January 05, 2009 @ 21:58

Okay, so I’m just gonna say it.  Forty is scaring the bejeezus outta me.  I’ve only got 20 days left in my thirties. 

Tick.  Tock. 

Tick.  Tock. 

Tick.  Tock. 

Oh, the willies.  Somebody say something funny, quick! 

Yeah, I can’t think of anything either.  Except that this morning, I drove my kids to school.  Yeah, ummm, school doesn’t start back from the holiday break until tomorrow.  Jaysus . . .  I really do need a keeper . . . 

January 04, 2009 @ 16:13

Today in Walmart I cried . . .  I was standing on the cereal aisle, taking down a box of Kashi Strawberry Fields when I heard the shouting begin.  Two people somewhere towards the front of the store began screaming at each other.  Employees and other customers went running towards the sound.  I could only make out a word here or there.  The tone, however, was unmistakeable.  It was a domestic disturbance right there in the middle of the Sunday crowded grocery store.  I watched a mother tuck a toddler’s face close to her chest and begin to push their buggy at an almost run away from the fighting.  A group of middle aged women converged at the end of the aisle, clucking their tongues and shaking their heads.  I could hear the reproach in their voices, how shameful.  And all I could think is how sad I was for the people whose lives were so out of control that they couldn’t walk through a store and keep their cool. 

This morning, Puppy woke up in his own bed.  I was sitting in the living room reading a book and heard him stir.  He doesn’t usually sleep alone.  He called out for me.  “Mommy, are you okay?” 

When I picked up Bear Friday night from his father’s, it was shocking when he walked out the door.  He’d only been gone eight days, but while away, he got a hair cut.  Most of his soft wavy brown curls were gone and he looked suspiciously like a grown up. 

For the past week I have been chained to my music collection, filling my head with it, probably to keep myself from thinking too much.  I keep returning to Nessun Dorma and weeping. 

All of these things are related, I’m sure, but I have not figured out precisely why.  I’m still avoiding the thought of making a New Year’s resolution.  I think that this year, I will not make any.  Last year was long.  Hard. Good. We all changed in ways I never expected.  Bear is nearly a man.  Puppy is nearly a regular boy.  And I have found myself back in a place that I swore that I would never go to again. 

January 02, 2009 @ 19:39

I managed to tear myself away from the books long enough to deliver the wedding cake . . . 

December 31, 2008 @ 17:08

I’m not going out tonight.  I’ve booked a wedding cake for Friday.  I cannot risk a hangover for the finishing touches tomorrow.  And there’s a Pride and Prejudice marathon on the Oxygen network.  And I went to four bookstores yesterday tracking down the very last copy of Twilight in the city.  So my New Year’s Eve will be spent watching Jane Austen, baking a four tiered white chocolate snowflake covered tribute to love while reading what may be the syrupiest vampire novel ever.  I have so renewed my girl card for 2009. 

Happy New Year indeed! 

December 26, 2008 @ 09:24

A few weeks ago my mother brought me a bookcase that used to stand in my grandparents’ home.  I already had the rocking chair that stood in front of it.  As a kid, I didn’t know why, but it always made a little pop sound when you rocked back really far.  Not too far now that my feet touch the floor, but when I was much smaller, I would have to swing my feet up to hear that pop.  I have a couple of the books that used to reside in the bookcase.  I wish I had them all.  I loved looking through those books.  Some of them were so strange.  Agricultural textbooks from the turn of the century.  A few of the classics.  Books written for the homemaker.  Random books they had collected over their lives.  I used to sit in that chair with a book and rock, listening to that little pop until my Meemaw would make me stop.  She never did tell me why and I always just assumed that the pop bothered her.  Last year I realized why she was making me stop.  I was in the house alone and heard a loud crack from the living room.  It took me several minutes to find the source.  One of the rockers had broken.  When I looked closely I saw it had been repaired with a metal plate on the inner side.  It was bolted into place.  An unseen repair.  I guess after years and years the wood had finally shrunk to the point that the metal plate snapped the wood in two.  For years and years I had sat in that chair and listened to that pop and never seen that flaw.  It was a fairly major repair, but it had gone completely unnoticed.  And it hadn’t been a repair that could stand up to the wear of a long life.  

One summer, I was about eight, I pulled a book from the shelf and found a small pint of whiskey behind it.  I didn’t think too much about it, but had just enough savvy at that age to not mention it.  I hid treasures in my room.  I knew a secret when I saw it.  And Bawbaw and I were the only two people that ever cracked those agriculture books.  So I knew it was his whiskey hidden away from Meemaw’s eys.  Years later, after I was a grown woman and my Meemaw and Bawbaw had both passed away, my mother would tell me some of the more difficult stories of their lives.  It’s a strange thing when you suddenly get a full picture of someone that you thought you knew completely already.  It made every part of them more precious to me.  To know their struggles.  I had only ever known the man who kissed the woman on the cheek each time he left the house.  Even if it was just to feed the cats in the barn.  Now I knew why.  Because their love was hard won, not in a abusive way, in a stalwart way that so many people of their generation were.  And that makes it even better, even more magical to me.  When you truly love, you do not walk away.  When you truly love, you do not take out your pain and throw it at your loved one like a spear.  

A few weeks ago I stood in front of that bookshelf and pulled out my old worn copy of the Joy of Cooking.  A book my mother and Meemaw taught me was the best cookbook ever written.  They are still right about that.  I had, as usual, made too many plans and was looking for a shortcut.  I had decided that instead of making rum cakes and my Meemaw’s fresh apple cake that I would turn the fresh apple cake into the rum cakes.  I would infuse it with an orange liquer and only make the one recipe.  As I pulled out that book and opened it to the hand written note I keep inside of it, I remembered that bottle of whiskey.  There I stood about to soak my Meemaw’s cake in liquor, standing in front of that book case where my Bawbaw used to hide his.  I know that might seem a bit odd to some, (and yes, it’s okay to laugh out loud.  I did.) but it was one of the best moments I had this past holiday season.  You know that circular life’s motion that contiually brings back memories and loved ones that may be gone from the earth, or just gone from your life for today?  It’s a constant.  And if the love is real, it will come back around.  You just have to be patient.  And open to it.  And willing to admit your part in sending it away, if you had one. 

December 25, 2008 @ 11:42

This has turned out to be one of the best Christmases ever in my life.  I’ve recieved unexpected gifts from friends near and far.  A lovely whisk arrived within just a few days of the post that mentioned it.  I’ve made three batches of truffles so far, Emily, and it’s perfect, thank you.  Two gift certificates came to me as well with the same whisk-ey intent.  One has already been tranformed into a Nordic Elf fondue set in the whisk’s stead.  They make me smile, just like Heather and Christy do, thank you.  The third, I’m still thinking, the Nordic Elves are looking like they need company, though.  Perhaps hot cocoa mugs and spoons . . . There was also a card, with a poem, that flat out took my breath away.  As well as a set of Christmas ornaments for the tree that made me cry.  There were cards and notes and photos and presents and more sweetness than we’ve experienced in years.  Thank you guys.  You cannot know what you all mean to me. 

I got to have a house full of my brothers and sisters and cousins and all of their children for Christmas Eve dinner.  Even though some were missing and we missed them terribly, I had to fight back tears once or twice just looking across my living room at faces that hadn’t been together since my Nanny passed away.  I hope you all found a perfect moment for your holiday like that.  I hope you found yourself in exactly the place you wanted to be with all the people that you love.  My new year’s resolution is already done.  To spend the next year making more memories like these.  And hopefully to keep us all on the same track that has led Bear to being the best big brother/cousin ever.   He spent countless patient hours these past several days with the little ones and they love him for it. 

Helping Jaidon slam dunk a bit earlier than expected. 

Assembling loopedy loops. 

Kicking back after the dust had settled. 

Happy Christmas . . .  and an even Happier New Year to you all. 

December 22, 2008 @ 20:51

So every year for Christmas at my daddy’s house I make a birthday cake.  For Jesus.  One year I built a little manger in the center and made a tiny baby Jesus in the manger, all edible.  The family had the exact opposite reaction as they usually do, fighting for the piece with the most frosting.  They all avoided the baby in the manger until it was a wobbly narrow tower of cake in the center of the plate with the little sugar Christ child swaying on the top.  Nobody was willing to eat the baby Jesus.  We still laugh about that one.  I made a yule log cake years and years ago.  Early in my cake days.  It was not pretty.  It fell apart.  It wasn’t particularly tasty.  I hadn’t tried it again since.  I guess I just hadn’t thought about it.  But I decided to do one this year after seeing Throw Down.  Did you see the Buche de Noel Throw Down with Bobby Flay?  I gotta say Throw Down has made me rethink my previous dislike of him.  I forget which other Food Network show made a yule log cake but one of them rolled the cake from the jelly roll pan into the log shape and let it cool that way.  This appears to have been the key.  Because when I decided to give the yule log a re-try it worked.  Of course I ran short on time, because I’d managed all my time poorly.  Consistency’s the key, and every year I think I can get more done than I actually do.  So no meringue mushrooms.  No modeling chocolate pine cones.  No cute fondant forest critters.  On the way to my daddy’s house I left behind the ice cream.  What’s birthday cake without ice cream, right?  So I stopped at a grocery store between our house and theirs and would you believe they had one half gallon left of the same Merry Mint flavor I had bought and left behind.  We forgot to get the ice cream out and serve it with the cake after dinner.  But, all in all, not bad.  It was double chocolate mousse cake, Bear’s favorite, and Puppy thought it was hilarious that we had a cake that looked like Frog from Word World’s house.  And nobody seemed to have a problem eating Frog’s house. 

December 21, 2008 @ 14:09

So we went to one side of the family’s Christmas celebration this weekend.  Saw my four year old niece that I don’t get to see very often.  And it scared the bejeezus outta me.  They’re creating a monster.  Bossy, vain, look at me look at me four year olds are pretty normal.  I get that.  But this girl?  Is scary.  It was made significantly worse for the afternoon by one of the presents she recieved.  A big electronic rock star set up.  Microphone and, I swear, an amp that went to eleven.  For the entire afternoon she shrieked into it.  If daddy stopped paying attention she’d shout “Daddy!  Daddy!  Daddy!”  into the mic over and over until he returned to the room.  This is what she was singing: 

Keeps Gettin’ Better

Not a bad song, I actually really like Christina Aguilera, but not appropriate coming out of the mouth of a four year old girl.  And she knew every word.  Reminded of me of that poor little girl I saw at “Boo at the Zoo”  one year dressed as Brittany Spears, full red patent leather suit.  You remember the one?  She couldn’t have been more than four or five either.  Made me want to cry then.  And I did cry a little bit on the drive home for my neice. 

At one point, her daddy patted her on the head and pointed around the room at all the other kids and family and said . . . 

“You see all those other people?  All beneath you.  You’re above them all.” 

Send chills up your spine, too? 

December 17, 2008 @ 09:08

So I mentioned making a savory bread pudding after the Christmas party.  I even took a picture.  But afterward, I had decided not to post.  The snob in me occasionally self-edits.  You can’t cover leftovers with a pound of cheese and call it something special, Sara!?!?!  But a co-worker and I were talking on the post party morning about an old landmark that used to be in our hometown.  Clausen’s Truck Stop.  Gawd, I loved that place.  Fries and mushroom gravy at 3am after a long night of drinking?  I have no words to explain the small town bliss.  Greasy food after whiskey and beer, never fear, that’s how the rhyme goes, right?  I can very clearly remember the day I came into town for a visit, shortly before I moved back here for good, and went to drive past Clausen’s.  And it was gone.  I was blown away.  It was a classic greasy spoon.  Surly waitresses, sometimes the hot chocolate arrived without even a stir.  Just a lump of brown powder on top of a cup of hot water.  Awesome, no?  Not great food that I remember except for those fries and gravy.  In truth just regular old french fries with cafeteria brown mushroom gravy.  But, man.  It figured into some really great memories of my college days.  Talking about it made me homesick for the little town this used to be.  So here’s the Hangover Bread Pudding.  In honor of late nights with old friends. 

Hangover Bread Pudding

Stale baguette slices, enough to cover the bottom of a large baking dish
Leftover Sausage Balls, a classic Southern staple for parties, Paula Deen has a recipe for them here, of course she does. 
8 eggs
3 cups of milk
1/2 teaspoon of salt
1/2 teaspoon of black pepper
1 teaspoon of dill weed
1 tablespoon of minced onion
2 cups of shredded cheese of your choice, a good melty kind

Lay bread slices in bottom of non-stick sprayed baking dish.  Layer the sausage balls on top of the bread.  Beat eggs with milk, salt, pepper, dill, and onion.  Pour over the bread and sausage layers.  Top with shredded cheese and let sit in fridge for at least two hours.  Bake at 350 degrees until top is bubbly and browned.  Eat and remember how much nicer it is tying one on with friends now that you are a mature grown up and not a silly college kid who thought they were bullet proof.  The wine is much better now. Oh, and the food, too. 

December 15, 2008 @ 21:21

It almost never snows here.  And for it to be timed so that we get icy snowy beauty and Christmas lights at the same time?  Perfection for those of us who don’t have to be out in it.  The view outside our little house. 

The view inside. 

Plans tomorrow include sleeping in, pancakes, and perhaps more Christmas cookies.  I love this life.