End of Year

Mourning doves waiting for me to leave so they can come eat; Deb Marshall photo

This week alone, this is what I’ve cooked:

A small pot of celeriac soup.

A large pot of pumpkin-celeriac soup.

A large pot of chicken broth.

3 lbs of corton. (that’s French-Canadian pate, for those of you who don’t have F-C relatives)

2 tourtiere (pork pie; ditto)

7 jam and fig tarts, and one hand-sized tourtiere

2 steamed ginger puddings (steamed puddings look like cake when they’re done, but you do indeed steam them. For hours. In a mold or a properly-sized basin ((ceramic bowl.)))

Muhamarra, a full food-processor’s worth (middle eastern dip, made of walnuts, olive oil, roasted red peppers, lots of garlic, harissa, lemon juice, pomegranate syrup, and a few roasted olives. With za’atar on top.

Mustard-sauced cauliflower.

Cauliflower soup with 5 cheeses. (I used sharp cheddar, chive cheddar, provolone, swiss, and something called “Wife of Bath,” which I didn’t like but is more than good in the soup.)

In the last three days, this is what I’ve eaten:

All of the above, plus 2 kinds of fruitcake

Christmas cookies from three different cooks

Fruit-filled sweet breads from two different cooks

A lot of baguette, sourdough bread, and cornichon to carry the corton and cut the richness

Green bean casserole; scalloped potatoes; roast beef; ham

Mixed nuts

Cold shrimp cocktail

A cheesy dip

Lots of coffee with eggnog and milk

2 different salads; not nearly enough in ratio with the rest of what I’ve eaten

Chocolate-covered ginger

Chocolate-mint candies

Cheeses – mostly Stiltonish

Passionfruit nectar mixed with carbonated water

1 gin-and-tonic. Thank god I rarely drink alcohol

A selection of digestive herbs and remedies

On Christmas Day, here’s who this introvert spent hours with:

3 Daves: my bro, my youngest niece’s new honey, his dad

2 Kates: my oldest niece, and Dave honey’s sister

My youngest niece, responsible for two of the children below

6 children, all but one under the age of 7, and only 2, my grand-nieces, who I know; the others belonged to new honeys and sister of Dave honey and ex-wife of that Dave

A brother of Dave honey, George

The wife of George, Mika, whose name is the name of my Mother’s late cat

The ex-wife of Dave honey, and her 3-week-old baby; I don’t remember their names

Mom

The Husband

My sis-in-law

My ex-nephew in-law, and his new honey, Christine, who I’d never met before.

Abby, the dog who I know, and another really nice dog whose name I didn’t catch and don’t know

Here’s how I feel:

Pleased I survived all the strangers, who were all fairly friendly and surprisingly comfortable and relaxed

Over-fed

Wicked tired

Here’s what I’m doing right now: 

Writing this and staring down the to-do list. Daring it to make me do something.

Planning a post-prandial nap

Wishing I was already asleep…

For the blog, 27 December 2019: herondragonwrites.blogspot.com

Aw, Jeez - December

Okey dokey.

It’s now almost half-way through December, and I’m not feeling a heck of a lot better about this month than I was about November. The best I can say about it is that the garden’s all white –even after yesterday’s 50-degree rainfall – so I’m not staring out the window at it anymore thinking about all the things I need to get done before it snows. I tossed those lists, and now I’m working on “Things To Do First Thing Come Spring” lists.

But first I have to get through the lists of things that need to be done before January 1^st. 

And now we’re into full moon week (Cold Moon) when things inevitably go not as well as one would like. The furry people are whacko, inanimate objects usually don’t do what I ask them to, and while we do now have a furnace, it’s not hooked up yet and so, essentially, no furnace. Which got old some time ago. And even getting it here was a fraught exercise.

I do have one freesia in bloom, and freesia smell quite wonderful. And this thing is living in my kitchen, after being brought in from its home, since spring, on the wart:

Unknown pretty plant from the Evil Store, last May

It’s acting like a fresh new plant – all on its own, I did nothing except bring it in, and occasionally remember to water it. 

Also, The Enforcer at Pleasant Lake Veterinary Clinic sent me this photo, that she took on Hallowe’en when the Dark Lady visited Lou (he’s the handsome one in the white fur suit, being held by one of his servants – that is, one of the highly trained veterinary staff at his castle):

So I’m mostly trying to concentrate on stuff like this. And looking forward to two weeks off, during which I hope I have to do nothing except read fiction. And nap. I’m tired.

Also, I ordered a holiday present for myself. It hasn’t arrived yet, and can’t come soon enough. It’s a tee-shirt that reads: Let’s assume I’m right. It’ll save time.

Once that comes, I expect all I’ll need to do is point at it and my world will fall into perfect order.

And if it doesn’t – Catman’s teaching me to growl.

11 December 2019   

We Hate November

Catman reading. Deb Marshall photo.

 

We hate November.

Grey. Cold. Freezing rain. Snow layered with freezing rain. Slippery stairs. Cold wind. Garden turned white. Stuff frozen in. The end of flowers. Continual woodstove. Dead furnace. 

Pissed off cats. Hairballs. Woodstove dust. Leaves buried under snow. Snow tires not on. Other people’s snow tires not on. Black ice. Overheated public rooms. Underheated public rooms. Overdue library books. Needing to sign up, again, for the ACA – guaranteed hours of frustration, completely incomprehensible, too expensive choices followed by throwing hands in the air and signing up for the cheapest option available because that’s all we can afford, anyway. Aches and pains. 

Nothing foodish appeals or is anything I want to be bothered to cook. I want one of the pears off my tree, which were so delicious this fall, and are long gone. I don’t want to get into a cold car and drive for 15 minutes before it warms up enough to be bearable. I can’t find a single pair of gloves that are warm enough, but not over-heating. Nothing is quite right about any of my winter hats. I haven’t won Publisher’s Central Bureau $2000 For Life sweepstakes, yet, nor the Lottery. Bills are mounting faster than I can make money. Dead furnace – oh, did I mention that already?

Ears in the radio morning assaulted by lying, ball-less, Republican minions being rude and not even slightly entertaining or creative as they twist and warp reality in an attempt to protect the worst so-called President ever. Immigrants still being trashed and tortured, just-barely adult DACA children who have lived all of their conscious lives here being forced to live in fear, endlessly, because of same, said, nasty, ball-less Republican minions and their satanic master. People dying because they can’t afford health care because we don’t have the national soul to man up and do the right thing. Children, amongst other people, dying because same, said ball-less minions, can’t bring themselves to vote against a noisy but actually unimportant NRA. People shouting vile things at other people, because they’ve been confused into thinking that’s an heroic thing to do. People doing vile things because their souls are lost. Let’s not even think about the environment – I daily reflect on how happy I am that I’m 63, not 23, and didn’t have children who will have to live – maybe just exist - all their lives through what’s coming.

My office is too cool. I put on a sweater, and then I’m too hot: there is no right place. Nor is there a right mental place. I need to take another continuing ed class before mid-December – a weekend-long process, time spent that can’t be shared with anything else, time I can’t afford. And then the more hours of filling out license-renewal forms, trying to figure out where to squirrel the money for the class and the forms out of a too-small budget. That’s what credit cards are for, but the balances grow higher, and they’re built of necessity after necessity, not out of fun things we did or got. 

Flu; pneumonia; stomach bug; strep; upper respiratory infections – all going around, waiting in hidden places for a slip in hygiene, an exhausted immune system or over-stressed body to stumble arcoss them. Year-end inventories that need to be taken. Bird seed to buy – are the bears in their winter beds yet, or is it too soon? Friends with worrisome, debilitating health conditions. “Health conditions” rather than illnesses because, in one case, no seems to be able to discover what’s causing it, and in another, there’s a perfect storm of many chronic diseases that the medications don’t work for, anymore. I miss my old office-mate, and don’t yet know my new one. How can almost every family gift-giving occasion fall within eight short weeks?  Are left-overs an acceptable  gift? End-of-year office hoe-out needs to take place. Before January.

Holidays coming…wondering what that will mean for a couple of troubled people I love. A few too many things to worry about, and not enough time to do it, or do anything about them. Has this “water cure” I’ve been swallowing been poisoning me? How’s the patient doing, who had a major operation last week? Will it snow or be freezing rain the day we have tickets for a Hatbox play I’m really looking forward to? Body hasn’t adjusted to early darkness yet: will I be able to stay awake to listen to a friend’s concert tonight, or will the conductor be forced, once again, to turn and conduct my snoring during pauses?

Sigh. Thanksgiving coming. Turkey? Really? I discovered several years ago that I actually kinda hate turkey. And most of the other things that are served at that meal. Worse, now that I seem to be sliding back towards the vegetarianism that was my happy eating place for 30-plus years. Except now, most vegetables, fruits and grains make my blood sugar do scary things. What can I eat? Food is no longer safe. Even water can be wrong. The evil store isn’t stocking the body warmers I need for me and my patients this winter, but an almost useless something-similar instead.  Dead furnace – still.

The garden, source of stress and pleasure, is over for the season. I have lengthy notes about what needs to be done first thing next spring, lists of what didn’t get done before frost in the ground and first snow, lists of perennials newly planted, possibly too late – will they survive the winter? Ditto the new peach trees and cherry bush? The garlic that’s only grown once for me in decades of planting it?  Will the parsnips that get left in the ground over winter to sweeten still be there in spring, or will mice feast on it over winter?

On Hallowe’en, I played the Dark Lady all day, frightening and mystifying adults, and had more fun than I’d had in months, maybe years. Last weekend I had a couple of hours to lie on the floor while Sherlock and Clare, a friend’s two dogs, attacked me and licked me and jumped all over me until I was screaming with laughter from being tickled and nibbled and dog-dog-dogged. Two days later I realized my shirt still stank of dog. I chose not to wash it right away. This week, I figured out how to sign up for Acorn tv – finally, the shows I loved are available again – my limited tv life will be full if I can figure out how to get it to play on the tv and not just the computer. I'm reading a couple of really good books. 

The milkman delivered a wedge of really fine blue cheese two days ago. The annual flower-whose-name-I-don’t know, which I moved into the kitchen, is covered with flower buds. My Christmas cactuses bloomed beautifully on Hallowe’en. The crows, cawing, wake me up most mornings, and I lie warm and sleepy in bed and think, oh, oh, how sweet. The full moon, shining on the new snow this week, made the outdoors a miracle of magic and mystery for two glowing nights.

Joy arrives unexpectedly.  There are little pleasures; there are big, rollicking soul-shining grand delights. 

Be ready, because you can’t guess when they’ll arrive. Be ready. 

Even if you hate turkey.


A slightly different version of this blog was published in the Concord Monitor, November 26, 2019, as "Stay alert - there's joy to be found in the November gloom"