Oh (pint-sized) Christmas Tree

I started baking for the holidays today. I've been going to bed each night for a week vowing to start the very next day, and then I don't. It was getting ridiculous.

Yesterday I forced myself to put up a tree. It's small and super cute. I suppose I should decorate the mantle. I've been saving and framing Christmas cards of madonnas or angels for decades, and I put them up each year.  Lots of fine art and gold frames. They make me happy. It's like eating comfort food, only it is a visual feast. Okay, I have convinced myself. I'll do it tomorrow. I'm almost sure of it.

I'll wait to clean until just before the holiday. If I start now, I'll just have to do it again. Ha! I'm only partially kidding.  

I'm not gonna lie, 2024 has been a hard year for me and mine. I'm trying to be strong, to be good, to rise above the fray. I can do that. But still, there is a simmering anger lurking below the surface. An ache, a wish for kindness and compassion. There's not much of that in this hard and callous world. 

I struggle, wondering if I have not been kind enough myself, or if I have been too weak to be truly kind? What is the right balance? How much courage and character is required to be kind? I guess it has to start with me. At 73, I don't have all that much time left for bullshit.  

I look forward to Christmas being over, and the new year to begin.  There WILL be resolutions.  

A small light in the darkness

Eating our way towards tolerance.

I'm baking, but not cookies. Nope, NOT making cookies. I made a couple loaves of braided cheese and onion bread, and I just finished rolling up some Hungarian kolache. I am waiting for it to proof. 

Kolache shouldn't be confused with Polish kolacky, those are cookies. A kolache is a sweet bread filled with sweetened ground walnuts (or poppyseeds). It is rolled like a Swiss roll, but a Swiss roll is made out of sponge cake. Kolache has an odd yeasted dough almost like an enriched pie crust with milk, sugar and egg yolks added. A number of Eastern European countries seem to have a version of it with a different name.  

I am also marinading beef for Sauerbraten, which Tom and I will eat Christmas evening with spaetzle and red cabbage on the side. Our dinner is long after our daughter's family goes home on Christmas day. They come at noon for a good old Southern brunch with eggs, bacon, biscuits and sausage gravy.  

Last night we ate at our favorite Mexican restaurant. 

This is America. The great melting pot starts in the kitchen.

Love Gifts

When I was a young wife and mother, my grandmother was poor as a church mouse, but she once slipped me $20 so my cranky grandpa couldn't see. She whispered that it was a love gift. Times were hard. I needed that $20 as much as I needed her love. That loving sacrifice made an impression.

Independent of being a mother and a grandmother, I am a doting aunt and great-aunt, and by the grace of a random universe, we are also great-grandparents. 

Last year I mailed 6 packages to our young great-grand children, great-nieces and nephews. I actually used a hand truck dolly to carry them all in to the post office. This year I only have three to mail, because I ordered some presents to be delivered directly to a few young children in our lives. 

None of our presents are expensive. Young children don't judge presents based on money spent. They get excited to get a package in the mail. I simply want these children to grow up knowing they have two old farts living in Florida who love them. 

A St. Nicholas Day dream.

Last night I dreamt I was going someplace with a friend. I stood outside by the car waiting for her to come out of the house. She walked out and I heard her say, “Go away!” to something I couldn't see. Then, from around the back of the house, a decorated bull with large horns came rushing towards me. It hit me in the chest, and everything went black. I woke up. 

But get this, it was decorated like a Hindu sacred cow. The only thing it had in mind was to slam into my chest. Why? If it was real I would say it is simply a bull's nature. However, it was a dream, and I'm of the opinion dreams are our unconscious mind trying to tell us something super freaking obscure.

Today is December 6th, St. Nicholas Day. As a child, I put my shoes by the front door the night before, and lo and behold they were filled with candy, nuts, and fruit the next morning. St. Nicholas had visited our house while we slept!

My mother's grandparents were from Lorraine, France. This is a tradition that has been maintained in my family. St. Nicholas is the patron saint of Lorraine, and popular in Germany and Austria. 

Krampus is part of that medieval tradition, too. He is a companion of St. Nicholas. They represent a duality, good and evil. Good behavior is rewarded, and bad behavior is punished. Very effective message.

Because I have both a ridiculous sense of humor and a wild imagination, I think I was visited by Krampus last night. Darn!

My new favorite Christmas meme

Now go decorate any way you want, or not at all.

 

Those darn cookies

Christmas Eve is always my favorite time part of the holiday, and this one was especially festive and fun. We went to our daughter's house for a lovely dinner and good cheer. Hilarity ensued. The grandkids wore matching pajamas. Everyone was happy. I've experienced Christmas Eve 71 times, and on a scale from 1 to 10, I'd give this a 10.

On Christmas Day they came here for a mid-afternoon meal and presents. That was also a good time, despite the fact that most of us were up by 5 a.m. and needed a nap. My only issue is that no one ate even one of my cookies. Not one. So that's it. I'm done making a ridiculous variety of Christmas cookies. Done, I tell you! 

To be fair, my daughter makes cookies, too. I imagine they were sick of sweets by mid-afternoon on Christmas Day. All the more reason to pass the torch to the next generation in future years. There comes a time, and all that.  

Now they are all staring at me, waiting to be eaten.
I feel kind of sorry for them.  

What, this again?

For the past 24 hours the tree has been up and the lights have been strung. I'm almost sure I will summon the energy required to put the ornaments on later today. 

I'm in good shape for Christmas. Most of our shopping is done, cards are out, packages ready to be mailed, outside lights strung, and soon the tree will be decorated. Then maybe I will relax and sleep all night again. It's all so much. Too much, really. 

I'm having a great time exploring recipes for possible Christmas bakes. I almost made my mother's fruit cake, but then I didn't. Too late now. 

We'll certainly make the cut-out cookies, overloaded with colored icings. Making and decorating these have been a part of our Christmas tradition since the dawn of (our) time. The grandkids are looking forward to this venerable cookie event. I am, too. This year we are making them gluten-free. Wish me luck.

Every year I say this is the last year I'm sending cards, but still I send them. It's kind of like when I say today is the day I won't have a second glass of wine. All good intentions until the time comes.

Cheers!

Never perfect, always too sweet, but still my family's favorite

Christmas letter

I just wrote a variation of this email message to a few old friends. I thought it would do as a Christmas message to the blogosphere. You can see how my mind wanders in my dotage. I imagine that will only get worse, and even more self-indulgent as time goes on.  Sigh.

Dear {Friends},

Are you all making Christmas cookies? I'm having a hard time doing so, although my German and French ancestry will not let me ignore the responsibility. Actually, it turns out (DNA test) I'm as much Scotch Irish and English as I am German, with a smattering of Welsh and Norwegian (for crying out loud). The French is Lorraine, so it's more Frankish than French. 

Anyway, yesterday I made the dough for Linzer cookies. I'm so hoping when the time comes to roll them out and bake them, I can talk Tom into doing it instead. He was the cookie baker at {Bakery} in its glory days. He could make them much better than me, heh heh. Were you guys in {City} in the early 80's?  Tom was there, living in a rural commune, as early as 1969.  My first time there was 1971. We arrived for the long haul in 1975. So long ago.

Today we make cut out cookies and the kids arrive at 1:00 to decorate them. I suppose I will clean the house. I wonder if I actually will? I'm beyond lazy these days.  

According to their local paper, there are currently 2,589 active COVID cases in {County}, NY.  Wow!  

You are all in my thoughts. And if I could figure out who to pray to, you'd be in my prayers as well. But maybe heartfelt thoughts ARE prayers? I don't know that for sure, either.  

This is really such a hard time of the year. I never know whether to laugh or cry.  

Cheers,

Colette

P.S.  Here are pictures of some crazy Florida flowers in bloom right now.  Aren't they amazing?

Color and Light

Well, we put the tree up and I'm glad we did. The lights work the magic. Now I'm in the holiday mood. I guess it has always been that way with winter holidays nearest the solstice. Not to diminish the religious or cultural aspects of many of these holidays. Whatever floats your boat!  We humans seem to need light and hope during this darkest time of the year.  

I love white lights against a dark green tree. Even then color is everywhere. Cards, trees, ornaments, candles, and all sorts of family decorations only taken out and displayed at this time of the year. I take great joy in trees others put up with this peaceful and elegant lighting; however, I'm a sucker for color. A glutton, really. The more colors, the better. I also like shiny, glittery, encrusted ornaments.  

When I look at our tree I want to be jolted, as if I just had a shot of espresso. But that's just me.  

What is just you?  

What the heck?

Every year I think "I'm not going to bother putting up a Christmas tree, it's too much work."  Same with Christmas cards.  Every year, the same reluctance.  Every year I cave in and do the work.  

If we didn't have grandchildren who came over on Christmas day for brunch and presents, I think I'd be able to withstand the pressure to decorate.  The grandson has been asking if we put our tree up.  He seems a little anxious, like he can read my mind and he can see my reluctance.  

It isn't that I don't love the holiday or a decorated tree.  I do love every bit of it, except for the hard work of staging the holiday.  

Trees and Memory

Certain of my mother's grandparents came from Germany. Mom grew up in a home where German was still spoken. In later years, when Mom was especially frustrated, she would let loose with a heartfelt "Mein Gott im Himmel." Hearing my mother speak German gave me pause. It didn't happen often because she only remembered a few phrases her father used.  Now I only remember this one. 

Oh wait, she also said "Ach du lieber" or something like that. Again, there were strong emotions involved. Maybe there's more. I should consult my memories. They are all there, somewhere.

I have written before about my mother decorating the tree. Her father put the tree up on Christmas Eve, after the children went to bed. Waking up to a shining tree was the ultimate magic of her Christmas morning. They used real candles, so Grandpa got up early to light them before waking his Katholisch horde.  

That's how it is with me and Christmas. I have my memories and I store my mother's, too. It seems I save some of her father's Christmas memories, as well.  I'm a computer hard drive. A storage unit. Mnemosyne, daughter of Heaven and Earth.  Mother of the Muses.

I would rather be Demeter so I could sleep all winter long.  

https://mythologysource.com/mnemosyne-greek-goddess/

  

I love and hate Christmas

I love colored lights! The Surly Republican across the street goes all out decorating and illuminating his house. Every night I open the door and walk out on my porch to savor the display. I told him I enjoyed it. He barely answered, didn't make eye contact, and walked away. Sucks to be him.

Going through ornaments and thinking about the why or the who is always a profoundly moving experience. I hold them in my hand, thinking hard about people who gifted them to us. 

I enjoy giving presents. I realize gift giving is a poor excuse for showing love, but when it comes to that particular emotion I throw caution to the wind.

I'm heartened by the softening of hearts, opening of wallets, and end-of-the-year donations to the poor. I wish we were always open hearted, but at least we have this season to remind us how good generosity feels.

OMG! Consider the yummy cookies and scrumptious meals we only make at Christmas. These foods are precious because of their limited availability.  I'm like a little kid. I can't wait!

I hear from so many loved ones my heart nearly bursts. Wide open. Phantasmagorical blood spurting everywhere, y'all.  Ouch.  

Which brings me to the "hate" part of Christmas. I am emotionally overwhelmed. The stress of buying the right presents sets my head spinning. And I worry about eating and drinking too much over the next 3 weeks. Because I will. 

Christmas Eve Memories

Christmas Eve was the high point in my youth. My large family exchanged presents from siblings on the night before Christmas. We would have a casual but special meal and all the cookies would come out of hiding. We walked in the dark to our parish church for midnight mass. There would be flowers, incense, and angels singing Latin from the choir. Christmas Eve was a celebration of the senses. 

My paternal grandmother came to our house early in the evening with her profound love, mystical kindness, homemade divinity candy, and peanut butter fudge (for crying out loud!). It was exciting to have her in our house. I can still hear her sweet, Tennessee drawl. I continue to feel her steadfast love. I'm not sure a better person ever walked this earth.

Grandpa wouldn't always come with her. Sadly, as he got older he became a cranky old misery guts. Oh well. Somebody's gotta play Scrooge.

She had just walked in.  I didn't even let her take off her coat before I took her picture.

Putting away Christmas

The older I get, the more Christmas becomes a life gauge. Each year I touch and consider my past.

• Owl ornament my ornery friend Maggie gifted in 1983. She died in 2006. I'm still a bit afraid of her.
• Cardboard box to store ornaments. We originally received the box in 1996 when we ordered a printer. The printer is long gone. The box remains.
• Needlepoint bell niece K made when she was a child. She'll never know how touched I was to get it.
• 1970's/80's salt dough ornaments daughter M made. She's forever my baby, my child, my cranky teen.
• Every ornament our grandchildren made/painted/bought for us. Especially when we can't figure out what it is. They go front and center.
• The salt dough ornaments husband T made that are so hideous, so utterly ridiculous that we laugh and hide 'em in the back of the tree. He's a good sport.
• New ornaments from R, the daughter who is my husband's oldest, and a daughter of my heart.
• Yellow cat ornament Chilly Hollow gave us millions of years ago. She's still a friend, a reader of this blog, and an irreverent smart alack.
• Ornaments Syracuse friends bought and pretended were from their son, Coop. Ha, we never fell for it.
• Vacation souvenirs, baubles and tchotchkes.
•  The glass Santa from Sharon, who died in 2015. Each year I hold it and try to believe she's still alive.
• I really must stop, this is getting too long. I could go on for pages.  Suffice it to say that every ornament has a story to tell and circumstances to describe. 

  

  Santa ball from DebbieK, Tibetan ball from Choklay and Nyima, Icon BVM from Oldest Sister

  
  
  

Bacon and plenty of it

In the time-honored spirit of excessive winter holidays, I made a killer brunch on Christmas day. It was delightfully over the top. Of course, if we ate like that every day it would kill us. On Christmas we throw caution to the wind. Depending on your beliefs, this is a time for joy and celebration in hopes of welcoming the sun or son. I'm a firm believer that to bring back the light, we must eat and drink with abandon and without regard for things like fat, salt, weight gain, or cirrhosis of the liver on this one magical day of the year.

We feast on biscuits with sausage gravy, and potato and cheddar cheese frittata with a variety of salsas. There is citrus salad, sliced avocado, a bloody Mary or two, and the King of Food, bacon and plenty of it. In years gone by, I slaved at the stove frying up strips of bacon. The popping and spitting bacon grease ruined many a Christmas sweatshirt, and the house would smell of bacon for days. That is not a bad smell, bacon; but it gets old.

In recent years I have seen recipes for baking bacon in the oven to avoid the mess. This year I thought I would give it a try. I preheated the oven to 400 degrees, lined a large cookie sheet with aluminum foil folded up all around the edges to catch the grease. I put baking racks on top of the foil and carefully placed bacon to ensure I used up every single blessed strip. I loosely laid a piece of foil on top to keep my oven clear of splatter, and then baked it for about 25 minutes. The recipe said 10 - 20 minutes, but I was nervous so I let it go a little too long.

It was good, although not as greasy or succulent as fried bacon. How long you bake it determines how crisp it gets. I left mine in long enough that it practically disintegrated in your mouth. The pieces broke when you tried to pick them up. There wasn't any leftover so I am assuming it was good enough, but next time I'll shoot for 20 minutes.

Fried, not baked: better

Christmas 2018

I can't help but notice Christmas brings out the best in people. So, why can't that last?

During weeks leading up to this holiday, color-blind donations are made to give poor children Santa presents and warm clothes. Food drives are conducted by churches and civic organizations. Everyday people fill boxes to distribute to families less fortunate than themselves. Then comes the New Year and we revert to our selfish, hateful, fearful selves. Doesn't that seem odd?

Shouldn't we be good and do good every day? Holiday generosity could easily translate into supporting social programs providing food and healthcare for children each day of the year. Hey, let's support job training programs that provide real skills to their parents while we are at it.

Geez-o-Pete, we could love our neighbors regardless of color, religion, country of origin, or who they choose to kiss under the mistletoe. We could even celebrate differences because they are so damn interesting. The recipients of our kindness wouldn't even need to be citizens. This love stuff is crazy! Once unleashed, who knows where it might end? Love may be a Bizzaro World Pandora's box.

I'm neither perfect nor a Christian; however, I have always liked Jesus for the radical social justice superhero he was. It seems like some of his followers don't take his teachings all that seriously. Why is it that Buddha and Krishna had better luck with their followers actually following through with the whole love thing? This makes me wonder where Christianity went wrong. I'd appreciate your thoughts on this. 

And extra points for anyone willing to point the finger (not the middle one) at St. Paul.

The Most Famous Reindeer of All

The other night, while driving our 6 year old grandson home, we made up silly and a slightly naughty lyrics to Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer. For instance, "Comet" became "Vomit," "Cupid" became "Stupid," and Rudolph became the "Snot Nosed Reindeer." We pulled out all the stops, using as many gross terms we could imagine to make a 6 year old boy laugh out loud. When Grandpa substituted Shitzen for Blitzen, I thought little N would bust a gut. Good times!

I don't remember my grandparents doing things like this. I fear I am a bad influence. I always knew I was with my friends, but I figured I'd outgrow it long before I became a grandmother. Guess not.

Bone Tired

Yes, I am bone tired. I am back from the family wedding that warranted my new haircut. I had a great time, filled with family, old friends, and a ridiculous amount of fun. I also had ice cream twice, as well as wedding cake. Wine flowed. Sinful abandon abounded.

Now that I am home, I find myself exhausted. I did nothing yesterday, and I may do nothing again today. I'm trying to figure out if this is a physical reaction or an emotional one? It is likely a combination of the two. I refuse to admit that I am simply aging and have less energy. Oh, Hell no!

In the meantime, my nephew's wife is having a baby. She is having a hard time and a long labor. I wish we were still in Indiana so I could be sitting vigil in the hospital with my Baby Sister. Saturday she married off her youngest child. A few days later her oldest provides her first grandchild.

If sonograms can be trusted, today we add another heroine to the family saga AND Baby Sister and Mikey become grandparents! My nephew and niece-in-law's lives will change forever. Everyone's life will be enhanced when this baby arrives. I may be bone tired, but I am shaken (not stirred) by these glorious events.

Today I will be on the couch reading, napping, and resting my weary bones. Perhaps I'll get my mojo back after this stubborn baby girl is finally born.

That Damn Gingerbread House

OMG! (loud and breathless, like a teenage girl) I had the all-time worst experience making a gingerbread house with my grandson.

I received a text from daughter, M, saying little N wanted to build a gingerbread house. M, a wise and subtle mother, replied "That sounds like a Grandma thing." She texted me with the good news. Taking a deep breath, I ordered a kit. I hoped it would arrive broken beyond repair. But no, apparently I was one of the lucky few who received a kit with all pieces intact. I took that as an omen.

I picked N up from school yesterday. We began to build the cursed thing. Grandpa helped. That meant Grandpa and I (both ex-managers) embarked on an epic power struggle to get the damn thing to hold together. Initially this involved frosting, but later degenerated into heat guns, glue, and holding that sucker together for an interminably long time. Nails were considered. All while N jumped in his seat talking non-stop.

We used up the kit-provided frosting trying (and failing) to get the damn house to stick together. I made more. N (aka, my shadow) insisted we divide it up into four small bowls so he could use all 4 types of food coloring. He already had the food coloring out of the pantry. Then we returned to the construction zone where T had given up on the blasted house. It was my turn. I used Elmer's glue (and plenty of it) to stick that sucker back together.

As I held it together hoping for the glue to dry, N dumped about half the candy decorations in two of the frostings. He is lightening fast. I guess in his 5 year-old mind he imagined he could frost the roof with the candy infused glop and the candy would stick out. A genius, thinking outside the box! But he had not considered they would just be buried in the frosting. I was holding it all together and couldn't stop him, although I yelled really, really loud. We really have to get that kid's hearing checked. Not sure WHY he didn't hear me.

Finally the roof stayed on! He decorated. Alas, as we stood to look at his handiwork, one side of the roof slipped off in slow motion. He lost interest and went inside. There was no way I could stop. I re-glued the hateful roof and propped up each side with boxes to keep them in place. Two hours later N's father, MV, came to get him. I  took the boxes away from the sides of the roof. It held! N was delighted. I'm pretty sure he thought I was a miracle worker. I was happy, although my blood pressure was rather high.

After they left I took the following pictures:

Not the best gingerbread house you've ever seen, but dammit! it was a house. At last I could relax.  Unfortunately, gravity rules supreme. Here's how it looked this morning:

I surrender. 

Christmas baking

I have been baking for the holidays. You, too?

My father's family has been in the U.S. since 1714, so they are totally Americanized, with nary a trace of ethnicity.  However, they were from Kentucky and Tennessee, so there were regional Christmas treats on that side. My beloved paternal grandmother, for instance, always made divinity candy and peanut butter fudge.

My mother's side was both German and French, and her grandparents arrived in the U.S. about 1860. They moved to a German enclave in Northern Indiana, near Chicago.  My Mom was born in 1926, so she was raised in those traditions. Her mother made fancy Christmas cookies.  Mom also made fruitcake, but I think that was a 1950's housewife thing. Dad made chocolate fudge. We always made rolled cut-out cookies which we then frosted with many garish colors and loaded down with sprinkles. Yum.
I already made my usual fruitcake, which I've wrapped in bourbon soaked cheesecloth this year instead of brandy. 

Fruitcake

and I'm also making Hungarian kieflis. They are insanely thin rolled dough wrapped around walnut/confectioner's sugar/egg white mix.  Then shaped into a crescent.  When done and cool, they are dusted with more confectioner's sugar. Although I am not Hungarian, I grew up in a Hungarian parish, and everyone made them, my mother got her recipe from a neighbor.

Heavenly Kieflis

Next week, I'll make the cut-out butter cookies with my grandkids.  That's always fun.

Okay, make me say it, I'm going to make fudge, too. Even though it will push me right over the damn edge. I hope you are satisfied, Chilly Hollow, your fudge recipe is my downfall once again.  Don't tell me to eat less.  I can't.

For those of you who also celebrate a winter holiday, what are you baking or making? Not just Christmas, I'm interested in any winter holiday. Are they part of your family traditions?