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.

Kentucky Bourbon

We recently visited Louisville, Kentucky. There is a lot to see and hear about horses and the Derby; however, Louisville is all about bourbon. It seemed every restaurant had an extensive bourbon list. Distillery advertisements abound. This made me want bourbon with all my heart. What could I do? 

We were happy (and fortunate) to attend an event at the Pendennis Club, a lush private gentleman's club which is apparently the birthplace of the Old Fashioned. I also had a bourbon based slushy at a fantastic barbeque joint downtown. I drank a variety of bourbon infused drinks at the trendy 8UP restaurant overlooking the city late one night. Okay, maybe two nights.

We were intrigued by tales of the elusive  Pappy Van Winkle Family Reserve 23 year-old bourbon that sells for a small fortune, if you can find it. It's all very hush hush and on the down-low, a brilliant marketing strategy. The distillery making Pappy Van Winkle only releases stock once a year.  Small-batch, indeed!  In fact, this is what they say on their web site about finding it: 

"We know our whiskey can be difficult to find, so our advice is to ask retailers in your area if they expect to receive stock, and if so, how they plan to sell it. Many retailers use a lottery or a waiting list to sell our stock. We recommend you get on as many waiting lists and enter as many lotteries as you can.

Best of luck!"

We visited a candy store (Art Edibles) featuring small-batch bourbon truffles made by the first and only bourbon-certified chocolatier in the world. The salesperson gave us each a free Old Forester truffle to eat and then talked us through the resulting taste sensations as if we were embarking on a guided imagery meditation. It was transcendent. I may never be the same. 

We went to the Old Forester Distillery one afternoon for a tour. An image now burned into my brain is of a vast vat of fermenting whiskey, steamy hot of its own volition and bubbling away as it worked magic unto itself.  It lives.

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.

Alright already, I cleaned.

This post is for my blog-friend Sabine, who is often the voice crying out in the wilderness. 

Baby Sister texted to thank me for posting about our mother, and we reminisced about childhood holidays. She remarked on the work Mom did to stage those holidays. She said how thankful she was Mom made the effort because it provided lovely memories. Baby Sister waxed poetically about pulling out Mom's good china and setting a beautiful table under Mom's direction. Sheesh.

My mother was a great cook, but a lousy housekeeper.  She's famous throughout our extended family for her messy house. So for her to summon up the energy to discard all the accumulated junk on her dining room table was a monumental act of love in itself.

Great, I thought to myself as I squirmed uncomfortably in my chair with the phone to my ear. Now in addition to cleaning like a crazy woman, I had to go through the boxes in the garage to find the good china?

I muttered a stream of swear words that would make a sailor's eyes pop out, pulled my lazy #%* off the couch to start cleaning the house and digging out the china. I made the effort not because I wanted to, but because my grandkids deserve Thanksgiving memories of a beautifully set table at their grandparent's house. The things we do for love, right?

Is that all? Well of course not! I'm a sneaky old woman and I'm leading up to something more important than cleaning; climate change. If we don't start making the changes to deal with this, there won't be a future for our grandchildren, great-nieces/nephews.

Why bother? Well, why bother breathing?!

Climate change WILL be at the top of the list for the new Democrat majority House of Representatives in the U.S.  While they deal with the big issues, we must muster the energy to overcome our cynicism and despair on the home front. We can start creatively imagining new ideas, new industries, alternate economies, better and more effective political strategies so there will a reasonable future for those we love.

Call me naive, but to me there is nothing more important right now than this: reuse, recycle, re-imagine, rethink, and redesign. Please make the effort.

Popeye would do it.  Bluto would not. Be like Popeye.

Do I have to clean my house for Thanksgiving?

I can't believe Thanksgiving is this Thursday. It is as if I went to sleep last July and then woke up this morning. What a wonderful and personally satisfying interlude this election cycle has been. I'm looking forward to more of the same in 2020. 

But now I have to come down to earth and face the cold hard truth. I'm going to have to clean my freakin' house in anticipation of a big family dinner. Let's just say the housework has been a bit neglected and a serious holiday cleaning is in order. Yikes. It will take me days. I better get crackin'.

I'm sure it is hard for readers outside the U.S. to understand Thanksgiving, unless you are Canadian. Then you have already been through yours and you know the drill. But the rest are probably wondering what's the big deal with this Thanksgiving thing, and why don't we just wait until Christmas for Turkey? I don't know. We just don't. We're American, for better or worse. 

Thanksgiving is a family-based holiday, but not commercialized or decadent like the U.S. version of Christmas has become. It is about food, memories, and love. Or at least that's what we tell ourselves. I bet a lot of the people who will celebrate on Thursday dread it like the plague because they will have to sit next to their mean-spirited aunt, or their racist father. Politics, religion, and unresolved emotional themes will ruin yet another family meal in some households. Oh well, as long as the food is good. It is really the best meal of the year.

I love Thanksgiving food. Thinking of mashed potatoes and turkey gravy, moist cornbread stuffing with nuts and dried fruit, homemade cranberry sauce, and all the rest make me happy. A special memory is my mother's pumpkin pie. Oh, Ma! I miss you so.

She never bought canned pumpkin. Nope, not my Mom. She bought small pie pumpkins, split them in half, cleaned out the seeds and baked the pumpkin in the oven before scraping it out and making the pie. THEE pie. The perfect pumpkin pie. It was totally different than one made with canned pumpkin. Hers was luscious; darker, complex, textured, better in every way.

Everything was usually made from scratch in her house, but certainly always on holidays. She would even make homemade bread for Thanksgiving. We topped it off with jellies and jams her and my father "put up" (i.e., canned) every August.

I have had dreams about her three times in the past two weeks. In truth, this is what the holidays really do.  They conjure up ghosts.

My mother in pink, 1988

Counts and recounts

Well, the thing about elections in Florida is that they never seem to end. We came very close to winning the Governor, Senator, and Agriculture Commissioner, but on election night it seemed we lost. 

However, over the next few days they kept "finding" votes that were not counted.  Seriously.  So now the Agriculture Commissioner candidate who was declared the loser last Tuesday has more votes than the so-called winner. Both the Governor and Senator races are within one half of one percent difference between candidates. 

The result? Probably automatic recounts for all three races. It will be weeks before we know the results or who the true winners are. But at least now if we lose, we'll know the truth. And we'll know the places in Florida that need to be held accountable for incompetence at best, and fraud at worst. 

In addition, we now have a cadre of seasoned progressive candidates who will try, try, again. The only thing better than winning outright, is coming back after a loss and winning the second time around. Winning isn't always clear cut; however, win or lose, this progressive energy feels like a huge victory for Florida. 

In the meantime, we took back the U.S. House of Representatives! We are powerless no longer. Hang on to your hat.

Halloween, Florida style

Please tell me I am not the only person who has already consumed an entire bag of Halloween candy that was (foolishly) purchased weeks ago?

I am not looking forward to cleaning out two large pumpkins today. However, I am looking forward to lighting them up this evening. October is warm here. We sit outside on the front porch and wait for the neighbor kids to arrive for treats. They are cute, and I enjoy talking to them. And I'm probably one of the few people who enjoys teenagers who show up in packs. Yeah, I know they are too old, but so what? Halloween is a neighborhood event, and I like the idea of teenagers still wanting to be children who are a part of this fun community ritual. I'm glad they are begging for treats instead of wreaking havoc throughout the neighborhood.  Honestly, I wish I could still dress up and trick-or-treat, too.

Halloween Florida style

Better than an action movie

I'm sure you are all sick to death of my political posts. Hang in, please. The mid-term elections are less than two weeks away and then I promise to go back to Colette's World style posts. For now, though, I am having the most fun of my adult life with this Florida gubernatorial race. Like so many political battles in this 2018 mid-term election year, this represents the divide that exists in this great country, and it delivers the best hope for breaching that divide and returning us to a healthy democracy.  

Last night I watched the final debate between the progressive Democratic candidate Andrew Gillum and his Trumpite opponent, Republican Ron DeSantis. The first debate had more quotable quotes, but this second one was absolutely epic. I spent that hour on the couch whooping it up, pointing, snapping, and feeling more hopeful than I have in a long time. It was more exciting than watching the Chicago Cubs finally win the World Series last year, but oddly similar in spirit. And yes, Andrew knocked it out of the park. 

and here's a video of it in case you are as obsessed as me:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KRjRreOomWE

If you are in it for the long haul

If you are in it for the long haul, you have to pace yourself. 

It is important to know when to rest, when to breathe deep, and when to look away. From time to time we must step back in order to come back swinging. Not only is that okay, it is essential.

And don't forget pleasure! Pleasure and joy play a role in sustaining a long struggle. Those are the moments that remind us life is worth living. Balance requires joy.

What is life but a series of obstacles that must be overcome? One can always surrender, it's true. But where is the fun in that? What is more important in your life than fighting the good fight? 

Struggle is the great work. If you can maintain hard work and committed living for the long run, in spite of the pain, you will have lived a heroic life. I guess there are some who don't particularly want to be heroic. I don't really understand that mindset, but I know it is a valid choice. Lots of good people live quiet lives. Do I envy them? Yes, some days I do. They remind us of what life could be like if life was normal.

For many of us, for whatever reason, life will never be normal. You are the people I'm talking to right now. Pace yourself. 

Being normal is overrated