned and confused. As far as I can figure, I'm sitting here trying to dull the ache that keeps stabbing at me by avoiding everything. Even sleep.

Which is kind of ironic, because for the past two days, I've seen very little reason to even get out of bed. Yesterday, I stayed in my room until 3 o'clock in the afternoon, shuffling back and forth between computer, pillow and blanky, potty, pillow and blanky and computer. At 1 o'clock, my seven-year-old delivered two hot dogs on too-big sub sandwich buns after I begged my sixteen-year-old to make me something. Anything. I wolfed them down greedily and returned to my mind-numbing non-activities.

At 3, I dragged myself out of bed to go to my children's choral concert. I wanted to be there, but I didn't want to go. Fortunately, I dressed. I didn't shower. I didn't really care. I made a lame attempt at straightening my hair, which made me even more depressed. Several times during the evening, I was angered, insulted, offended and hurt. But did I say anything? No. I just ingested it. I think I'll just keep sucking it all down until it boils out of me, exploding like a faulty pressure-cooker, scalding everyone within range. Thank God for my husband, who listened sympathicially to my intolerant snobbery. How did I end up with such a gem? Why did he get such a raw deal?

Today, I stayed in bed until almost 2. I spent a lot of time crying and questioning God. Questioning the very existence of God. If there is a God, and I somehow still think there is, even though I don't think He exists the way we think He exists, I don't think He operates the way we think He operates. He doesn't listen to prayers. Or at least He doesn't answer them. Not mine, anyway. That's coming from me. The eternal optimist. Miss "there-has-to-be-a-way." From the time I was a tadpole, I believed that God would answer my prayers, that He saw the little-girl me kneeling by the window and gazing up at the stars, praying fervently, looking for a sign, even though her own parents never taught her how to pray.

But I never got a pony. And my mother never quit being abusive. And my parents did divorce. And my body still aches. And people still depress me. And...

And I'm thinking a lot of other awful things that I can't say right now. But I can say that I've spent the past couple of weeks feeling pretty discouraged. And I can't even write about it. But I just need to say this one thing aloud.

I'm very unhappy right now.

So if you happened to stumble upon this unhappy piece of writing, and you're very unhappy, too, I can do for you want I can't do for myself. I can hope. And I can pray for you. And I can believe that things are going to get better for you. I really can. Isn't that just certifiably insane? Maybe that's what this whole human-interaction thing is all about, that the very people that you desperately need to lift you up and hold you close against them simply can't do that. They just don't have it in them. But some person, sitting in front of a glowing computer screen on some other contininent, or maybe just in a different house minutes down the road from you, or out in the middle of an African jungle, can pray for your desires, can breath hope into those oxygen-deprived corners of your life. And maybe you'll feel new life, and you won't even know why. But tonight, it's because I'm here, praying for you when I don't know how to pray for myself.

And maybe someone can do the same for me. Maybe tomorrow (today), I'll wake up refreshed, ready to run three miles. Ready to decorate for Christmas. Ready to make cookies, and do laundry, and cook meals, and have conversations with my kids. Maybe, for a moment or two, I'll feel attractive, and I'll feel worthy, and I'll feel like my problems aren't as bad as all that, even though nothing else will have changed. I'll just have fresh oxygen, fresh air in my lungs, from out of nowhere.

All we have to do is keep breathing.

So take a deep breath, my friend. I'm breathing, too.

Japanese IQ Test

Thanks to Rachel, I now know that I can hold a steady job in Japan, because I passed the Japanese IQ Test. Got some time to waste? Here's the best place to do it. :-)

I did solve this puzzle, by the way, so it is possible. Fair enough, it *is* the most brain power I've used all day.

The Turkeys

It was an experiment, really.

I wanted to see if we could successfully raise turkeys for our Thanksgiving feast. I'm not a big turkey fan myself, but Bo and the children eat it up. For the past several years, we've cooked our Thanksgiving bird on the charcoal grill, a tradition that has served us well. So, while I'd be content with mashed potatoes and homemade cranberry sauce on my plate, I know my family would prefer some meat.

I picked up the turkeys from the grain mill early in the year. I think it was around April. I believe we started with ten or twelve, but we lost a few right away. It seems that turkeys like to die almost immediately after being born, and continue to want to die until they're about six weeks old. After that, killing them is virtually impossible. I let them loose in the barnyard, and off they went, happily devouring everything in sight. They kept most of the bugs out of my garden. Then again, they kept the tomatoes out of my garden, too. Next year, that will need to be remedied.

When people would come to visit and see the large birds waddling around my yard, they would generally make two comments. The first was always in reference to the fate of these beasts.

"Will you eat them for Thanksgiving?"

When I answered affirmatively, there would always be an awe in the response. Sometimes it was a positive awe. "Really? Wow! That's pretty cool!"

Sometimes it was more along the lines of a sympathetic kind of "awwwww...."

"You're really going to kill them and eat them for dinner?" the guest would ask.

"Yup," I would affirm.

"Will you be able to eat them now that they've been your pets?" the guest would ask.

"Yup," I would repeat.

Turkeys, I would tell them, are not exactly pets. Yes, they do get into the dog food occasionally, but that does not make them dogs. Yes, the black lab does chase them fairly often, but that does not make them cats.

Still, to be fair, I did feel that it would be a little difficult to see them go to the Big Platter in the Sky, because I truly did like them. In more than a food relationship kind of way, that is. I enjoyed watching them grow, watching them scamper across the yard, seeing them come when I would call them with a bucketful of goodies, and I was grateful for their apple orchard cleanup duties--devouring all of the falls and the nasty worms along with them.

And that leads me to the second statement people would make about turkeys.

"They're pretty stupid, aren't they?"

I've heard that said, but, honestly, I don't believe it. I tend to think they're more on the trusting and naive side, more calm and tame, more curious and persistent than chickens. I've heard stories of them standing in the rain with their beaks in the air, drowning because they didn't have the sense to keep from doing so.

I never saw that.

What I saw was a group of birds who knew how to find food and water, who knew where to roost at night, who recognized the sound of the garage door opening and made their way quickly to try to get in before it closed so they could raid the dog food dish or all kinds of tasty scraps.

So when the day came to load the five birds into the feed sacks and tote them across town for their Big Day, I did feel a bit sad. I talked to them all the way there, trying to assure them that it would be okay. I don't know who I was trying to kid. I don't think the turkeys bought it.

When it was time to load my feathered friends into the killing cones, I bowed my head and said a prayer of thanks, reminding myself that it's hypocritical to refuse to butcher my own turkeys yet eat or serve inhumanely raised, trash-fed birds that are mass butchered in slaughterhouses after having never seen the light of day. It was hard to watch the lifeblood drain from my turkeys' bodies, puffs of white escaping their nostrils, indicating to me that they were still hanging on in that cold morning air. It reminded me of the snowy winter days when I would test the temperature by sniffing hard, trying to make my own nostrils stick together, forcing hot air from my open mouth to determine whether I could see my breath. As Big Tom breathed his last steamy breaths that morning, I thanked him for his life, and I was grateful that he'd lived a very good one, devouring my tomatoes, swiss chard, green peppers, eggplants and even our carved pumpkins.

Aside from Tom, we butchered four other turkeys that day. Tom was the biggest, weighing in at 20 pounds. The other four, their gray feathers a dark contrast to Tom's whiteness, were each around 17 pounds. I had a hand in every step of their processing, from loading them into the cones, to removing their feathers, to pulling them from the ice water bath and dropping them into their individual bags.

There's a certain maturity that comes when you produce your own food, especially when you raise and butcher your own meat. The mystery is removed. The fear is irradicated. It's not the horribly messy, disgusting process you would imagine it is. It's fairly clean, straightforward and simple. There is a process (thus the term "processing") that everyone in the family, no matter the age, can participate in. You become intimately acquainted with your meal. You become much more grateful for it. You become more aware of what it takes to live, to thrive. I think it may be part of the problem in our culture, part of what's missing. We aren't acquainted with our food anymore.

Tom, being the largest of the turkeys, traveled with us to my inlaws house via a big cooler full of icewater in the back of the minivan. Once there, he became our second Thanksgiving dinner, a small gathering of my parents-in-law, my children, Bo and I. His cavity was filled with fresh herbs, lemons, garlic and onions, and he was basted with apple juice as he browned for hours over indirect heat on the charcoal grill, Bo faithfully tending him all along the way.

The final result? Not bad. It wasn't all I had hoped for, but it wasn't a failure. I think he could have been more flavorful and a bit more tender (sorry, Tom. I still love you), but he was juicy enough. Probably from all of those tomatoes.

I think it was a good experiment. I'll definitely do it again next Spring. Until then, we'll feast on the other four turkeys who are waiting patiently in the freezer for Christmas, Easter and summer picnics.

I think we'll try experimenting with a big, fat piggy next. A freezer full of nitrate-free pork would make my family very, very happy.

It's a simple life. And a very good one at that.

Unless, I suppose, you're a turkey.

Eggnog

We just returned from our grocery outing, and I was pleased to find this recipe in my inbox. I've been buying eggnog from a local whole-milk dairy (not homogenized but still pasteurized) and wanted to make my own eggnog using raw milk. My friend Kathy is a big raw milk and slow foods advocate, so I knew that if I asked her for an eggnog recipe, she'd have one. And, as I expected, she delivered. Very timely, since we just loaded eight gallon jars of milky white goodness into our fridge.

Kathy writes: "We lapped up my Dad's Eggnog for years on Christmas Eve until we heard about raw egg scares in the 80's. Then cholesterol aversion.....sigh....

I missed it so that when our family was young, I even made a tofu version in our vegan days!!

What goes around comes around..now I confidently make it as a special Christmas treasure for our immediate family and others. Naturally-raised farm fresh ingredients give me assurance that I am giving a wholesome food, as well as a treat to my family. It's a Good Life."

Dad's Eggnog

Beat 6 egg whites stiff.
Gradually add 3/4 C sugar to whites.
Beat 6 egg yolks till thick and lemony. Fold into egg whites.
Add:
1 pint of cream
1 pint of milk (can add more milk for thinner eggnog)
brandy or flavoring to taste
Liberal dashes of nutmeg in each glass

Makes 15 servings

Bard's Choir

Bard's touring choir travels both nationally and internationally, singing for and exploring other cultures. This photo is from last night's holiday concert. Bard is in the top row, first from the right. 

Monet's choir

Monet is the fourth singer from the right on the bottom row. 

Sweetheart's choir

Here's Sweetheart's choir, the youngest group out of the entire society. Sweetheart is in the second row, fourth from the right. This is her first year in the choral society's children's choir. 

Young Men's Ensemble

Houdin is fourth from the right. 

Bard and Friends

This is a photo from last night's Holiday concert. Bard is second from the right. 

The Wal-Mart You Don't Know

This article may make you think twice before shopping at Wal*Mart. I fear that someday, if we aren't careful, companies like Wal*Mart may completely decide what we use, wear and eat.

A Christmas Story House

A Christmas Story House is open for tours! The Ohio house used in the movie A Christmas Story has been restored to it's movie glory, complete with leg lamp. I'm so lucky to live in Ohio. :-)

Running progress

When I looked out the window this morning, I knew I was going to have to make a choice. Yesterday, I'd made plans with my walking partner, Kim, to do the Couch Potato to 5K routine, and this morning, it was raining. A quick check of the forecast told me that the rain would increase and the winds were going to be gusting mightily. Not the best day for running. But I decided I wanted to do it anyway.

I called Kim.

"I figured it would be you," she said. We talked about the rain, and I said I'd like to just go ahead and do it, that I had to travel into town, where we walk, anyway, and it was only a half-hour of getting wet. Why not?

So we met, and I felt ready, though my legs and a few other muscles were still pretty sore from my jogging stint Wednesday morning. We walked for five minutes, then we jogged for sixty seconds...and then, I just couldn't get my breath back. I felt like I was going to vomit. I don't know why, but I just couldn't get my body to cooperate. We walked our prescribed ninety seconds, Kim strolling beside me, not even breathing hard, and at the end of ninety seconds, I still hadn't regained control of my breathing. But we set off, and I ran another sixty seconds. It was awful, and then it was even more difficult for me to get my breathing back to a steady rate.

So we decided to just walk, and I was glad for that, but I felt badly for dragging Kim out to the trail under false pretenses. The rain was really coming down, and I'd abandonned my raincoat hood, so my hair was sticking to my head in heavy, cold ringlets. Time to get a bob.

We walked out usual distance, and then we started back. At one point, she asked if I wanted to try jogging again, so we did, and this time, it was really a breeze. I don't know what the difference was, but I was glad I did it. I'm disappointed that I didn't do the whole routine, but I'm glad I got out and ran.

One of the things I love most about walking with Kim is the conversation. We always end up talking about something good, whether it's books, movies, relationships, religion, politics, whatever. And I don't feel judged or threatened or bothered by our conversations (except that I think I tend to dominate and talk to much. Who knew?), so even though we didn't run, I was blessed by her presence and our discussions.

We plan to try again tomorrow. I think I may just have to stick to the walking, because my legs are still trying to recover from my first day of running, and I'm sporting two pretty new blisters, one on each foot.

It sure was easier putting all this weight on.