Along for the ride:

Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts

Thursday, December 26, 2013

Blue Meringues

Our chaotic, but good-hearted friends, called late on Christmas Eve to invite us to dinner on Christmas Day. It was mentioned that they didn't have a plan for dessert. No obligation, of course, but if I thought of a solution it would be welcomed. Hmm?
Shops were closed up tight for the Holidays, so I was left to rummage through my cupboard and refrigerator for ideas. If I'd had more apples, I could have made an apple crumble, but I didn't.
I had an epiphany when I looked at the egg carton. I'd make meringues.
Beating egg-whites; folding in sugar; simple but sticky phases on the road to a pile of satiny, lightly colored clouds of sweetness.
What I had completely forgotten and was reminded by Lovely Daughter, who had graced us with her presence, was that each Halloween of her younger days, I had made a tradition of baking Blue-Meringues.
Last night's meringues were of a more natural hue. I made whipped cream and a Brandy Butter with a slight mandarin orange zest and some inclusions of little crumbles of Heath crunchy toffee bar.
Lest the sweetness be overpowering, all was served with a dab of mandarin marmalade on the side.

Monday, December 23, 2013

Oh Deer!

I'm afraid Rudolph didn't stand a chance.

Friday, December 21, 2012

Speedos, or Nothing...

One last post before we go. I can't believe I ordered a bathing suit online, and it fits. I had to cut out the underwire cup supports. Whose idea were they? It's bad enough trying to wriggle into a bright turquoise patterned, ruched sausage skin, without rigid bands of metal defying the very intent of streeeetch fabric and clouding the forecast of oceanside relaxation.
Last night, in between nursing poor Honor, who was quite miserable, recovering from spay surgery, I got out the Nair. In defiance of those nasty ladies with the hot wax, a pretty successful attempt was made to clean up my act. Pedicure at 9am tomorrow, and I will be beach ready.
(Any potential robbers out there, "forget it, we gave already" and we have house/cat-sitters so double darn to you).
St Martins, Isle Saint Martins, St Maartens is home to a friend of The Artistic One, and he's been inviting us for years. I fully expect to spend time listening to war stories of youthful escapades, from two Septuagenarians in Speedos, who haven't met face to face for three decades. Lovely daughter is accompanying us. We'll have a real generational sampling. I hope, for her sake, she'll find some other age-compatible islanders. I suspect they'll be buzzing around like bees in no time. Why wouldn't they?
I've researched the equestrian facilities and I'm taking my riding kit. Although all the photos are of tourists in short shorts, riding their horses in the surf, I have hopes of some real riding too.
We are making this the extent of our family present exchange, although there will, of course, be gifts for our Host and Hostess.
The Artistic One has packed his watercolor paints and brushes. His memories are tangible. I can't wait to see them unfold.

Thursday, December 24, 2009

A very satisfactory gift.

A winch system to put on the front of a Jeep may not be the first thing that comes to mind as a warm and fuzzy gift for Christmas but when your Lovely Daughter and Gung-Ho Son-in-law (his hamster is named Hambo!) have recently acquired a sunshine yellow Jeep Wrangler and are headed for snowy Tahoe for the holidays with friends, it is a serendipitous conversation that inspires a present that both pleases them and makes me feel that I have contributed to their safety.
Peace of mind-my gift to myself.

Saturday, December 19, 2009

As close to God as I'm ever going to get.



Last evening I went to a performance of Handel's "Messiah" at San Francisco's Grace Cathedral.
As Cathedrals go, Grace fulfills the usual requirements; built on a high hill; made of stone; soaring ceilings; stained glass. Chartres, it is not. However, it represents the same wishes, goals, passions and aspirations that other stone and mortar edifices strive for the world over. To honor, glorify and be close to a concept of God.
I respect that. I love churches, even newer ones. Be it a Meeting house, a Temple, a small Chapel or a grand Cathedral, I empathize with the good intentions, troubled souls, sad goodbyes and promises "to have and to hold" that have imbued the atmosphere with gravitas and depth. We don't have to believe what others believe in order to respect those beliefs, provided that the respect is reciprocated.
The music last night was everything one could wish for; not a shaky note from the soloists; tremendous control and range from the three dozen choir members and instrumental perfection from violin, double bass and harpsichord. From behind a stone pillar (general admission, partially obstructed seating) I could see part of the choir and the conductor, in profile. Jeffrey Thomas, Music Director of the American Bach Soloists is a masterful leader of musicians. No theatrical waving around, no calisthenics and full-body seizures in the throws of melodic passion. Mr. Jeffrey commands the attention of his singers and musicians with refined, clear movements and a sense of timing which extracted every note from the acoustic resonance of a building designed for the purpose at hand.
There were some minor annoyances. The doors front and back were open through the three hour performance, allowing in a cold draught, and the folding seats were a test of endurance even for my amply padded behind. I am still shocked by men who do not remove their hats in church and there was a woman sitting behind me who was oblivious to the fact that her charm bracelet sounded like a rendition of Jingle Bells whenever she moved. (She's not oblivious anymore!).
Some patrons left after the "Hallelujah Chorus" which I found rude and disruptive but put down to the late hour and possible transportation concerns.
Despite the negatives of audience behavior, the torrent of clapping from pale leaf-like hands, protruding from dark winter sleeves, poured on and on; and "Yes", the audience was mostly of pale complexion with many Nordic Countries represented.
The Masonic Auditorium, where I was sworn in as a U.S. Citizen a few years ago is just across the street. On swearing-in days, once a month or so, twelve hundred to two thousand mixed Nations and their proud families and friends, descend on the Hall, at the pleasure of the Federal Government. Relinquishing precious green cards as they enter; rising singly or en masse as each of a hundred countries is called alphabetically, to smatterings of encouragement or thunderous applause, depending on the size of the local community, each one will leave at the end of the ceremony with a newly minted Certificate of Citizenship. Here too music is key. There is of course The Star Spangled Banner and a recorded message from the President du jour. America The Beautiful is also played, both with wonderful scenes of American landscapes and cityscapes presented on a jumbo screen. The complexion of that crowd is as mixed as mixed can be but all eyes, whether green, blue or brown shed a tear that day.
So, I don't feel hypocritical as I let my, sometimes cynical, self get caught up and embrace the festivities of the moment, whatever their name. Whether you are celebrating the birth of a baby in a manger or the solstice, returning the Earth towards the life giving rays of the sun. What we are really celebrating is Hope, which is as important as, and complementary to, Faith.