Starting the New Year Out Right - A Texas Word Tangle Giveaway

In my mind, there's only one way to bring in the New Year...

besides rocketing in a space ship from NASA up into outer space to look for aliens...

ahem.


and, that's with a fabulous giveaway!!!

The gift package will include three books:

When her plane en route from Glasgow to London experiences horrible turbulence, Emma Corrigan is convinced she is going to die. She babbles all of her most intimate thoughts and secrets to the handsome American man sitting next to her. But the plane lands safely, and Emma bids him an awkward good-bye. When she enters the office on Monday and learns the CEO of the company, Jack Harper, is in for a visit, Emma is horrified to learn Jack is actually the man in whom she confided on the flight. He knows everything, including that she hates her job and that she is not quite sure she loves her boyfriend. But Jack does not fire her on the spot; instead, he quietly replaces the office coffeemaker she hates and gives her advice about her personal life, which she finds infuriating. So why can't she stop thinking about him?

Something Borrowed is as much about the meaning and value of friendship as it is about love, and it takes some risky chances that pay off. Rachel is celebrating her thirtieth birthday with her friends, including her lifelong best friend, Darcy, and Dex, Rachel's handsome friend from law school and Darcy's fiance. One thing leads to another and Rachel ends up in bed with Dex.

Goodnight Nobody stars Kate Klein is a feisty, charmingly insecure Connecticut housewife who trades in a life of late-night karaoke sing-a-longs and West Village brunches with her best friend Janie for a world of mini-vans and Mommy and Me pilates classes. Life in Upchurch, Connecticut, heats up when Kate discovers picture-perfect wife and mother Kitty Cavanaugh dead on the pickled maple hardwood floor of her recently remodeled kitchen. A former chronicler of celebrity gossip, Kate takes it upon herself to solve the mystery of Kitty's murder and the disappearance of Lexi Hagen-Holdt, another Upchurch supermom. Along the way, the mysteries and disappointments in Kate's personal life begin to unravel, including her marriage to the kind-yet-uptight Ben, and her unresolved crush on Evan McKenna, a former neighbor with whom a one-night tryst ended in disaster.

So, I'm giving away those three books
as well as:

this 11" Thomas Stir Fry Pan free from my grocery store.
(and since I have plenty of pans) I've decided to pass on to you.

It's dishwasher safe, oven safe, comes with a glass lid and is $70 in value.

And with this fabulous piece of cookware I am including
a package of Cajun Magic Jambalaya mix.




And this yummy chocolate brownie mix.







I might throw in some more stuff as a surprise, like a picture frame or a photo album...

But only the winner will know for sure.

Leave me a comment a day to earn an entry each day,
Tweet about it for 5 extra entries,
blog about it for five more.

Giveaway ends Tuesday, January 6th at midnight U.S. central time.

2008 - AVE ATQUE VALE

Time flies when you’re having fun, they say, and even when you’re not. And the year 2008 has flown by, all except a mere handful of hours. I suspect many of us will be glad to see it go.

“May you live in interesting times.” It’s an old Chinese curse, and it seems that all of us have had plenty of interesting times to deal with this year. The subprime mortgage industry had a crisis; Wall Street and the investment banking industry had a meltdown; Bernie “Made Off With Everybody’s Money” Madoff’s multi-decade Ponzi scheme unraveled; gasoline prices skyrocketed in the wake of Hurricane Ike and then dropped like a stone; and the economy, in general, has become a Scary Place.

We in the United States made history by electing our first black President, proving that race is no longer the insurmountable barrier it once was. Neither, apparently, is the desirability of having a curriculum vitae that fills up more than a 3½ x 5" index card. But like all Presidents before him, Barack Obama will have his chance to succeed or fail. For the sake of our nation, I wish him Godspeed.

This was the year we said goodbye to our precious Matata. Thanks to the Internet, our little grey kitty had admirers around the world; their kind expressions of sympathy helped us mightily to deal with our loss. Our hearts still feel a twinge every time her image pops up on the computer monitor as our screensaver cycles through our vast inventory of digital photographs.

This was also the year of the Wonderful Japan Adventure I was able to share with Elder Daughter. Ten days in the Land of the Rising Sun was more than a mere vacation - it was a Father-Daughter Bonding Experience. I’ll always remember it fondly.

This was the year the Mistress of Sarcasm pulled out her Savannah roots and transplanted herself to Franklin, Tennessee...a full hour closer. Yay!

This was the year Yours Truly decided to get off the Corporate Merry-Go-Round. My retirement formally begins in mid-February...but not before I chew up my six weeks of paid vacation. What next? I have a few irons in the fire, and you’ll be hearing about them in the fullness of time.

And today - this very day - marks the thirty-third anniversary of the day I met She Who Must Be Obeyed for the very first time. Yes: our 33rd Meet-a-Versary! Could either of us have imagined, in our wildest fever dreams, that we would still be together...one apartment and seven houses later...with two grown daughters who daily give us reasons to beam with Parental Pride?


The Mistress of Sarcasm, She Who Must Be Obeyed, and Elder Daughter.

We will celebrate the evening with good friends, good food, and a few good glasses of Fizzy Wine. And, as interesting as the times may be, we still have much to celebrate.

To my Esteemed Readers, my friends, my family...and most of all, to my beloved SWMBO and our daughters...may you have a healthy, happy, and safe 2009, without limit to any good thing.

Last Day of the Year

Mindful, as always, of my grandmother's injunction that the Christmas tree must go out the door before the the New Year comes in, I'll spend today breaking up Christmas.

All the little Christmas tschotchkes will be hunted down from their various perches and assembled on the dining table to be put into boxes.

Disassembling the tree is a slow but pleasant task, first the candy canes, crocheted snowflakes, tin icicles, red bows -- all the 'bulk' ornaments. Then the fragile glass ornaments, the many one-of-a-kind ornaments, and last, the stuffed ornaments -- reminders of long gone days with toddlers in the house.

Next to last is the popcorn and cranberry string. I'll slide the popcorn and cranberries off the thread and into a bucket for the chickens -- who will devour the popcorn and ignore the cranberries. Last of all, the lights come off and John drags the tree outside to a final resting place somewhere in the woods.

The Santas and the two Nativity scenes in the corner cupboard get put away. The spare grouping below includes a Holy Family of delicately carved and painted wood. I gave them to my grandmother many years ago and they came back to me on her death. There was a wonderful little lamb as part of the scene but he disappeared a few years ago. (I suspect William.)

The canopy over Baby Jesus (made from the wire topper for a champagne bottle) was put there a while back by Justin and I can't make myself remove it. The lovely little angel, probably from the same Italian workshop as the other figures, was a gift this year. And yes, that's a Swedish Yule horse peeking out from the background. Better than the year the boys added Darth Vader and Han Solo to the Nativity.

Finally, the Christmas cards come off the shelves and all the increasingly dry greenery (FIRE HAZARD! I think, whenever we leave the house) will go to join the Christmas tree.

We leave the lights up though, to brighten the dark days of January.

Throughout this last day of 2008, I'll be be thinking of the changes behind us and the challenges ahead, the sadness of saying goodbye to old friends and the joy of all the new acquaintances I've made -- many right here.

It'll be interesting to see what 2009 has in store.

Pause

This time of year, from Thanksgiving to Christmas to New Year's, is an important time of year.
We're so busy and on the go;
partying, wrapping, contacting loved ones.

It's the time of year we send holiday cards to those who are dear to us.
The time of year we give gifts to those we love.
It's the time of year we enjoy life to the fullest with good food and parties.
A time to let go, have fun, and enjoy life to the fullest, while most worries are put on hold.

And it's important to take a moment during this time.

To appreciate what's important.




What IS important, Rhea?

Why, dear reader, I'm so glad you asked.

To me, what's important beyond all else, is family and friends

and figuring out my place in this world.

Helping my boys get a good start on their life,
and finding the way to make the most of mine.


Today is my moment to pause, to take stock of my life, to plan ahead, and to make decisions.

And I plan to take on the New Year head on.

with my family.
with my plan.


Bring it on, 2009, bring it on.


Tomorrow I will hit the "play" button with purpose.

WELL, I SWAN

Photo by Tanty (Stavanger Daily Photo)

At Oxford, on pastoral lawns,
Fergus wanted to bugger the swans.
Said the loyal hall porter,
O, please, take my daughter!
Them swans is reserved for the dons.

At our recent Aubrey/Maturin dinner (which featured, as an entrée, a fine roast goose), the topic of Waterfowl as Food was discussed at length.

Our goose was capital. Capital, as in “excellent,” not as in “a capital offense.” Although, considering what it was likely doing to our arteries, we may indeed have been flirting with the “short, sharp shock” of the executioner’s axe. Goose is a rich, dark-fleshed bird, much like a giant economy-size duck. Our bird started out as an eleven-pounder, out of which I was able to extract a pure liter of golden, glistening schmaltz. But the meat was tender and delicious, especially when buried in lashings of hot giblet gravy.

As I described it to Houston Steve, it was the kind of meat that “confited” itself, confit being a dish of bird legs (usually duck), cured, cooked slowly, and preserved in Bird-Schmaltz. Pretty much the whole goose is confit after you roast it in a moderate oven.

We’re also quite familiar with duck, an item of poultry much beloved by the Momma d’Elisson. The story I had heard was that my mother had been enjoying a duck dinner when the contractions that announced my imminent arrival began to kick in. She never finished that duck, but the event may, in utero, have instilled in me a desire to finish as many duck dinners as possible on her behalf.

But what about swan, I asked? Sure, they’re beautiful (albeit famously evil-tempered) - but are they edible? Something to serve, perhaps, at a future Aubrey/Maturin event?

People used to eat swans. At least, you would think so, based on the existence of a verse in Orff’s opera “Carmina Burana”: Olim Lacus Colueram, AKA The Ballad of the Roasted Swan. It is perhaps the funniest part of the opera - a dead swan complaining about the Current State of Affairs as he roasts on a spit.

Olim lacus colueram,
Olim pulcher exstiteram,
Dum cygnus ego fueram.
Miser, miser!
Modo niger
Et ustus fortiter!

Girat, regirat garcifer;
Me rogus urit fortiter;
Propinat me nunc dapifer.
Miser, miser!
Modo niger
Et ustus fortiter!

Nunc in scutella iaceo,
Et volitare nequeo;
Dentes frendentes video.
Miser, miser!
Modo niger
Et ustus fortiter!

[Once I had dwelt on lakes, once I had been beautiful, when I was a swan.
Poor wretch! Now black and well roasted!
The cook turns me back and forth; I am roasted to a turn on my pyre; now the waiter serves me.
Poor wretch! Now black and well roasted!
Now I lie on the dish, and I cannot fly; I see the gnashing teeth.
Poor wretch! Now black and well roasted!]

But that’s opera, Doc, and it’s about Europeans, who will, evidently, eat any damn thing.

A bit of instant Online Research, courtesy of Houston Steve and Gee, helped answer the question. According to a post at The Old Foodie, swan, while impressive-looking enough to be a banquet centerpiece and carrying a certain amount of prestige, also carries a flavor “said to be like ‘fishy mutton.’”

Hmmm. Fishy mutton. I could maybe work with that, but I suspect most other folks would not. Other writers describe it as “tough and stringy” or “tough and fishy” - even less appetizing (if that’s possible).

There are a few logistical and legal hurdles as well. In Great Britain, for example, all mute swans are property of the Crown, thanks to a law dating back to the 12th-century that is still zealously enforced.

But let’s assume you can score a swan legally. It’s a big bird. Probably bigger than a peacock, once you defeather it. How the hell do you go about cooking it?

Can you grind the meat up and make a toroidal sausage out of it? A Cygnet Ring?

Well, on the advice of The Old Foodie, let’s look at Le Ménagier de Paris, a late-14th-century manuscript that includes a chapter on food and cooking that includes 197 pages of recipes. [You can read it in the original here; an English translation is here.]

SWAN. Pluck like a chicken or goose, scald, or boil; spit, skewer in four places, and roast with all its feet and beak, and leave the head unplucked; and eat with yellow pepper.

Item, if you wish, it may be gilded.

Item, when you kill it, you should split its head down to the shoulders.

Item, sometimes they are skinned and reclothed.

RECLOTHED SWAN in its skin with all the feathers. Take it and split it between the shoulders, and cut it along the stomach: then take off the skin from the neck cut at the shoulders, holding the body by the feet; then put it on the spit, and skewer it and gild it. And when it is cooked, it must be reclothed in its skin, and let the neck be nice and straight or flat; and let it be eaten with yellow pepper.

Sounds like a perfect centerpiece for a wedding or Bar Mitzvah! Maybe brining it would solve the “tough and fishy” issues. Hmmm...

HOSED

“Did everything come out all right?”
“Oh, yeah. Everything came out, all right.”

This morning, I underwent my little once-every-five-year procedure, and I am pleased to report that I passed with flying cacas colors.

Any medical work that involves (1) heavy sedation, and (2) no actual cutting, is A-OK in my book. Heavy sedation ensures that you have no idea what they’re sticking and where...and just how far up. The advance preparation is the only unpleasant part, and even that was much more tolerable than it was the last time I did this. No vile-tasting concoctions. Just a handful of Dulcolax tablets, and an eight-ounce bottle of Miralax powder dissolved in a half-gallon of Gatorade, gulped down one glass at a time. [Useful tip from my friend Gary: Prepare the Miralax solution one glass at a time; otherwise, the stuff thickens as it stands, becoming unpalatably viscous.]

It’s amazing how a few easily-obtainable OTC pharmaceuticals can help abort a monster Aubrey/Maturin dinner-spawned Food-Baby in the space of a single day.

Perhaps the most enjoyable (if I may use the word) part of the experience was in the waiting room, where an elderly woman and her brother-in-law waited as her (intellectually disabled) middle-aged son was recovering from his sedation. In a place where most people speak in hushed tones, they carried on an amazing conversation in normal voices:

“He has a... what is that? A fissure? A fistula?”

“They gave me a prescription for some medicine I have to put in the anus. What is that? Is that the hole? Why don’t they just say ‘the hole’?”

Now, that’s entertainment.

Best yet: I get to do it again in five years. <IRONY>Oh, boy - I can’t wait.</IRONY>

[I’d put up a couple of pictures, but the Missus has threatened to strangle me with my own colon if I do. Be thankful.]

Daphne aka Fleta

My book Art's Blood dips into the art scene of Asheville, inspired by the years I spent in weekly studio classes with Fleta Monaghan, the real life Daphne. Though writing has gotten in the way of painting and I no longer take classes, Fleta and I stay in touch.

Recently Fleta emailed me to say that she'd been in Books a Million and, hearing the lady ahead of her ask for the location of the Vicki Lane books, Fleta spoke up, announcing that she was sort of a character in Art's Blood - to which the lady said,"Nice to meet you, Daphne."

So I thought I'd introduce all of you to the real-life Daphne. Fleta sent me some pictures of herself, her studio and her classes, as well as a little information. The studio, River's Edge Studio, is located in Riverview Station -- previously known as The Candle Station, and the scene for all kinds of creepy goings-on -- in Art's Blood, that is. And this building, with its collection of studios and other enterprises, is one of many in Asheville's River Arts District , also described in the book.

Fleta says:

I'm going into the fourth year at River's Edge Studio after moving from teaching at AB Tech, and I really can't believe that three years have passed so quickly. You know it is Kind Of Weird that in Art's Blood, both AB Tech and Riverview Station are featured locations, and I moved from teaching at one to the other!

I am happy to report that while "The Candle Station" retains some of its timeworn charm as described in Art's Blood and the artists here are an eccentric lot who long for fame, fortune and personal attention, we work happily here, safe and sound!

In the classroom I teach painting classes for beginners and up in oils and acrylics, and have weekly studio/critique five hour sessions for advanced artists who are continuing to study, some of whom are now exhibiting and selling their work. This year some great professional artists are teaching classes and giving demonstrations here at RES in drawing, watercolor, palette knife techniques and Japanese ink painting called Sumi-e.

It is a privilege to teach the adults who study here, and we(me and the other guest teachers) all work to provide some scheduling that works for everyone, while giving that all important continuity that every artist needs to really advance in their chosen medium.

The classroom also serves as a small gallery for special events such as the twice a year Studio Stroll and other exhibits here at Riverview Station.  We love to see visitors during our events, or by appointment, and are always hoping to make a sale! There are over thirty artists here in the building now, and also other business such as the dog trainers so we don't have too much empty space here now.

If you're in the Asheville area, the River Arts District is well worth a visit. And if you're looking for an art class, Fleta is an amazing teacher, gifted at bringing out the best in every student. She's a pretty amazing artist too!

Who's using Whom?

My boys have a five-year age difference,
which has its benefits and disadvantages.

For the longest time, they didn't fight.


They do now.



At 11 and 6 years old, they have power struggles, but are also good buddies.

I've noticed that my older son, Donny, thinks that Remy is his personal servant.
He attempts to bribe his little brother to run make him drinks or do other things.
I have to double-check to make sure they're being fair to each other.

I've shared with you how much we love this video game, right?
Well, we have to take equal turns playing.
And I noticed that Donny kept weaseling playtime out of Remy's turn.
And I grew concerned.
I don't want him taking advantage of his little brother.

Then I discovered that Remy was actually the one taking advantage.
He was using his big brother complete the hard parts of the game...
so he could enjoy his own turn better.

He's a smart little bugger.
I'm not as worried anymore.

At least, not about that.

I've got plenty else to worry about.



(don't miss yesterday's post of silly family antics in short video clips!)

PUNCHBOWL

Ornate glass punchbowl and cups. What’s missing?

Among the saddest things
Of which I’ve ever heard,
Is that there exists a Punchbowl
That is missing a Turd.

This, by the bye, is the very sort of punchbowl that might have been used to serve Chatham Artillery Punch back in the day.

BACK FOR A SNACK WITH CAPTAIN JACK

Long-time Esteemed Readers - and fans of gluttony gourmandise in general - will remember the infamous Aubrey/Maturin Dinner Houston Steve and I put on last year about this time.

Or its sequel in mid-March, in which lighter Gunroom Fare (if you can consider a Steak, Kidney, and Oyster Pie “light”) was substituted for the massive meats of the Captain’s Table.

Whether you recall these Major Events or not, however, Houston Steve and I share the belief that “nothing exceeds like excess” - and so we decided to put on Yet Another Big Feed this past Saturday evening in celebration of the collected novels of Patrick O’Brian...and (more or less) in the style of the British Royal Navy, circa 1800.


The menu. Click to embiggen.

The menu once again featured last year’s Roast Beef of Olde England, along with a sumptuous Roast Goose...but this time we imagined a Baltic Sea jaunt for the good Captain, offering appetizers of gravlax and Swedish crispbread (with akvavit libations) and blini with crème fraîche and caviar in lieu of last year’s Strasburg Pie. Toasted Cheese, too. You cannot begin to envision a meal involving the good Captain Jack Aubrey without Toasted Cheese. (“Killick! Killick, there!” “Which I’m bringing the toasted cheese, ain’t I?”)


Toasted cheese.

This year, we were joined by our friends Barry and Malka, as well as Stefan P. and Denny, the Grouchy Old Cripple hizzownself. Stefan and Denny brought out a brace of fine old bottles from their respective cellars, and Barry contributed a bottle of Jackson-Trigg icewine...all of which meant that we had plenty with which to wash down the immense quantities of food.

Before we even sat down to the Main Event, we attacked the bottles Stefan had brought, all venerable old wines. The oldest, a 1970 Cos d’Estournel Saint-Estèphe, is from a harvest that took place during my freshman year in college, and it has held up at least as well as I have since then. You can’t make out the price sticker in the photograph, but I can tell you that Stefan paid less than $9 for that bottle. If you can find a 1970 today, you’ll pay about $150 for it...and the 2005’s are going for north of $240.


The wines (L to R): Château Cos d’Estournel Saint-Estèphe 1970, Château Montrose Saint-Estèphe 1978, Jackson-Trigg Vidal Icewine 2006, Schloss Johannisberger Riesling Spätlese 2005, Domaine La Soumade Rasteau Côtes du Rhône Villages 2000, Château d’Angludet Margaux 2000, Alvear’s Fino Sherry, Beaulieu Vineyard “Beau Tour” Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon 1978.

Steve and I divided the entrées between us, with him preparing the huge Roast of Beef - a four-bone prime rib with a porcini mushroom crust - and with me cooking the goose. One of the side benefits of roasting a goose (aside from coating the interior of the oven with a thick layer of grease) is the byproduct: a full quart or more of rich, unctuous goose schmaltz. Mmmmm, yum!


The Main Event. Roast Beef of Olde England in the background; roast goose in the center. Surrounding the goose (clockwise from left) we have steamed kale, roasted parsnips and Brussels sprouts, Yorkshire puddings, carrots, and new potatoes.

One of the reasons Houston Steve so enjoys our Aubrey/Maturin festivities, I suspect, is that it allows him free play for his English-born Food Imagination, especially in the area of Puddings. For Pudding, to the English, is not some chocolaty crap that comes from a box labeled Jell-O™ or My-T-Fine™. In most cases, pudding is dessert; and dessert is Pudding, by definition. But puddings are simply concoctions of starch (usually flour) and some kind of grease, usually beef suet. They may be savory or sweet.

On the savory side, we had individual Yorkshire puddings baked in muffin tins, flavored with the molten drippings from the humongous roast. Yorkshire pudding is no dessert; it is, however, the finest Gravy Conveyance Device known to modern man.

By way of dessert, Steve made two (count ’em) traditional puddings: one, a Christmas pudding from his grandmother’s recipe; the other, a Treacle Roly-Poly. The former is steamed whilst the latter, a cylindrical jelly-roll-style affair, is rolled up in a towel and boiled for several hours.


Grandma’s Christmas Pudding, a 1949-vintage recipe. Click to embiggen.

The Christmas pudding was superb, in my non-humble opinion - even better than last year’s version. The Roly-Poly, meanwhile, made Steve’s eyes light up with memories of childhood meals in London. A real, old-school British pudding, it was.

[You want to make your own Treacle Roly-Poly? Instructions are below the fold...along with more photos.]

Coffee, ratafia biscuits (AKA amaretti), some excellent dessert wines (including a marvelous Jackson-Trigg icewine), Cognac, and a spot of Poire William, and it was time to make sail for our Home Port, bellies fully distended.

Leftovers? There were leftovers aplenty. That’s what we had for dinner the next night. Gaaaah.

Some more photos:


Denny, the Not-So-Grouchy Cripple.


Stefan tastes a wine that was laid down during the Nixon administration.


Gravlax with Swedish knakkebröd (crispbread) and akvavit chasers. The silver implements belonged to Houston Steve’s great-great-grandmother.


Blini - yeast-raised buckwheat pancakes - with crême fraîche and three kinds of caviar (salmon, whitefish, and bowfin).

For those who crave a taste of a dessert so authentically British, even most Brits are afraid of it, try this:

Treacle Roly-Poly


Treacle Roly-Poly, ready to slice and serve with lashings of Custard Sauce.

Dough:
½ pound suet, finely grated
4 cups flour
¼ cup sugar
½ tsp salt
Ice water

Filling:
¼ cup treacle
¼ cup sugar
Juice and grated zest of ½ lemon
1 large knob fresh ginger (about 1½ inches long), peeled and grated

Mix the suet, flour, sugar, and salt in a large bowl. Work in 1-2 tbsp ice water. Continue gradually adding ice water until you have a stiff paste...this may take as much as a cup of water...and work it with your hands until it forms a ball. Turn it out onto a well-floured board. Cover with a damp cloth and let rest for five minutes.

Now, knead the dough 6-8 minutes, until it is shiny and elastic. Cover again, let rest again for five minutes, then knead for 1-2 minutes. Roll out the dough, making a rectangle about ¼ inch thick.

Combine the ingredients for the filling in a bowl; mix well. (Steve used a blend of Lyle’s Golden Syrup with a touch of molasses to approximate the flavor of real treacle, which is rather thin on the ground in our neighborhood). Spread the filling over the dough rectangle, leaving a one-inch border around the edges to allow for oozing. Moisten three of the edges of the dough with water; then starting with the fourth edge, roll up the pudding, sealing the edges as you go. Seal the final edge by pinching the dough together to form a seam.

Wrap the pudding-cylinder in a well-floured cloth. Tie securely at both ends and in the middle. Immerse the pudding in a pot of rapidly-boiling water (Steve used a fish poacher, in which the cylinder fit perfectly) and cook for 2½ hours, adding more boiling water as needed.


The Roly-Poly in its cloth, boiling happily away.

To serve, remove the pudding from the boiling water, untie and unroll the cloth, and turn out (seam-side down) onto a platter. Serve hot with custard sauce alongside.

Egg-stra Good Chix

I should be ashamed for that title. But sometimes I just can't help myself.

After Debra's comment, saying that she especially liked seeing the chickens, I decided to invade the girls' privacy and catch them in the act of laying eggs-- which they've begun to do at the rate of six or more a day. There are 12 new chickens plus 5 old girls, and then the banties -- we're looking at a lot of omelets once everyone comes on line.

In the picture below, a Wyandotte and an Ameruacana are hard at work. The next box between them holds one egg and one golfball -- John put a few golf balls in the nests before anyone began to lay, just to give the new girls the idea that this was the place. Even so, there've been the occasional eggs atop the nest boxes or even outside in the dirt when a biddy has been caught short. (Oh, my goodness! What's this? BbbWawk!!)

The Wyandotte (below) wishes I'd get a life and leave her alone.

The golden Ameruacana has just stood up and is straining to deliver her egg. The egg will drop a few inches -- good reason for hay in the nest boxes

The pale blue egg has dropped and the Ameruacana has begun her triumphal song -- Buck, buck, beCAW, buck, buck, beCAW. She's also heading outside where the rooster will be waiting, having been alerted by her call. I've read that hens are at their most fertile and receptive immediately after laying so that's why the rooster is lurking.

Sorry -- no pictures of chicken whoopee today.

It's OK to make fun of your relatives on the Internet, right?

If I go missing or undergo a "mysterious" accident, you know who did it.

It's the relatives in these short clips.

Relatives who may or may not have had a little too much holiday cheer...and are playing with a new iPhone that is supposed to recognize the tune and name that song if you hum or sing to it...

A theory that was tested over and over and over again.
Much to the delight of a certain blogger.

It's OK to make fun of your relatives on the Internet, right?

EIGHTH NIGHT

The lights of the Chanukiyah - the eight-branched menorah designed especially for the Festival of Rededication - cast a warm glow, as if to say farewell to the eight-day celebration.

This year we used lamps filled with solidified olive oil. Call me a traditionalist, but there is nothing that compares to the soft light that shines forth from an olive oil-fueled flame.

THE PROCEDURE: A 100-WORD STORY

It’s almost time for my procedure.

Once you get to be my age, it’s something you gotta do. Every five years, like clockwork.

I hate it. Loathe it. So demeaning.

The prep? Nasty, sure, but it’s no big deal. You drink the goop, you shit all day. No fun, but I can deal with it. Hell, I did deal with it. Yesterday.

But this is today. Here comes the doctor, now, with his polka-dotted lab coat, his size 26 shoes, his painted face, his red rubber nose... and that six-foot length of fiber-optic hose.

Gawd, I hate getting a Clownoscopy.

HAVEIL HAVALIM #198

Haveil Havalim - the Jewish Carnival of the Vanities - is up at Material Maidel. It’s edition number 198 of this venerable collection of Jewish-themed posts. You should go pay a visit, already.

GONE TO THE DOGS

What with the recent succession of economic crises - collapses in subprime mortgage lending, investment banking, and the stock market; the Madoff Ponzi scheme fraud; the impending bankruptcy of the Big Three automakers - you may be asking yourself, “Just how bad are things, anyway, Elisson? And how much worse can they get?”

My patented Quick ’n’ Dirty Answer is: Things are pretty bad...but they can get a whole hell of a lot worse. So far, they have not.

There was an old adage that defined a “recession” as an economic slowdown in which your neighbor lost his job, and a “depression” as one in which you lost yours. But I think I have a better way to measure the economy’s performance.

It’s the Elisson Dog-Food Index.

Go to the supermarket. You’ll see a whole section devoted to Pet Food. Whole aisles of dog food.

The economy may be bad, but it’s not disastrously bad as long as people have enough money to buy special food for their dogs.

When people can no longer afford to buy dog food...now, that’s a recession. We’re not there yet.

When the economy gets really bad, not only do we no longer buy food for dogs, we start buying dogs for food. That’s a depression. [Warning: Link is not for the squeamish.]

The way I see it, when there is no longer a dog food section in the local Stoopid-Market, and when Korean gaejang-guk restaurants start springing up in the ’burbs in lieu of Arbeef’s, Chuck-fil-A, and McDungheap’s - that’s when it’s time to panic.

Homemade Gifts

I've always been a big fan of homemade gifts and have bestowed them as liberally as my time, skill, and imagination would allow. From clumsily hand-painted piggy banks for my friends back in junior high to flannel nightgowns, vests, crazy quilt evening bags, canned goods and lavender sachets, dried flower wreaths, patchwork pillows and painted gourds, I've inflicted homemade gifts on all of my nearest and dearest. John makes gifts too -- Shaker boxes, wooden implements, furniture -- this year it was a nifty set of knife sharpening ceramic rods in a beautiful cherry box.

I was especially excited about these things Justin and Claui made. Claui forged graceful holders for the blown eggs (emu, ostrich, and rhea) that John gave me several years ago.

Justin carved a sensuous set of condiment implements - a spoon of apple wood and two cherry wood spreaders. (He also took to the forge to craft a wonderful curved goblin sword, straight from The Lord of the Rings, for Ethan.)

More of Claui's work -- a fire poker and a hook to hang it on.

Our friends the Langsners came for Christmas dinner, laden with gifts from their garden, their workshop, and their kitchen as well.

Home made gifts -- a gift of yourself.