Random Thoughts

Ultimate Eggnog

I missed the storebought eggnog this year. I did buy two bottles of my favorite dairy’s product; aside from a dollop in one cup of coffee, it all went down various family member throats other than my own.

I tried to get more, but eggnog apparently is extremely seasonal. On December 26 they were already packing shelves with Valentine’s Day stuff and the space in the dairy case formerly dedicated to eggnog was filled with regular milk.

Not that I’m complaining. Much.

It’s still the holidays though, darn it, at least until January 2. Lo and behold, thanks to The Flight Deck, I’ve got something better than any glass bottled elixir:

EGGNOG (half of FD’s recipe)

A rich and extravagant version that is correspondingly good. Some people like to add a little more spirit to the following recipes, remembering Mark Twain’s observation that “too much of anything is bad, but too much whisky is is just enough.”

Beat sparingly until light in color:

6 egg yolks

Beat in gradually:

1/2 lb confectioners’ sugar

Add very slowly, beating constantly:

1 cups dark rum, brandy, bourbon or rye (I used Maker’s Mark Bourbon)

These liquors may each form the basic ingredient of the nog or may be combined to taste. Let mixture stand covered to dispel the “eggy” taste. Add, beating constantly:

1 to 2 cups of liquor chosen
1 quart whipping cream
1/2 cup peach brandy

Refrigerate covered for 3 hours. Beat until stiff but not dry:

4 to 6 egg whites

Fold them lightly into the other ingredients. Serve the eggnog sprinkled with:

Freshly ground nutmeg

Oh. My. New Years’ Eve NEEDS some of this. If you have to ask about calories, just don’t; eggnog like chocolate is meant to be savored. Add an extra mile to your AM walk (or start taking an AM walk in the first place) if you’re worried about what this will do to your waistline.

Facing the future: From the sublime to the silly

My family is enjoying the post-Christmas, pre-New Years lull, where nothing more important than sending thank you notes remains to be done, and most cooking involves leftovers. It’s an easy time, perhaps the easiest of the year. Few errands to run, no chasing back and forth to drop off and pick up offspring, no pressing appointments, nothing urgent remaining to accomplish in the waning days of 2008.

As is my nature though, I’m having a bit of trouble living in the now. I’m thinking ahead, thinking of what needs to be done next week–next year. In two weeks I’ll be taking a major exam. In four weeks I’ll be starting a series of evening college classes. And then there are all the things I’m peripherally involved in; Eldest Daughter searching for a new apartment, Eldest Son’s discrepancy between his ROTC scholarship and his university tuition bill, Younger Daughter’s need for textbooks for Spring Semester, Younger Son’s upcoming Science Fair project.

Even when I have the perfect chance to slow down, I never seem to be able to avail myself of the opportunity.

In a completely serendipitous post, The Anchoress recently discussed the Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament. Not being Catholic myself, I am not able to avail myself of that particular experience. Without getting into the doctrinal differences between Protestants and Catholics when it comes to Communion and the Eucharist, I think that Adoration is an area where Protestants are particularly deprived; as much as anyone else we need a context within which we can be still before God and contemplate His mystery and majesty. Lacking such a context, when we attempt to focus our thoughts on the divine, we invariably tend to exhibit exactly what the Anchoress describes:

Too much quiet; aren’t we supposed to be “doing” something at all times? People don’t know how to sit and simply be, anymore. We are so deeply attached to our iPods, cell phones, blackberries, radios, televisions - we don’t know how to shut it all down - perhaps because we are afraid to discover what we will hear in the quiet.

At first, what you hear in the silence is the endless monkey chatter of the brain: what to do, what needs doing, where to be - “I must do this, I hate doing that, oh, I forgot to set my TIVO, what to make for supper. I like that blouse she’s wearing…” If we can sit still long enough to get past that, we hear “I’m sad. I’m mad. I’m scared,” and sometimes, “I’m glad.”

That’s when Adoration becomes uncomfortable for many, when - in facing the Lord - you must also face yourself. As we heard from Chesterton, “the self is more distant than any star” - and most prefer to keep it that way. Silence forces a confrontation, for most of us an uncomfortable one. Adoration places the encounter in the physical Presence of the Lord, which just makes it all the more honest and thus thorough and grueling.

The old saying about Adoration is: “I look at the Lord, and the Lord looks at me.” True. But further, “I look at me through the eyes of the Lord.”

Now that is a concept powerful in its simplicity: To see myself through the eyes of the Lord. I do not think it’s possible except through the sort of meditative process the Adoration exemplifies.

As I have, in my own fumbling way, sought the peace which passes understanding, I have tried not to dwell on the financial or the political during this holiday season. I agree with James Lewis’ perspective articulated in The American Thinker,

Even with all the bad news, the country remains resilient. Our Constitution is older and more enduring than any other. Yes, the Left will do its best to undermine freedom, the way they already have in our universities and news media. They will try to turn us into an engine of internationalist Eurosocialism. They want another forty years of untrammeled power. They will use Green politics to impose a heavy regulatory state, and drive wedges by gender, class and race to split our people.
Our job is to be ourselves, and not be intimidated.

And what better way to deal with the financial and political chaos of the past year than with humor, a la Dave Barry’s Year in Review, which contains such spot-on gems as…

…the economic news continues to worsen with the discovery that Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac have sent $87 billion to a Nigerian businessman with a compelling e-mail story.

Also troubling is the news from Iran, which test-fires some long-range missiles, although Iranian President Wackjob Lunatic insists that Iran intends to use these missiles “for stump removal.”

In keeping with a humorous slant to the all-too-grim news, H/T to Fausta who shares a gem from the Wall Street Journal, wherein a wackjob lunatic former KGB analyst declares the US is about one year away from a civil war which will result in this scenario:

According to the WSJ article,

[Panarin] predicts that economic, financial and demographic trends will provoke a political and social crisis in the U.S. When the going gets tough, he says, wealthier states will withhold funds from the federal government and effectively secede from the union. Social unrest up to and including a civil war will follow. The U.S. will then split along ethnic lines, and foreign powers will move in.

California will form the nucleus of what he calls “The Californian Republic,” and will be part of China or under Chinese influence. Texas will be the heart of “The Texas Republic,” a cluster of states that will go to Mexico or fall under Mexican influence. Washington, D.C., and New York will be part of an “Atlantic America” that may join the European Union. Canada will grab a group of Northern states Prof. Panarin calls “The Central North American Republic.” Hawaii, he suggests, will be a protectorate of Japan or China, and Alaska will be subsumed into Russia.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think that was Dave Barry’s work; ’cause really…

Unexpected gifts…

My Christmas tree is still up, and my husband is determined to continue playing Christmas carols as long as he can get away with it (i.e. until one of the kids hides the CDs). For me though, Christmas ended when I took Eldest Daughter to the airport last night. Don’t ask me what I got for Christmas; all the stuff pales beside the gift of having all four of my children home together.

Watching them play Monopoly, listening to them laugh, hearing them lovingly tease each other was truly priceless. The four of them have the sort of dynamic I wished for my children when each of them was born; that they would grow up to love each other, depend upon each other, and enjoy each other’s company.

While we were celebrating Christmas Eve, a very large package was delivered to our door:

It was from my only sibling. I haven’t spoken to Brother in a few years, and it’s been even longer since I’ve seen him. More than eleven years older than I, Brother’s life and mine diverged decades ago, a slowly widening rift made chasmic by the crisis surrounding the sudden death of our parents back in 1996.

At Christmas time each year (including this one), I’ve sent Brother a card along with the annual letter I write detailing our family life. I’ve also sent him graduation announcements for each of my eldest children. There’s been no response back, no acknowledgment that he received any of the missives. That might sound like hostility on his part, but I doubt it is; Brother has a fundamental inability to respond in a timely manner to memorable occasions. He once showed up at my house in July, with a car full of Christmas wrapped gifts. I am not making that up; he really did it, rationalizing that since he hadn’t managed to send the presents the preceding December, bringing them in July seemed like a good idea.

I did not respond to that scenario on my driveway with good grace at all. In retrospect, I ought to have demonstrated more Christian charity; it’s taken me a few years to gain perspective and to put the trauma of our parents’ deaths behind me. That was the last time Brother attempted to give me or my children anything.

So, here we are, Christmas 2008, and an excessively lavish gift arrives out of the clear blue from Brother. My first reaction was irritation; I bake a lot at Christmas. We don’t need nor particularly want commercial baked goods (the basket is loaded with them) and at this time of year our pantry and fridge are literally stuffed with all manner of food. So, I thought perhaps that was what bothered me about the gift–it was virtually useless. Or course Eldest Son (whose legs I do believe are hollow) began immediately to make inroads on the basket contents, so it’s not like it will go to waste. I thought some more, and decided that what bothered me was the excess; the basket was freakin’ huge. I could never send something that expensive and there’s something about being given a gift I can’t reciprocate that bothers me.

I tried to articulate my discomfort to my husband, who (in typical male fashion) cut right to the point. Husband explained that Brother was simply being himself, and that this was all I was going to get from him. So I could either accept that this was it, that this was our relationship, and enjoy the gift, or frustrate myself further looking for something that wasn’t there.

That was it exactly: It wasn’t the inappropriateness nor the expense, it was the lack of a relationship that bothered me. I look at gifts as an expression of emotional attachment. Some part of me still wants a sibling relationship with Brother, some approximation of the dynamic between my own offspring. Without that relationship, the gift confuses me. I overthink it, instead of simply accepting it for what it is: A large basket of food from a relative who wanted to wish me and my family a Merry Christmas.

Some 2000+ years ago, God bestowed the unasked for, unlooked for, and wholly undeserved Gift of His Son upon the world. I don’t need to fully comprehend God’s reasons to appreciate His Gift, and accept it. Somehow I think God expects me (particularly at this time of year) to extend grace to Brother. And a “thank you” note would not be amiss either.

Let it snow…somewhere else, please

Where’s the freakin’ global warming when it would help?

Eldest daughter is trying to get home for Christmas. She lives in Seattle, atop a very steep hill, which looks like this right now:

That is an intersection near her home. It is an unplowed street. It is not going to be plowed any time in the near future, because Seattle only has 27 snowplows, and that’s not enough to handle a genuine full-on snowfall.

Of course, this means the busses aren’t running in Eldest Daughter’s neighborhood, which means she couldn’t get to work today, which means that she can’t catch the airport shuttle that was to pick her up after work.

*sigh*

There is no way I want her attempting to drive to the airport; nothing in her SoCal/Phoenix life has prepared her for this sort of automotive adventure: Seattle Snowstorm

We are of course hoping that her flight doesn’t get cancelled; so far half of that airline’s flights out of SeaTac to our SoCal airport have been canceled today.

A snowfall sure can complicate life. It’s totally out of our control though. I told Eldest Daughter to make herself a cup of hot chocolate and see if the taxi we called (a service that has four wheel drive vehicles) makes it to her apartment.

In the meantime I’m amusing myself with holiday greetings. This gem was in our mailbox shortly after Thanksgiving, a prime example of a business getting a jump on the holiday season while demonstrating just how festive garbage collection can be.

That a garbage collection company produces a paper newsletter (which assumes people really want to read about the exciting world of garbage collection) thereby generating more trash is a topic for another day. What I find hysterical is the artwork.

Happy happy elf, helping happy happy garbage collector scoop up a garbage bin full of  uneaten holiday feasts, unopened gifts, and various perfectly good holiday decorations. Even Rudolph is pleased with this senseless destruction.

Of course they’re probably trying to point out that they pick up the remains of everyone’s holiday celebrations, and it’s a good thing that they do. We certainly don’t need piles of brown pine boughs and moldy poultry at curbside for the next eleven months. Their newsletter would be a bit less pretty if they depicted a turkey carcass, dead Christmas tree and wads of used gift wrap as a way to extend holiday greeting to their customers.

I wonder what their corporate Christmas cards look like…

Viruses, hacking and Christmas cheer

I’m sure it’s only coincidence that I spent the past two weeks and a ridiculous amount of time dealing with the nasty effects of a website hacking, only to end up hacking into reams of Kleenex thanks to a nasty cold virus.

It’s that time of year I guess. The computer issues mostly behind me, I’d love to curl up on the sofa with a book and a large mug of hot tea, and nurse myself back to health. Unfortunately I don’t have that luxury; it’s nearly Christmas. I’m the point person in my family for card sending, gift buying/wrapping/shipping, cookie baking and various airport runs. If I get to bed before midnight, it’s a good thing indeed.

This year I sent only 24 cards. Do people still do this? Not many, by the looks of my little wicker Santa card basket; it’s woefully empty. But I persist; it’s a holdover from my childhood. Mom always sent cards, and I always got to open the ones we received. Even as a small child I got the concept; Christmas cards were a chance to remember old friends and distant family. I guess in that pre-email, pre-cell phone era, snail mail greeting cards were a much bigger deal than they are today. Still, it’s one of those social activities that I wish we could revitalize.

Then there’s the gifts. I’ve got an elderly uncle on the east coast. Uncle’s family has dwindled down to one niece (myself) and one nephew. That’s it, that’s all the blood relatives he has left on this earth. So at Christmas, I make a special effort for him. I get a pretty basket, fill it with that decorative straw they sell in craft stores, and then stuff it with all sorts of goodies. Much of them are homemade (jams, cookies and little cakes) but I also include various goodies from Global Gardens for him as well as a split of California wine. This year I went cost-conscious and send a split of Coppola’s Diamond Merlot.

At Michael’s craft store I get shrink film, just like Harry and David and other such stores use on their gift baskets. This is the neatest touch when it comes to giving a gift basket. Armed with my hairdryer set on high, I shrink wrap Uncle’s basket. Voilà, handmade goodies with a professional wrap appearance.

I’ve done this for Uncle for years now, and didn’t think that much of it until a few years ago, when I left out one item–of all things, a fruitcake.

Turns out he really looks forward to the basket, and particularly enjoys those little fruitcakes I made. Really enjoys them with his tea, apparently. Fruitcakes have a bum rap, and hardly anyone wants them. One year I decided to drop them from the baking repertoire. Uncle was quite disappointed when one wasn’t in the basket, and made a point of telling me just how disappointed he was. At age 78 I figure he’s entitled to a reasonably disappointment-free holiday, so I’ve made sure that a fruitcake is part of his gift basket every year.

It’s all about bringing a little joy to his life. If it takes a fruitcake, I’ll bake one for him.

I love the idea of homemade gifts. I love what it says to Uncle, that I am thinking of him while my hands roll out the cookies, and stir the batter, and fill the jam jars. That I care enough to spend time doing something I know he will enjoy. Somehow it seems fitting to go to that effort, a tangible demonstration of my love for Uncle. In some small way I hope it mirrors the universe-changing effort God went to which led to this holiday celebration.

The Anchoress has been fully engaged in celebrating Advent. I’m just getting caught up on her posts, and heartily recommend them, particularly if you need to remember the point of all the evergreen and tinsel in the first place.

Dirty rotten b*****ds

In between dealing with traveling offspring, ill offspring, and a husband who thinks that Christmas means covering every level surface with holiday crap, I was recently notified that my little bitty nearly invisible website (not this blog, but its host site) has been hacked and is being used for a phishing scam. Against Bank of America, of all companies.

*bangs head against keyboard*

Of course, the hackers disabled my password system, so I can’t just get in and clear out their crap. And my hosting service is proving why they’re so cheap; getting hold of them for help is proving nearly impossible.

More–much more–later. Right now I’m still trying to get a handle on how to handle the infiltration.