The Big One!

This is what I saw when I opened my front door a few hours ago. The little hole is where I stuck a yardstick, to measure 21″. We’re up to 27″ now, and it’s still snowing! I’m AMAZED I have electricity and internet, to be able to share this with you; thought I should take advantage of that while I can. Click on the photo to see a few more on flickr.

If you’re in SNOWMAGGEDON 2010, stay inside, be safe and warm! (I love the names for this storm: Snowpocalypse, Snowmygosh (SNOWMG!), SNOWNAMI… any others?)

Sunday Post

“You would do well to pursue your causes with vigor, while remembering that you are a servant of God, not a spokesman for God, and remembering that God might well choose to bless an opposing point of view for reasons that have not yet been revealed to you.” — Barbara Jordan

Romans 8:18-28

I love/hate this quote. It came to me serendipitously, attached as a signature on the bottom of an email forward. The kind of thing I would not normally even scroll low enough to see. The forward was actually “People of Wal-Mart,” and the quote was the signature of someone a few senders back, someone I don’t know at all. But I knew it was for me.

It came a few months ago when I found myself in the middle of a situation in which one of my students was being scapegoated by someone who had an axe to grind with our agency. The student was being sacrificed in what amounted to a pissing contest between the agency’s director and the college’s program director. I am a mama bear for my interns, for better or worse. I supported the intern in every way that I could. I wrote letters and went to meetings and I encouraged, and I prayed.

And it started to become clear to me that while I had no doubt we (the intern’s team) were on the side of right and good, we were not going to “win.” I just began to have that sense, even without any confirmation of it.

And the day I began to have that intuition, was the day I noticed that “coincidental” email signature, by someone I don’t know. Except at that point, I knew it was from Someone I do know. It was a note from God. And I said (btw, I wouldn’t recommend this as a response to a note from God), “Oh, shit. It’s not going to go our way, is it?”

I knew that so clearly that I wrote to the intern and told her. She wasn’t going to be vindicated. Not right then, anyway. And we must have faith that our momentary loss was in the service of a greater victory later on. Being a person of faith, and a person who, I think, has come to trust me, she accepted this. Indeed, she may have come to that realization on her own.

Sure enough, many weeks later, someone in a position of power intervened and my intern no longer was oppressed in the way that she had been. The matter is not over. But more people are looking more closely, and our best hope is that the whole matter will lead to an examination of some people and some practices that needed examining.

All that to say, it ain’t over ’til it’s over. That reminds of another quote, I may have used it here before. From Richard Foster in the book, “Prayer: Finding the Heart’s True Home”:
“God is out to do me good.” And I always add, although the good Mr. Foster did not say, “even when everything looks like shit.”

Keep the faith. Or get you some.

C’mon in, Hon! The 5th Annual Blog Cookie Exchange!

For pronunciation of the “hon” in the title, one must watch the movie, “Hairspray,” either version. As I began to prepare for this year’s exchange, I noticed a theme emerging. It’s Bawlmer, hon. Baltimore, MD, USA, from whence I am blogging to you. (Well, about 20 minutes outside of Bawlmer, but still.)

First I will share with you an ornament that may not appear on everyone’s Christmas tree, but many folks in our area have some variation of this on the tree. It’s a crab! A few friends scattered over the country have one of these (or some variation thereof) on their tree from me, a reminder that “someone in Baltimore loves you.” People even paint and decorate actual crab shells! I haven’t done that yet, but hey, it ain’t over til it’s over. (I’m feeling a theme for a crab feast next summer…eat, then decorate!) And if you’re wondering why, it’s because Baltimore, and the Chesapeake Bay area, are famous for delicious steamed crabs.

The full crab theme emerged when yesterday, a friend gave us some crab cookies, and someone else requested that we bring my famous crab dip to their holiday party. Yes, in stores here, holiday baking displays may include a crab-shaped cookie cutter.

And here’s the crab dip recipe. I can’t show you the finished product, because I won’t make it until tomorrow, but I will tell you that once I make it, I will have to photograph it QUICK! because people scarf this stuff right up and lick the bowl.

Hot Crab Dip

1 8 oz. pkg. cream cheese, softened
1/2 c. sour cream
2 T mayo
1 1/2 T lemon juice
2 t Worcestershire sauce
garlic powder to taste
1/2 c. shredded cheddar cheese
1 lb. lump crab meat
3 dashes hot sauce
1 1/2 T Old Bay seasoning

Preheat oven to 325. Lightly grease 1 quart baking dish.

In medium bowl, mix first 6 ingredients plus 2 T of the cheddar. Fold in crab meat, hot sauce, Old Bay.

Transfer mixture to baking dish. Top with remaining cheddar and sprinkle with Old Bay. Bake 30 minutes or until bubbly and lightly browned.

Serve with your favorite crackers or crunchy bread slices.

Yes, crabs are such a vital part of life here in “the land of pleasant living,” that each year, the school children sing this song:

OK, that’s not true. But the radio stations do play it every Christmas.

This Christmas will be white, not because of new snow, but because last weekend we got 2 feet! We made powdered dognuts:

But he’s thawed out now, and ready to party:

Your turn! Show and tell us about the holidays at your house!

5th Annual Blog Cookie Exchange: An Invitation

Yes! We are doing it again! Five years now! And thank you for the hundreds dozens OK, none, really of inquiries unspoken vibrations sent in this direction, wondering whether we would have it this year. That does mean SO much to me! (You know, that I could just FEEL that so many people were thinking about it.)

(Just an update, for anyone wondering. I’m getting better, healthwise. I am better than I was at this time last year. I’m just not “well.” And in some ways (not complaining, truly), life is a little tougher, because the weller I get, the more I try to accomplish, and the more I look to other people like I’m just fine, and then I overdo or overestimate and wipe out. So, my absence here doesn’t mean I’m not OK; it means I’m adjusting to the next phase of my recovery. Or something like that.)

So, yea, back to the Cookie Exchange, which will be held next Wednesday, December 23 (borrowing from previous years’ invitations):

Start with some variation of:

Favorite holiday recipes
Special traditions
Favorite gift to give
What you wear when you don your gay apparel

and/or anything else you’d like to tell us about your holiday celebration. As is the custom here, there aren’t many rules. Whatever you’d like to share is fine — carols, stories, decorations, a favorite holiday tradition or memory, something new that you’re trying this year, whatever. Here it’s Christmas, but all holidays are welcome. If you don’t celebrate ANYTHING, then your grinchy scroogey ass can just fake it for one day, for goodness’ sake! Make something up! And you don’t HAVE to include cookies, if cookies aren’t your thing. It’s just that “Cookie Exchange” has a nice, Christmas ring to it. Better than, say, “shindig” or “hootenanny,” although it may turn into either or both.

If you don’t have a blog (what?! why not?!), stop in next week and leave your contributions in the comments. If you DO have a blog, leave a comment here next Wednesday on the Cookie Exchange post, and we’ll all come to your party, too. You won’t gain any weight, and you won’t need a designated driver! So here’s the deal, again. We wanna come to your place and eat your cookies and rummage around in your things and stuff next Wednesday. (Oh, and do post an invitation at your place, if you’re so inclined — everyone is welcome, the more the merrier!)

Last year, I had an ambition to show you photographs of my town — Pretty City — which really is glorious at this time of year. I wasn’t well enough to get out and take the pix. I’m going to attempt again. That’s something you might like to share, too — does your hometown have some holiday decorations or events that we should not live our whole lives without seeing?

I’m so, so far behind in holidaying. I almost scrapped the party this year. But truth is, it does help get me in the spirit. I hope you’ll post at your place or come by here

The Annual WWIT Turkey Trot, #5

They’re baaaaaack! It’s turkey time! Here’s the deal:

Across the hall from my office is what I believed to be a daycare center. Turns out, it is some sort of work-release program for 3- and 4-year-olds, from which they operate a turkey farm. As you can imagine, it’s been a busy place this week. I’ve dealt with a turkey or two in my day, so I thought I’d take a moment to offer some last-minute turkey selection guidance, with a little help from my turkey-raising friends across the hall.

Do look for:

A plump, confident bird that will look you right in the eye. All parts should be . . . “in the ballpark,” so to speak.

AVOID:

A bird that appears intoxicated, or just effin’ goofy. You don’t want that.

The upside-down turkey, with crossed legs and shifty eyes. May also exhibit a paranoid demeanor. This bird will NOT digest easily.

Watch for the inbred turkey. Its feathers and legs tend to grow inward. Also be leery of turkeys with excessive glue or other miscellaneous white liquids dripping from their beaks. You just don’t know where a turkey like this has been.

This is the “WTF” turkey. Any bird that elicits, as your first response, a startled “WTF?!” is to be avoided. Just say no.

**********
Happy Thanksgiving, friends. I hope your turkey is in fine form.

Sunday Post

“No accurate thinker will judge another person by that which the other person’s enemies say about him.” — Napoleon Hill

Romans 14:10-13

Biscuit Friday: Art Imitates Bad Dog

I think Biscuit approves of the new portrait. It’s a print I’ve had my eye on
here at Ballard Designs. When I got a coupon the other day, I thought I’d go for it. It tickles me as much as I thought it would — it really does look like the VBD.

and the dog, he’s nuts too

We were moving some stuff around in the family room and vacuuming tonight. This ottoman is out of its usual place and blocking Biscuit’s path into the kitchen. He first bumped into it (remember, he’s blind), then decided it was a spiffy new resting spot put there for him. He’s been like this, back feet on the floor, front half chillin’ on the ottoman, for nearly an hour now.

Indicentally, this is the same dog who, when he was let out into the backyard to pee late last night, returned to the house with a whole loaf of French bread. I have no idea.

Belly Flop

There’s a little “pub” near here where we go quite often for dinner. Nothing fancy, usually a salad and soup on those nights when I work a little late and we’d rather sit and talk than hurry up and cook something. You enter this pub through the bar, then make a quick turn through another door into the restaurant part.

One night last week, as we were leaving the restaurant, stepping into the bar, I felt a chilly sensation across my front middle. To be more specific, I felt a brisk breeze across the approximately 1.5″ swath of belly skin (fat) that was inadvertently exposed. See, the good news was that I have lost the tiniest bit of weight, so that the jeans were slipping down. And the bad news was that my shirt was too damned short and my gut was busting out.

Something about the breeze on my belly, and the shock of my exposure, and the wondering how many fools at the bar had noticed, tickled my funny bone and I started to laugh. Without pulling down my shirt. Which sounds odd under the circumstances, but there was a method to my madness. Jif and LG were slightly ahead of me walking out. I wanted them to see that this hysterical thing was happening, but I didn’t want to shout ahead, “Hey! Look at my belly!” (Because that would be gauche, and as you’ll see, I am anything but gauche.) So I thought, if I’m laughing (as I was) and lagging behind (as I was), when they turn around to see where I am and what’s so funny, and they see my belly hanging out, they’ll find it just as funny as I do.

So, soon they turned and saw and heard me laughing. And they grinned a little, but that really was not what the occasion called for, so I had to raise the stakes. I bent backwards and stuck my belly out, and pulled my shirt up more, and went after them! Then they started laughing like they were supposed to.

I chased them down the sidewalk and out into the parking lot, as they laughed and yelled things about how terrifying the situation was…

::tangent::Here, there was a drama within the drama. Since LG was little, our rule, in fact her very first rule, was WE HOLD HANDS IN A PARKING LOT. Now, this started when she was barely toddling, and as she got older, of course we relaxed the rule. But for some reason, it’s been revived. Just to torment her, we remind her of THE RULE. And we chase her down in parking lots and grab her hands while she screams and laughs hysterically and tries to escape from us, and we go on about “YOU KNOW THE RULE!” and people stare at us like we’re idiots or like we’re abducting her. So, yea, not only are Jif and I chasing LG down to enforce THE RULE, but my big fat belly is shining to light the way.::end of tangent::

… and I laughed so hard it’s a wonder I wasn’t peeing (because I’m not QUITE bizarre enough yet, this fat almost-50-year-old woman wielding her belly like a weapon in the parking lot of a strip mall), until I finally corner them at the car.

And they lock me out. So, I do the only thing I can do in that situation. I pull my shirt up even more and stand on tippy-toes to press my belly up against the passenger side window.

We are all laughing like hyenas when Jif finally lets me in. Sitting there in the parking lot before we pull out, in the sighing afterglow of the hilarity, I can’t help but think, “Oh. my. GOD, I hope none of my clients were here tonight.”

Why buy steal the cow when you can get the milk…?

I took a phone call at work this week that flitted from one unbelievable utterance to another. The mother was calling to arrange counseling for her family, and I took the application over the phone. After getting the basic demographic info, I invited Mom to tell me her story. Stories. This is just one.

It seems that young Damocles, 16, had stolen a check, a gift given to his older sister upon her high school graduation. Although he denied the theft, the family had suspected him all summer. And now they had proof.

The uncle who had given sis the check, called Mom to say that his bank account was being charged monthly for membership in an online pornographic site, and did she know anything about this?!

Yes, Damocles had stolen this sister’s check, with his uncle’s banking information, and had used that information to become a bona fide member of a porn site.

As the mother told this woeful tale, I was ready to empathize with all the “issues” raised — the family betrayal, the deception, the lure of internet porn, the loss of innocence, the humiliation when her brother discovered what her son had done . . . on and on.

I gently asked the now agitated Mom, “What did you say to Damocles when you found out what he’d done?”

Her reply was quick and firm. “I said, ‘You idiot! Don’t you know you can get porn online for FREE!!!?’”