Merry Christmas and Happy New Year
Mother Superior—Always ready for The Season...has already got Pandora tuned in to Bing Crosby. Or is it David Crosby? She keeps that silly hat in her purse, at the ready.
The Christmas Goat
—Never ready for The Season. He even looks like a slacker...probably just got out of bed...certainly looks like it. A bedhead if I ever saw one.
—Never ready for The Season. He even looks like a slacker...probably just got out of bed...certainly looks like it. A bedhead if I ever saw one.
Tragedy
Our old crockpot hath died. It was fifty years old, or just slightly less. I think it cost $15.99 at K-Mart. Given its life-span (dying was a much earned reward) it cost us .00085898 cents per day to own this fine appliance over the span of our marriage. Of course, that's not including the cost of electricity, which I am incapable of calculating. But it strikes me as a pretty good bargain in the era of planned obsolescence.
Now you ask, Dear Reader, where is this all going. Well, just grab on to your britches and rest easy for a bit.
I did what any right-thinking male (or left, in some cases) in the household would do. I tore into it to see if a fix might be found. Alas, it was not to be. The investigation damage was too extreme to be mitigated. So I did the next best thing. I put .00085898 cents in my pocket and went off to Target to sort out slow cookery for the new Trumpustian Era. (I'm working on adjectives that work well with the adverb"bigly." )
Mother Superior, never a big fan of slow cookery, in fact not a real fan of cookery, period, walked over to the island where I was proudly setting up my new cooker whilst taking a quick glance at the two-page, "quick-start" booklet (the message inside the booklet read "Plug in the cooker").
Having consulted her extensive library she pulls out a book and slides it my way. It was entitled 700 Recipes for Your Slow Cooker..."Here," says she, "have at it." And I'm wondering if the "slow" was directed at the cook....
And so I did. With your patience, I will share my first success with the new cooker:
Line the bottom of your cooker with some fairly large carrots. They double in brass as they become both the cooking rack for your 4.5 pound grain-fed chicken, appropriately rubbed with your favorite seasoning (any combination of those little jars seldom used, and always past expiration date), as well as a very tasty vegetable side, post carving. Don't forget to season the inside of the bird as well. Toss a bit of chopped garlic into that ol' birdie. Put birdie on the carrot rack, cover, set 'er on low, and make sure you've got that "quick-start" advice foremost in your mind. Otherwise, 8.5 hours later, that bird will still be raw and you'll be distressed at having to order in Dominos, that pie where you eat the well-flavored cardboard and toss out the pizza.
Next year I'll give you the sausage stuffing recipe that goes with this birdie. Too many of my cooking tips at any one time might cause serious indigestion.
Now you ask, Dear Reader, where is this all going. Well, just grab on to your britches and rest easy for a bit.
I did what any right-thinking male (or left, in some cases) in the household would do. I tore into it to see if a fix might be found. Alas, it was not to be. The investigation damage was too extreme to be mitigated. So I did the next best thing. I put .00085898 cents in my pocket and went off to Target to sort out slow cookery for the new Trumpustian Era. (I'm working on adjectives that work well with the adverb"bigly." )
Mother Superior, never a big fan of slow cookery, in fact not a real fan of cookery, period, walked over to the island where I was proudly setting up my new cooker whilst taking a quick glance at the two-page, "quick-start" booklet (the message inside the booklet read "Plug in the cooker").
Having consulted her extensive library she pulls out a book and slides it my way. It was entitled 700 Recipes for Your Slow Cooker..."Here," says she, "have at it." And I'm wondering if the "slow" was directed at the cook....
And so I did. With your patience, I will share my first success with the new cooker:
Line the bottom of your cooker with some fairly large carrots. They double in brass as they become both the cooking rack for your 4.5 pound grain-fed chicken, appropriately rubbed with your favorite seasoning (any combination of those little jars seldom used, and always past expiration date), as well as a very tasty vegetable side, post carving. Don't forget to season the inside of the bird as well. Toss a bit of chopped garlic into that ol' birdie. Put birdie on the carrot rack, cover, set 'er on low, and make sure you've got that "quick-start" advice foremost in your mind. Otherwise, 8.5 hours later, that bird will still be raw and you'll be distressed at having to order in Dominos, that pie where you eat the well-flavored cardboard and toss out the pizza.
Next year I'll give you the sausage stuffing recipe that goes with this birdie. Too many of my cooking tips at any one time might cause serious indigestion.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The older I get, the simpler I long for things to be. Let me illustrate—as a kid interested in college football, largely because Dad was, I was filled with anticipation at the prospect of New Year's Day bowl games. There were several, and they were all played on January 1. I remember the Cotton, Orange, Sugar, and Rose Bowls, and later Fiesta crept in, like a cricket sneaking into the garage in late October. It was regarded as a privilege to be invited to participate in these bowls, and brought pride and honor to the campus. Fast forward to 2016.
A quick look at what's coming up this "bowl season" indicates that there will be 35 bowl games, more or less, between 19 December and 9 January. Looking at the offerings this year I am declaring the seven worst possible invitations your favorite university could receive. They are in no particular order here, but you should cower in shame should your school be playing in one of these; it means that your season has amounted to nothing:
(I'm not pullin' your leg here, folks. You can fact- check this.)
—Tax Slayer Bowl
—NOVA Home Loans Bowl
—Auto Zone Liberty Bowl
—AdvoCare V100 Bowl
—National Funding Holiday Bowl
—Camping World Independence Bowl
—Zaxby's Heart of Dallas Bowl
Impenetrable aren't they? In all humility I am proposing that next year there be six bowls to compete with the Worst-of-the-Worst aforementioned bowls:
—Build a Border Wall, Quickly, Bowl
—Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire Bowl
—I Would Be the Greatest Jobs President That God Ever Created Bowl
—Bannon Let's Manufacture Some News Bowl
—Deportation (Win, 'ya Stay; Lose, 'ya Go) Bowl
—Is There Anybody Else in this Toilet Bowl? Bowl
Oh, and let them all played on New Year's Day, s'il vous plait.
The Year in Photos
We are still unpacking boxes from several moves ago, and this piece of the Elizabethtown News Enterprise appeared as if out of the fog, gently preserving a vase from harm. It's clearly from Mother Superior's Circus Jugglers period. Doesn't that Toni Home Perm look great? (If you are under sixty, don't spend any time trying to figure that out.)
Suzy Baby with some of her art...now there's a surprise.
Meditative...or stoned? That is the question... from Suzy Baby's Dancing Bears period, circa 1978.
Other Important Stuff
This year is the 50th Anniversary of our Fulbright (1966-67) spent in the West of England. Helping us celebrate it this past September were Steve and Sue Chapman of Bristol. Steve was, at the time, an 11 year-old at Bristol Grammar School, whose parents, Maurice and Vera, tended to our every need during the course of that year...with the younger Chapmans we visited the Rockies, Glacier, Yellowstone, Big Horns, Mt. Rushmore, and North Dakota's Enchanted Highway. Here we are at NDSU's Memorial Union Gallery, where (and who would imagine—) Miss Susan had a piece of work on display.
This painting, "Sticks and Stones," completed circa 1990 may have been eerily predictive of the Trumpustian Era. Can the locusts be far behind?
The Cedar Rapidians
Graedy O' Muirgheasa took his parents on an all expense paid trip to the National Invention Convention in D.C. this year, as winner of the Iowa contest for his age group. This is "the man" with his working model of a stoplight which changes from red to green when there are no oncoming cars from other directions. The contest finals were held in the U.S. Patent Office.
He was then forced by aliens to have the obligatory White House photo taken—enduring proof of his visit.
The most recent addition to the piano playing Morrisseys in Cedar Rapids would be Courtlyn. Here she is practicing Shostakovich's Symphony No. 5. Without any music, of course. Her first recital is upcoming shortly.
Brevyn driving to goal. I think that guy in blue got his chin in the way of Brev's hand. Don't mess with this guy when he's on a mission. And, this dude also pianos and break-dances.
A mere second in time, but Mom Beth would like it to last forever.
The Fargoans
That look on Meggie's face is pure "Oh, come onnnnn, Grandma." Meanwhile, if you peer closely you can tell that Teddy is casing the place looking for some light switches to throw, some chains to pull, some pocketdoors to worry unmercifully, or things that just plain need fixin' or betterin'.
Molly Wiener Dog ponders why no one else has to wear an inane red thingy on her collar. In fact, where are their collars? They are underdressed for the occasion. Well, maybe not Teddy.
Megs is caught working hard on her first recital piece. It all came together this past Saturday just before we all ran off to Cousin Maddy Haas' wedding. Lots of excitement in the lives of old folks. Here Meggie practices crescendos and diminuendos in the middle of the night, her effort saving a mediocre concert by her virtuosity on Bach's Fugue in G minor.
Methinks Teddy is a bit of a chip off the Christmas Goat's block. Looking back, Grampa can't remember inviting guys to his birthday party either. Well, maybe one. Here we have Teddy being King of Everything. Let the ripping apart of packages begin....
Potpourri
The Goat and Mother Superior out taking the air on a summer's day. We're still doing two wheels, but have reduced from 1700 cc to a puny 250 cc. (The most I can say is that it's better than a walker with two yellow tennis balls on the rear legs.)
We've downsized purely in the interests of mild-mannered folk who travel the biways, as we are no longer found on highways...and, yes, I too have a helmet. But not canary ;-)
We've downsized purely in the interests of mild-mannered folk who travel the biways, as we are no longer found on highways...and, yes, I too have a helmet. But not canary ;-)
Sis Maureen, aka The Redhead, and husband Lou Bushard celebrated their 50th in August. Their kids planned a soirée on the Mississippi. If you look closely you will note that Maura has had some highlites added so as to better match Ol' Louie....I don't want to sound like I'm carrying water for a local pub, but if it's "after-hours" in downtown St. Paul that you are seeking, try the Commodore. Amazing.
For those of you who have insisted that the book must be on pages made from trees, between actual covers, 'tis now a fact. In addition to amazon.com, it is available at Zandbroz in Fargo and Eagles' Nest Book Store in Valley City. It's my tale of several cities and the story of the immigrant ancestors as I am able to ferret them out. It contains three errors...if you can find all three, you get your money back. However, my judgment of what constitutes an error is final and not subject to appeal. As an added bonus, anyone placing an order for 25 or more copies will get a colored wiring diagram of Gradey's prize-winning stoplight.
A snippet follows:
"One evening during the spring of my eighth-grade year, a knock came at our front door. I opened it, and to my great surprise, standing there was the Rev. James Dawson, Pastor of St. Catherine Church. While I had spent countless hours kneeling on the hard terrazzo in the sanctuary staring at his back while serving Mass—pre-Vatican II—he had, to my knowledge, never visited our home. I invited him into the living room where he was greeted by our mixed-message furniture and slightly threadbare area carpets, and my parents. I was about to escape whatever was going to take place and headed in the general direction of the kitchen.
'Mick, come back in here,' said Father Dawson. I turned on my heel and returned apprehensively to the living room, taking a seat on the couch.
'Mother Albertine and some of your other teachers and I have determined, after careful consideration, that you have a vocation to the priesthood,' Father Dawson began, 'and we want to support you in whatever way we can,' he continued.
Ad Deum qui latificat juventutem meam. Adjutorium nostrae in nominee Domine rattled about in my head. I was stunned. While I had been serving Mass since the third grade, and had taken great pleasure in participating in the rituals of Holy Mother Church, I was not prepared for this!" (tbc)
A snippet follows:
"One evening during the spring of my eighth-grade year, a knock came at our front door. I opened it, and to my great surprise, standing there was the Rev. James Dawson, Pastor of St. Catherine Church. While I had spent countless hours kneeling on the hard terrazzo in the sanctuary staring at his back while serving Mass—pre-Vatican II—he had, to my knowledge, never visited our home. I invited him into the living room where he was greeted by our mixed-message furniture and slightly threadbare area carpets, and my parents. I was about to escape whatever was going to take place and headed in the general direction of the kitchen.
'Mick, come back in here,' said Father Dawson. I turned on my heel and returned apprehensively to the living room, taking a seat on the couch.
'Mother Albertine and some of your other teachers and I have determined, after careful consideration, that you have a vocation to the priesthood,' Father Dawson began, 'and we want to support you in whatever way we can,' he continued.
Ad Deum qui latificat juventutem meam. Adjutorium nostrae in nominee Domine rattled about in my head. I was stunned. While I had been serving Mass since the third grade, and had taken great pleasure in participating in the rituals of Holy Mother Church, I was not prepared for this!" (tbc)
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