A New Year's Wish

I wish you a New Year like a new day, full of promise and unlimited possibility . . .

I wish you Spring, the sweet freshness of daffodils and the birds, singing for joy . . .

I wish you Summer and the smell of cut grass and wind-dried sheets. . .

I wish you Autumn, with blazing trees and crisp nights and the whiff of woodsmoke in the air . . .















I wish you Winter and its glowing nights and magic dawns . . .

And with each season and on every path you walk, I wish you Beauty and Happiness.

My 7-year-old wants to be a sniper when he grows up.

I blame it on HALO.

And he got a NERF Tommy Gun for Christmas.

So my soon-to-be-ex-husband set up targets for him to shoot at outside.

Paper Christmas cups.

Does everyone's sons shoot guns on Christmas?

And heaven help us, the older son got a semi-automatic.

I don't know whether to run for the hills or just coat the house in velcro.

2009 - AVE ATQUE VALE

As the ball drops in New York tonight (and the peach drops in Atlanta, for a little Local Flavor), we’ll be saying farewell not only to 2009, but to the Two-Thousand Oughts... the first decade of the New Millennium.

It’s hard to believe that it was ten years ago when all of that pre-millennial nonsense was going on as we prepared to close out the penultimate year of the Twentieth Century. Y2K computer paranoia. Stockpiling food in the basement. We’re all gonna die! (Little did we know what real horrors awaited us a scant 21 months later.)

The main excitement back then, of course, was seeing the Odometer o’ th’ Years tick over, placing a two in first position: an event that took place uneventfully. We’ve all had ten years to get used to it... hell, there are plenty of people who have lived their entire lives in the Two Thousands... but who among us doesn’t remember how strange it was to see that date for the first time, whether on a newspaper or on a coin? Two, followed by three zeroes? MM, in Roman numerals? Now, of course, it’s all Old Hat.

But now 2009 is making its last few circuits of the drain as it prepares to float down the Sewer of Years. Let’s give it a proper sendoff, shall we?

For us, 2009 marked the end of my lengthy career with the Great Corporate Salt Mine, as I elected to retire rather than face yet another in a long series of household relocations. Since then, I’ve found plenty of stuff to keep me busy, much of it involving writing.

This was the year of the Great Mother-Daughter Bonding Experience. Echoing our trip to Japan last year, She Who Must Be Obeyed helped Elder Daughter celebrate her thirtieth (!) birthday by sojourning with her in Arizona. And with the Mistress of Sarcasm now back in Atlanta, the bonding business extends to both our girls.

In addition to Elder Daughter’s big birthday, this year we celebrated the thirty-fifth anniversary of my graduation from college (involving, per our custom, a trip to Princeton for Reunions) and our thirty-second wedding anniversary. But as anniversaries go, the one that means the most to me at this moment is our Meet-A-Versary, for December 31 is the very date on which I met my beloved She Who Must Be Obeyed. For it was on this very day in 1975 - thirty-four years ago! - that the two of us first laid eyes on each other down in Sweat City, Texas... and our respective worlds haven’t been the same since.


She Who Must Be Obeyed... even after all these years. (Especially after all these years.)

As is our custom, we’ll celebrate the arrival of the New Year with a small group of friends. Dinner, movie, champagne (the Good Stuff!) at midnight. Perhaps a few riffs on Beatles RockBand, just for shits ’n’ grins. But no heavy-duty carousing... it makes the brain hurt too much.

As we take our tentative steps into the second decade of the Twenty-First Century (by the secular calendar, anyway), let me extend my traditional wishes to you, my Esteemed Readers... and to my friends, family, and (of course!) my wonderful bride and our daughters... for a 2010 filled with health, happiness, and love, without limit to any good thing.

It's Time . . .

The Chinese gold fish looks apprehensive . . .

The Starfish Sunbather seems to say "Oh, nooo!"

Even this Peruvian Holy Family seems worried about the coming change.

But I'm unmoved. It's the last day of the year and, in keeping with family tradition that says the tree must be out of the house before the New Year or there'll be bad luck, I'm dutifully un-decorating and getting it out the door.

In the kitchen the black eyed-peas are cooking for the Hoppin' John, and the collards are simmering with the hog jowl. More folk magic for good luck in the coming year.

With all the help I had getting the tree decorated, I missed saying hello to some of my favorite ornaments . . . but now, as I slowly disassemble the tree, I get to enjoy each one even as I pack them away.

This goat came from the Carl Sandburg house in Flat Rock -- did you know that his wife Lillian was an acclaimed goat breeder and a small herd of goats is still on the property? The goat carries a lot of memories -- I bought in when I was in Flat Rock at a literary festival and it was there that I met Sharyn McCrumb and Tony Early.

Another goat -- a Scandinavian Yule goat-- and another pagan survival -- like the Christmas tree itself.

This patchwork ornament is new this year, a gift from my sister-in-law Fay -- just look at that embroidery and those sequins! And the donkey is new as well -- from Claui's folks in honor of our own Kate the Donkey.

It's always hard, putting these pretties away -- but then it's always such a pleasure to rediscover them when next Christmas rolls around.

See you next year!

FINEST OF THE VINOUS

For that small handful of my Esteemed Readers who actually give a crap about what wines Houston Steve and I enjoyed along with our guests at the recent Third Annual Aubrey-Maturin Dinner, here’s a list:

• Sichel Sauternes 2002
  
  
• Château Saint-Michel Sauternes 2000
  
  
  
  Both Sauternes were exquisite when paired with the Strasburg Pie.
  
  
• Emilio Lustau Old Oloroso sherry
  
  
• Maison Bouachon Châteauneuf-du-Pape 2005
  
  
• Marqués de Riscal Rioja 2003
  
  Remember that Dr. Stephen Maturin hailed from Catalonia.
  
  
• Château Pavillon Rouge Margaux 2000
  
  An excellent bottle in the early prime of its life. The “junior edition” of the famous first-growth Château Margaux, a “supple, delicious, flavorful effort.”
  
  
• Château Lascombes Margaux 1974
  
  
  
  A wine made from grapes that were hanging on the vine when I was graduated from college.
  
  
• Château Gloria Saint Julien 1976, 1978
  
  A fine cru bourgeois. Current price range is about $55-100 per bottle.
  
  
• Joseph Drouhin Chorey-les-Beaune 2006
  
  
• Twin Valley Estate Tawny Port
  
  From Australia, one of the many places Captain Jack and his particular friend Dr. Maturin visited in the course of their travels.
  
  
• Dow Late-Bottled Vintage Port 2003

Not a loser in the bunch... and enough to wash down the enormous piles of Roast Beef, Roast Goose, Veg, and various Puddings that sate upon the groaning board.

Urp.

BRIGHT EYES, SMUG EXPRESSION

Ringo, the cat at Chez Morris William, wears a somewhat smug expression in this photo.

I guess he’s entitled to it. You’d be smug, too, if the New York Times science section posted a link to a picture of your asshole... and kept it up for a month.

Update: Ringo rings in the New Year at the Modulator’s Friday Ark #276. The feline fun continues at Mind of Mog, where Carnival of the Cats #303 will be posted on Sunday, January 3.

Update 2: CotC #303 - a nice, palindromic number - is up.

Muletas on Karakorum & Why the Dictionary rocks our house.

Around the holidays, when large groups of family are gathered, we play a game that we call "Dictionary."







All you need it a dictionary, pencils & paper.

We tear the paper into little squares and pass them out to everyone along with the pencils.
And then the fun begins.






Whoever goes first opens the dictionary...and picks out a word that they think no one knows.
Then everyone writes down what they think the word means...on their squares of paper.
The paper is then gathered and the person reads out all the defintions.
We all try to guess who wrote which one...and then we find out the real definition.
The person who was the closest gets to choose the next word.
It's so much fun.

Someone in my family choose the word "Karakorum."  [kahr-uh-kawr-uhm]

Here are some of the guesses:

- a distilled spirit made from yak milk and carrots - burned in volcanic ash for 10 years before drinking.   Popular in Papa New Guinea.

- a gathering of cars sufficient to vote.

- a tropical fruit that tastes like burned toast.

- a ruined city in central Mongolian People's Republic.

- an ancient tirual involving, among other things, decor of carrots and steamed beets.

- the sound a green beetle makes when someone steps on it.

- a very rare liquor found deep in the karakangaroos' veins.

Another family member choose the word "Muleta" [moo-ley-tuh] and here are the definitions:

- a mule that "et" too much.

- a tie that is made of cow skin found in Africa.

- a red cloth on a stick used by a matador

- slang for "meet ya later" used by gangsta munchkins.

- an east African bread, commonly served with fried sandfly soup and cinnamon green sauce.

- a social afternoon party gathering of mules where tea is served.

- a big glob of mucus stuck together.

- a little boy mule after the Big Surgery!

This game will make you wonder who your family really is!

Can you guess the REAL definitions of Muleta & Karakorum?!!
(without cheating!)

More About the Cantrell Child

There's rosemary -- that's for remembrance -- and I took some with me when I returned to the Walnut cemetery yet again in search of Emma Jane -- or possibly Emma Jean -- the Cantrell child whose grave I went looking for a while back.

I'd been in touch with Jeter Cantrell -- who was born after his sister's death -- and he told me the story as he remembered it. (I didn't catch everything he said -- thus the Jean/Jane confusion.)

Emma Jane (or Jean) would have been three on February the second. It was December (of 1925 0r '26) when her parents left her and her brothers at home (the older boy wasn't feeling well) and set off walking down Thomas Branch to attend Sunday night church meeting.

The older boy went out to water the mule; when he came back his little sister was fine, happily playing with her dog. A little later he left the house again to go turn the cows out. When he came back, Emma Jane was gone, as was his younger brother.

The older brother figured that the two must have gone over the mountain to their grandparents' place in Sodom. So he got the mule and rode over there to find his brother there but no Emma Jane.

It was snowing lightly and she didn't have a coat on, said Jeter. Later the searchers figured that the little girl must have set off down Thomas Branch, following the way her parents had gone, but rather than continuing toward Walnut, she had turned up the switchback that led toward Saddle Top Mountain.

The sheriff searched on horseback and, as Nancy's family remembered, the lights of the searchers could be seen weaving back and forth through the leafless trees on Saddle Top.

When they found her, Emma Jane was frozen to death, but the little dog with her was still alive.

She's buried in the main cemetery around the church, Jeter said, under a flat stone near the marker for her parents, William and Nola Cantrell. Look in the southeast corner, he added, next to the pasture.

So back I went, on another cold and windy day, with a little bouquet of rosemary to put on the grave. With such good directions, I felt sure I'd find Emma Jane.
(Or Jean.)

But I didn't.

Which is why I haven't updated the ongoing story. But when Esta, who comments here occasionally, asked me yesterday what more I'd found out about the little girl, so I thought I'd go on and do an update.

Eventually, I'll get to the library and see what I can find on micro fiche. And when the weather is more moderate, I'll go back one more time and look for Emma Jane. Or Jean.

And I'll take some more rosemary.

HOW NOW, COW TOWN?

We’re back after spending this past week in North Texas, specifically Denton (home of the University of North Texas as well as SWMBO’s baby brother Morris William and his family) and Foat Wuth, AKA Cowtown, stomping grounds for the Momma d’SWMBO.

It has been a gas, seeing our young nephew William and his sister Madison in their current state of Growing-Up-edness. William has always been quick to make witty wise-beyond-his-seven-years observations, but Madison, now three, has really come into her own. She loves to perform - the Dreidel Song is a particular favorite - and has her own way of keeping other people from horning in on her action. “You need to be quiet - you’re special!” she’ll say... and by “special” she means a more age-appropriate alternative to “STFU.”

And we had snow. Snow! The few inches we got wasn’t a patch on the mighty snowstorms of my Northeastern youth, but you’d never know that from seeing the excitement in the faces of William and Madison. Snow! What kid doesn’t love to play in the White Stuff until face and fingers are cold and raw, the better to warm up over a mug of hot cocoa?


Nephew William practices his mad snowball-throwing skillz.

No trip with the Elisson clan is complete without the uncovering of some sort of Bizarre Connection. One of the landmarks in Denton is the University of North Texas Murchison Performing Arts Center, named for its chief benefactor (and former regent) Lucille G. “Lupe” Murchison. Lupe Murchison was the sister-in-law of Clint Murchison, Jr., founding owner of the Dallas Cowboys, whose family’s many business interests included the Daisy Manufacturing Company, makers of the famous Daisy Red Ryder BB Gun (“You’ll shoot your eye out, kid!”). My connection? I used to study astrophysics with Clint’s daughter, back in my university days. Weird, huh?

Anyway, we’re back home now, watching as the year winds itself down to its last few days. No big celebration this year... just a quiet get-together with friends.

Peking Duck may, at some point, be involved.

Toy Joy

On Christmas Eve, in Austin, Texas, I ended up at Toy Joy

with my two sons and my soon-to-be-ex-husband.

We let Donny & Remy buy their Christmas gifts for each other.

which is an interesting experience, to say the least.

Toy Joy is an amazing store.

I've never been anywhere quite like it.

 

Every inch of the store is filled...

with musical instruments you can play with your nose,

collectibles, wind up toys, stuffed animals, Japanese toys, disguises, balls of every kind.

Fake ice cubes.

rubber insects.

blow up aliens.

They  hang toys from their ceilings as well...

Disco balls,

kites,

stuffed animals,

kites

Japanese lanterns...

It takes hours just to see a tiny corner of this store.

You could get lost for days exploring every inch.

It's the best novely toy store ever.

They had robots on their Christmas tree!!

I'll have to show you what the boys picked out for each other in another post.