pomegranatesandpaper

Whispering Into the Wind

Myths are public dreams, dreams are private myths. -Joseph Campbell

Find a place inside where there's joy, and the joy will burn out the pain. - Joseph Campbell

I am not much for resolutions, never having kept up with any over the years, and particularly despising those that involve pre-dawn physical activity and joining the determined, scary mothers with stone hard thighs pounding on treadmills. 

In the quiet of my bedroom on New Year's morning, I will feel the celebration begin and see the year unfolding before me like white foolscap yet to be written on. A new journal is eased off the shelf and the spine gently cracked open as I rummage through my pencil case for a calligraphy pen with which I can flourish "2008: A Year of Dreams".

Before I begin to lay out in crisp black lettering the hopes and dreams for the next twelve months, I must honor the year past. I don't intend to tuck it away like a closed book. I must carry into the new year those fortunes that buoyed me and those sorrows that rained down on me. The year doesn't stop with a clang and a drop of a ball and the revelers who deceive themselves into thinking that they can turn their back on what life had made them and begin anew are missing the sweetest, the hardest, the juiciest parts of life's adventure.

2007 was a watershed year for me, a year in which I took serious action to take back my life.  I didn't discuss it publicly on the blog, but after a life-long struggle with obesity and ten years of co-morbidities of diabetes and hypertension, knee deterioration, and foot problems, I had weight loss surgery.   For the first time in my life, I am   beginning a new year without the burden of wondering how I am going to lose weight  to accompany my every thought and weigh down, literally, my every step. I can't begin to explain to you the impact that this decision has made on my health, on my spirit, on my energy, on my marriage, and on my family and friends. I can only share that I awaken each day with a zest for life that had eluded me since I was a teen. It is more than fitting back into clothes; it is fitting back into society, fitting back into my own life as a wife and mother, fitting back into the dreams I had to remain active and energetic and keep up with my kids, it is fitting back into the picture of my self that I carried in my head and under all the fat for so many, many years.

But I didn't start out to write about this at all!  So many amazing events happened this year that I never thought would happen.   I was stalwart to keep this part of my life private and not blog about it. But it is the elephant - all puns intended - in the room and I must acknowledge it. So before I list what I hope to bring to the world for the coming year, forgive me a moment for listing all that was brought to me last year. I write not to brag or boast but to fill my spirit with the dreams that have come true, knowing that it is no coincidence that so many of these materialized as I was on the verge of and recuperating from this life-affirming surgery.

I do believe that many of these events influenced the others and the courage to take the first steps for some opened the door for the others. Bring all your dreams together  one by one and  see how they begin to aggregate, like a sugar crystals forming on a strong into nuggets of rock candy.

What each must seek in his life never was on land or sea. It is something out of his own unique potentiality for experience, something that never has been and never could have been experienced by anyone else. - Joseph Campbell

All the blessings I received in 2007:

• was invited to teach at my first out of town art retreat
• was asked to teach two 8 week art courses at a local college
• began the bimonthly publication schedule at Cloth, Paper, Scissors which resulted in six essays and six pieces of art being created for the magazine
• was asked to contribute as a featured artist in LK Ludwig's True Visions: Authentic Journaling book coming out this summer
• was asked to contributed to a book being brought out by Interweave Press this year
• was invited to teach at Tinsel Trading
• began working on a book proposal
• had a life-changing medical procedure
• lost 63 pounds!
• saw my youngest turn 16 and get her learner's permit
• celebrated our 27th wedding anniversary
• hit the four year anniversary of the blog

We must be willing to get rid of the life we've planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us. - Joseph Campbell

Blogher's Lisa Stone   has a wonderful meme for outlining the areas of your life that you want to spend your intentions on.

My grateful intentions for 2008 are to:

Heart - Be more available to my husband to support him as he helps his mom go through the treatment for a serious disease. To be more patient with all the demands on his time, including his very stressful job.  Keep us both younger and happier by goofing off more with him when he wants to.

Family - Spend more time doing things with my children individually and as a family. Take more trips and day trips with them while they still interested in doing so. Learn to grow in my role as a mother to older children and pick up more skills in negotiating the tricky new role of letting go and holding them close. Taking more deep breaths and reacting less to their relationship problems and to nurture their life dreams instead of clobbering them with mine.

Spirit - How am I going to give back in the coming year, financially and personally?   We need to find a new church, whether it is  a Catholic church or other.  We've never regained the church family we left in Memphis and we need - I need - to plug back into a regular spiritual life, which includes sharing our time and talents in ministering to others and being ministered to. The world has too many choices without a framework of spiritually to guide us and fill in the empty, dark spots.

Wallet - What are the items I am forced to worry about this year?

Our wallet items don't vary much from year to year. The children's education is the main goal, with fixing up the house the second.

Health - How am I going to take care of my bod so that I can do all these other things?  As above, the radical changes of 2007 bode well into the new year but I'm still not active enough and don't do any regular exercise due to a bad knee.  Time to get off my duff and find a pool or other exercise machine that I will USE!

Create - What am I going to focus on this year?

• get the courage to fly around the country by myself and teach at national art events
• finish the book proposal
• create the art for the book and write it!
• take all opportunities to teach locally
• continue writing for the magazine
• start an Etsy shop for prints of my paintings
• go back to keeping a regular art journal
• go to the Meet Up drawing group in the city
• find/start a local art group
• Write and write and write and write
• Paint and paint and paint and paint

Work - Figure out a way that I can keep my job for the next four years and still manage to do all of the above. I need my full time job for the income and the benefits. I have to learn to compartmentalize my life more and leave work at work and come home refreshed enough to work on art and writing all week long.  The long term goal is to wean my reliance on a full time law career into a consulting or per diem job, which will only happen when I have more income streams from my art and writing. 

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I think that's enough of a list of intentions to start the spirit moving in the right direction.  Aggregate your dreams like stepping stones and be ready to embrace the opportunities that will come your way. It is never the right time to make a major change; it is never the wrong time to deepen your love of life.

The big question is whether you are going to be able to say a hearty yes to your adventure. - Joseph Campbell

 

Please leave a comment or a link to share your intentions for the coming year.  The universe is waiting for us to declare our dreams. Let's make 2008 the year that we began living our bliss.

Tell Nanny to Bring the Children in to Say Goodnight

So I didn't take the wall down. I probably would have done it 10 years ago, but there was that little worry about the second floor caving in.  I have plenty of things to do around here on my time off. There are the presents to exchange, decorations to tidy, and laundry, laundry, laundry.

But Mr. Pom and I are suffering with a bug for the last week and we're tired and cranky. Poor man had no day off but Christmas but does have a four day weekend coming up and we will coddle him then.

Me, I am being very sybaritic and drinking coffee and watching movies. English Chick flick movies as Mr. Pom calls them. Actually, they're Masterpiece Theater productions, all of the same genre, namely large British country houses between the wars. Oh, what bliss to sit with a few magazines, a cup of coffee, and spend the afternoon with charming people called Sid, the Duchy, Zooey, and Lady Mortdon. 

Everyone is leggy and athletic and ride horses and hunt. They dress for dinner with tiaras and taffeta gowns. Dinner is served in vast dining rooms papered with Morris designs. A large staff of cotton clad portly  maids cater to everyone's needs whenever a bell pull is yanked.  There are beaded bedside lamps next to four poster beds, armoires large enough to hide several children, ornately carved staircases carpeted with Oriental runners, and bombastic "Fa's" and sweet, quiet "Ma's" who understand how to handle their irritable husbands and acting out children.

Hankies are proffered, tea trays of bamboo carried with Limoges china, pictures of India hang on the walls and the beds are covered with eiderdowns. Fireplaces always blaze with logs and discreet affairs are carried out in stately hotel rooms where women dramatically doff their veiled hats in throes of passion.

Each house is entered through a heavily carved door opened by a butler or housekeeper. There are governesses in love with their masers and bay windows framed in lace curtains. Schoolrooms fill third floors where portly tutors with wire rimmed glasses instruct lovesick girls in Shakespeare.  Loose girls drink too much champagne, artist sons are misunderstood,  and beautiful women seduce and then cruelly frustrate their boring, ordinary  English banker husbands.

Much more exciting I dare say than unloading the laundry basket and exchanging Old Navy sweatpants. Much more beguiling than beginning a new canvas or article. In the half-dark of  a late December afternoon, with Christmas over and the tree sagging just a bit, I retreat to the sofa, light the fire, light the candles,  and let dusk fall around me, intensifying the  little circle of drama I slip into. 

Skil Saw Anyone?

My husband gave me a pot for Christmas. One of those heavy, enamel Dutch oven thingies. Which is a great pot that I know I'll use like crazy, but I'm like, yo, a pot? For Christmas?

We're not practical gift people. You'll never see a vacuum wrapped under the tree. For full disclosure, I will tell you that I also got jewelry, which I love, so it's not like he's lost his mind or anything. Just that the box was big and heavy so my mind started reeling with the possibilities (though I don't think a Coach bag is that heavy and I didn't actually ask for a Coach bag, it was more of a subliminal thing.)

But I digress.

He gave me the pot as a symbol of our "new kitchen".

Don't get excited - it's the "new kitchen that is yet to be".  After 7 years of loathing our loathsome, small, inefficient, and cruddy kitchen, we finally started doing something about it. So far, all we've done is get plans drawn up by a kitchen cabinet place. We have to find the contractor, architect, engineer, etc. And after the great Third Floor Teen Room Debacle, I am less than enthused to do this. I'd rather move. Seriously. I'd rather pack up all the crap we own and just move.

But I guess we're starting down this path.  Now, see this wall:

The one to the left - that sucker is coming down. The kitchen only extends halfway down that wall, but we're talking about co-opting  the hall closet to gain another three feet. Then I think, all that construction for three feet?

Sigh. I really don't want to do this. I just want it done. Understand?  And who, I ask, since we both work full time, will let the workmen in and out and supervise since we don't end up with MDF cabinets like the first run through for the doors for the teen's room?

So I'm thinking, I'm home until the 2nd and so is Mystery Man. We have a sledgehammer and how much could a skil saw be?  We could make short work of that wall.

Just not sure if it holds up the second floor. That could be a problem.

Wha'd'ya think?

And A Good Time Was Had By All

Christmas Eve at the Pomegranate House.

The decorations are hung, tree trimmed, candles lit, and all dressed for church. Then mad dash back from church to whip out the hors d'oeuvres, open the champagne, and fire up the backyard lobster cooker. So begins our annual Christmas Eve lobster feast, the only time of the year that we eat lobsters anywhere but on the Cape.

Christmas Eve dinner,  inspired, arranged, and cooked by Mr. Pom for the last 27 years. My dear, romantic husband, who started the tradition when it was just the two of us and our Siberian husky, a cozy little family in our new house up in the woods. If he had known what he was starting,  would he have bought those first two lobsters all those years ago?   When we moved cross country with little children, it was our link to the family traditions that we determinedly kept up, despite lacking the extended family with whom to share it. After our move back east, the intimate seafood dinner for two has evolved into a large, noisy feast of seafood and nutcrackers and a Christmas tablecloth slopped with fragments of shell and drawn butter spills.

I can't say that I haven't had years when I wanted to scrap the whole thing. Could we not have one quiet Christmas eve, perhaps a bowl of linguine and mussels, a plate of cheese and olives by the fire, carols playing, books in hand? Maybe be invited out for the family Secret Santa exchange instead of cramming into our small living room, all seats taken, nieces and nephews perched on arms and on the floor, which is a minefield of wrapping paper and boxes? Or go to the Midnight Mass with the adult choir and trumpets and harps instead of the 5:00 with the off-key children's choir and squeaky prodigy violinist? Wouldn't it be nice to have one Christmas morning without facing giant pots filled with cold, fishy water waiting to be washed?

Yes, but then it wouldn't be Christmas at the Pomegranates. Time enough for quiet holidays in our doddering years, when kids are flung across the country, when all we have are remembrances of our older generation, when sisters are off with their children's children and we visit with a telephone call on Christmas morning.

A least that's what I tell myself - and Mr. Pom.

As you can see, despite Mr. Pom's lingering cold, grumblings and exhaustion, and the mad trips to the store for last minute garlic cloves and sticks of  butter, his love for the dramatic overcomes all and the stage is set for his grand entrance.

When he crosses the threshold bearing crustaceans, there's no hiding the delight in his face and ours!

Hours later, after the company leaves, dishes  washed, the garbage full of shells taken out,  Christmas gifts  arranged in piles (to satisfy Mystery Man, who demands compliance with Santa traditions even at 21), stockings filled and hung, we finally have a quiet moment before we turn off the tree lights, and we turn and whisper to each other our traditional Christmas wish:

"Next year, Cabo San Lucas!"

Da Bronx at Christmas

Sunday evening, we visited Mrs. Pom In Law, who isn't up to visiting us for Christmas Eve dinner. I made a lasagna and we brought her a tiny Christmas tree and her presents.  She enjoyed the food, her gifts, and the company, and we all felt better knowing that she had some cheer over the weekend and doesn't have to wait till Christmas day to see us.

On the way home, we decided to take a trip to the north Bronx and find the famous Christmas house. People come from all over to see the elaborate Christmas decorations displayed at this home. Traffic can be backed up for miles. This year was not a disappointment.  I can assure you, that no matter where you live, I doubt you've ever seen anything like it. No, there was no computer-generated displays of lights that keep time to music. There was no rotating carousels or blow-up ornaments. There was no radio frequency to tune into

But what there was....how can I describe it? Unfortunately, I was without my camera, but  I'll do my best. Imagine an elaborate, life-sized nativity on a balcony, Prussian horses in all their carousel finery, and full-sized mannequins dressed in evening gowns and tuxedos....under plastic because it's raining.

What?

You don't believe me?

Take a gander at their website - the Christmas house.  Warning: may not be suitable for young children or grown men and women who have a fear of mannequin-zombies:

(photo via Monkling's Blog)

(photo via Monkling's Blog)

Everyone knows mannequins can't get wet!  You don't have this on your front lawn?  And surrounded by chain link fencing?

And there's no reason why holiday decorations should not include  Santa Rockettes with Ol' Blue Eyes crooning in the middle.

Equal time should be given to all religious icons, even those who do not have their own holiday, like Archangel Michael:

These are the guys who were under sheets of plastic while we were there, which actually made them even creepier (see above).

Only in America.

Their website says the family has been doing this for 29 years and a sign at the property says that all  donations go to the local Catholic church. And judging by the amount of money lying wet on the floor on the other side of the fence, the display is pulling it in!

After this viewing, we needed something restorative. We headed over to Arthur Av for some cannoli, eclairs, tri-colored cookies, and espresso macchiatas.  Our favorite pastry shop was closed, but we managed to get our Christmas struffoli and cannoli anyway.

(These are from Easter, but it's the same thing.)

There was a large group speaking Italian at the table next to us. We tried eavesdropping, but since The Teen is the only one who can almost speak Italian, we left it to her to translate. She caught about every third word, so she has a way to go before she heads to Italy this April.

CITY SIDEWALKS

A few last looks at Christmas in the city. Enjoy your holidays, stay well, be with friends and family, engage with the spirit of rebirth and renewal, and eat all the cookies you can!



How can you not feel the spirit of joy with lights all round?










City lights twinkle like snow above our heads









And a spider's web of crystals ensnare us with good tidings








Gingerbread men wait to jump into our mouths






Even the buildings put on the best finery







The city is ready, let the party begin!

Out On the Town or the Poms Take Manhattan

In a rare treat, the Pomegranates left their little house on a school night in the dark and went into the Big City for some traditional Christmas fanfare.

You see, it was The Teen's 16th Birthday and we weren't done celebrating yet. (Being a Pomegranate,however, The Teen's first order of business was to get a learner's permit, which she did. More about that later after I recover the power of speech and sight after being struck dumb and blind by seeing my baby driving down the street....)

So we all rushed home from work, got all duded up (some more than others) and plunged into the gridlock alert which is Manhattan at Christmas. We weren't sightseeing or shopping, we were going to see

And let me tell you, spectacular it was!

The Grand Dame of theaters in New York, Radio City never looked better. I should look so good at 75. I'd better start working on it now.

We rushed to our seats and got ready for the Spectacular 3-D Opening Number!

The show was completely revamped for the anniversary and there's a nice montage narrated by Tony Bennett on the history of the theater and the Rockettes, who were first named the Roxiettes after the theater's owner.  Though we miss some of the old favorites, like Marshmallow World, the new numbers are well, spectacular! (I'm going for a theme here.)  If you saw any of the show on TV last week, I can tell you that the number they do on the double decker bus with the  moving backdrop of New York is dumbfounding. All the backdrops are computer animated and are uh, spectacular! Never was there such a Christmas show! 

But they knew enough to keep this old favorite, definitely the most famous piece of all, and originally choreographed by Vincent Minelli. (Yes, not the best shot. You try it from rear orchestra with no flash photography allowed.) I would be a nervous wreck if I wasn't the first girl in line. I wonder if anyone forgot to hold on and they really all fell over....)

Do not fear! The camels in The Nativity were still there! Isn't it cool the way the designers use color ways that look just like the German Advent calendars?  It was really lovely, just hokey enough to be sweet and elaborate enough to remind you that it wasn't a school play.

The finale was all thing Rockette-y: glittery, diamondy, splashy, precisiony, leggy, and gawjus!

(I felt sorry for the non-Rockette performers. Can you imagine being a regular woman on stage with these gazelles? I'd walk around in burka....don't look at me, don't look at me......)

We all had fun. The Teen got a big Rockettini - a martini glass with Rockette legs filled with slushy and a red light-up swizzle stick. It was adorable seeing all the little kids dressed up in fancy Christmas dresses, wearing their best coats and shoes, holding their 3-D glasses and light up stars that they handed out. It put the shmaltz in Christmas and we all need a little shmaltz right now!

I even managed to get the kids to pose for what may be next year's Christmas card (as long as they don't find out until after I've sent it.....)

Today, it's back to the hard work of celebrating The Most Wonderful Time of the Year: unpacking all the gifts I ordered online and seeing if I actually got what I ordered. Trying to reorder what I didn't get in time for Tuesday. Wrapping everything. Fighting the cold that Mr. Pom gave me. Maybe making some gingerbread dough. Oh, and putting the lights on and trimming the tree because the children, they no seem to care. Next year: tabletop tree!

The Cookie Fairy

A few years ago, I wrote a post about how I missed the baking at Christmas that my family and my aunts and grandmother used to do.  I was longing for the time and desire to make dozens of pretty cookies and fill my house with the scent of Christmas.

A few weeks later, a mysterious package arrived at the door. In it was dozens and dozens of gorgeous, intricate, brilliantly decorated cookies made by someone I didn't even know. Rachel Scott, a blog reader and caterer and baker extraordinaire, gave me the Christmas experience  I was longing for. My family had weeks of cookie eating and everyone who came over oohed and aahed over her gift.

I was floored by the kindness of a virtual stranger who took her time and talent to make my family's Christmas a more special and more sugary time!  Over the next year, we corresponded often and that Christmas, another box full of cookies arrived.  I've never met Rachel, but this painting is how I imagine her to be, with a head full of baking ideas and a bottle of vanilla extract her unique perfume.  This morning, my cell phone rang at work and it was Rachel, calling to say she'd received this painting in the mail. . It was fun to turn the tables and give her a Christmas surprise. Thank you, Rachel, for the wonderful treats and more importantly, for your friendship over the last two years. 

Sugarplum Recipes

Here are the requested recipes. Please note that I haven't made these, so I can't vouch for their reliability, just for the delicious taste of when Aunt Anita made them.  If you make any, please let me know how they turn out. My aunt would be thrilled.

•    LEMON CHIFFON PIE by Loretta Rubino, 1970: Serves 6 to 8

5 egg yolks        1 pkg Knox Gelatin
5 egg whites    1/4 c. water
1 cup sugar      1 tsp lemon rind
1/2 c. lemon juice (which is about 3 lemons)
1/2tsp salt
1 baked pie crust

Beat egg yolks, add 1/2 cup sugar, then add lemon juice and salt.
Pour into double boiler and cook, stirring constantly until mixture starts to thicken. Remove from burner and add gelatin, which has been dissolved in 1/4 cup of water. Stir well until the gelatin is dissolved, add lemon rind and cool.

Stiffly beat the egg white and 1/2 cup of sugar. Fold the egg whites into the cooled lemon mixture, then pour into cooked pie shell and refrigerate overnight. Top with whipped cream.

Pie Crust: enough to make a double crust (which you don't need, so save the other half for another pie)

Mix 2 cups sifted flour with 1 tsp salt in a mixing bowl. Take out 1/3 cup of flour and put into a small bowl and mix with 1/4 cup water to form a paste.

To the remaining 1 2/3 cups of flour, add 12 tbls of Crisco. Cut in the Crisco until the size of small peas

Add flour-paste to the Crisco flour mixture. Mix thoroughly until the dough comes together and can be shaped into a ball. Divide in half, chill, and roll out until 1/8 inch thick.

• APPLE SAUCE SPICE CAKE

Heat oven to 350 degrees. Butter & flour a 12 cup Bundt pan

3 cups sifted all purpose flour        2tsp baking powder
1 tsp salt                                                    1/2 c walnut
2 tsp cinnamon                                        3/4 tsp nutmeg
1/2 cup vegetable oil                            4 eggs slightly beaten
1 cup liquid brown sugar                   1 cup raisins or walnuts
1/2 cup chopped walnuts               1 cup apple sauce

Combine dry ingredients in a large bowl. Add oil, eggs, liquid brown sugar, and apple sauce. (does anyone know what liquid brown sugar is??)Blend at low speed for 1/2 minute to wet the dry ingredients. Continue mixing at medium speed for 3 minutes until blended well. Stir in raisins and nuts. Pour into prepared pan - Bake 45 to 50 minutes.

Penuche frosting or glaze:
1/4 c liquid brown sugar
1 cup confectionary sugar
1/2 tsp vanilla -

Combine and beat until smooth and thickened. Add milk if too thick. Pour over warm cake.

• TARTEN BODEN

Heat oven to 375 degrees. Grease and flour a fluted tart pan with removal bottom.

2 eggs                                    1/2 cup sugar
1 1/4 c stick butter                    1 tsp baking powder
1 cup cake flour, sifted          1/2 tsp vanilla or almond extract

Sift flour and baking powder and set aside.
Cream butter and sugar well
Add eggs one at a time while beating well
Add vanilla
Add flour and baking powder thoroughly for 1/2 minute
Pour into prepared tart pan
Bake at 375 for 15 to 20 minutes. Cool and remove carefully from pan. Can be frozen and use later.

Filling suggestions:

• peaches and glaze w/ whipped cream
• custard topped with blueberries
• lemon filling and top with meringue; brown under broiler
• ice cream and meringue (Baked Alaska)
• strawberries and whipped cream

Good luck, A. M. (Anita Molea)

• CHOCOLATE ICE BOX CAKE BY THE EMPRESS

    Serves 12 to 15 people.  Chill for 12 hours

1/2 lb sweet baking chocolate
4 eggs, separated
1 pint whipped heavy cream
2 sponge layers
24 lady fingers

Whip cream
Melt chocolate in double boiler
Split sponge layers into 2 eachand line a 10" spring form pan with one layer and circle the pan with ladyfingers,

Remove chocolate from heat and add 4 egg yolks and beat in slightly. Fold the chocolate into the whipped cream very carefully.

Beat egg whites until stiff but not dry and add to whipped cream.

Pour 1/4 of the mixture until the first layer;add the second sponge layer; add the next 1/4 and top with a sponge layer, and so forth ending with the chocolate mixture on top. Sprinkle shaved or crumbled chocolate on top.  Chill overnight

• AUNTIE BRANCA'S CANNOLI RECIPE

Makes 24.

3 cups flour                            1 tbls sugar
1/4 tsp cinnamon                      2 eggs
2 tsp baking powder            1/2 c cold water or 3/4 c port wine
2 tsp almond or vanilla extract

Sift flour, sugar, and cinnamon on a board. Make well in center and fill with port wine or water and gradually blend flour into liquid with a fork. When dough is stiff enough to handle, knead for 15 minutes until smooth and stiff. Refrigerate covered for 1 hour.

In heavy sauce pan, slowly heat 4 inches of vegetable oil to 375 degrees on deep frying thermometer.

On lightly floured surface, roll one third of dough to paper thinness, making a 16 inch round. Cut into (8) 5 inch circles. Wrap circle loosely around a 6 " long cannoli form or a 1" dowel. Seal with egg yolk.

Cannoli form

Gently drop dough covered form 2 at a time into hot oil. Fry one minute or until browned on all side, turning if necessary with tongs. Don't leave tongs in the oil! Drain on paper towels. Carefully remove forms while warm.

Filling: 3 lbs whole milk, drained ricotta
sugar as desired
Add citron, chocolate, and pistachio nuts

From Auntie: Good luck, enjoy eating. Signing off, good night, 12:30 a.m. (she used to stay up late as telephone operator).

• NEOPOLITAN EASTER PIE (good at anytime of the year!)

Heat oven to 375 degrees

2 cups flour                3 egg yolks plus 1whole egg
1/2 cup sugar            7 tbls melted butter
1 tbls orange rind

Pie crust:

Make a well with the flour. Add yolks one at a time and blend well. Add 1/2 c sugar and melted butter and orange rind. Knead until smooth. Divide into halves. Let chill for 1/2 hour.

Grease 10" spring pan. Line with 1/2 the dough, patting gently along sides and bottom. Brush with egg white. Reserve other half of dough to make lattice strips for top when filling poured in.

Filling:

Cook 1/2 c rice in a cup of water with 1 tbls sugar - drain, set aside.

In a bowl mix:

1 lb ricotta
1 1/2 cups sugar
2 egg yolks plus one whole egg
1 tbls citron
grated rind of 1 lemon
1 tsp rum or vanilla
2 melted square of chocolate
1/4 tsp cinnamon
Add cooked rice

Beat 2 egg whites well but not stiff, adding 1 tbsp sugar. Fold into the mixture. Pour into spring pan. Bake @ 375 for 35 to 40 minutes.

Recipes Forthcoming

Check back later today or tomorrow for requested recipes. We are about to have The Teen's 16th Birthday Party - in the middle of a snowstorm!

Why Didn't Anyone Tell Me??

You'd never know I live 25 minutes from Manhattan. I totally missed this exhibition and only know about it from CBS Sunday Morning.   (Actually, I'm not sure that this exhibition is the same one featured on the program, but I can't find any others on line.)

The catalogue of writers who are also visual artists will amaze you. Go to the Amazon link and watch the video clip of Kurt Vonnegut discussing how easily visual art goes along with writing. He doesn't understand why people are so amazed that writers can be visual artists. As he says, would they be as astonished if he was a writer and a golfer?

.

The show had an extraordinary interview with Lawrence Ferlinghetti, one of the Beat Poets, still thriving at 88. He remarked, "Writers paint because they have so much creativity that they have to explore every medium to get it out." What a great quote and so personally satisfying to me.

I write in visual scenes in my head. I "see" a scene and hear the dialogue in my mind. (I often have been criticized for falling in love with my descriptions - the writer's Achille's heel). And as Vonnegut says, drawing is not all there is to visual art.  Writers expository skills are strengthened and expanded by practicing art - whether we are good at "drawing"  or not

I often feel like a fraud about my artwork I was once in a group of artists and someone I know very well, a nationally known artist, responded to someone's comment that I was a wonderful artist with the reply, "She's really a writer." The artist meant it as complimentary, but boy, it went right to the heart of my insecurities that I am a first class writer but a second - maybe third - class artist.  Each time I send my artwork off to the magazine, a little voice in my head wonders if they would be publishing it if it wasn't accompanied by an article.

But here's the thing: I know I am a very experienced writerbut an amateur artist. And that is fine.  It means that I have been practicing the craft of writing for over 40 years, but only seriously pursuing art for 10. I have so much to learn and I love every minute of it. If you want to become as proficient in one area as another, you must do it - plain and simple! Nothing you read and no class you attend will equip you with the skills you need more than the actual doing of it - paint, paint, paint, or whatever your medium is.

On the program, the interviewer tried to pin down Ferlinghetti as to whether he was a poet first or an artist first. He replied simply, "I am both first". What does it matter? America likes to categorize people and rely on degrees and pedigrees to force people into careers and professions from which they cannot stray without being seen as dilettantes.  Vonnegut said, "I am not a Sunday painter."  The best quote of the show was, "I write because I have to; I paint because I want to."

The have to part of writing is the deep, instinctual urge to put words on a page. I have lived with this urge, this need, since I was 8 years old. At the same time, I always played with crafts and paint and crayons and paper.  After years of fits and spurts of forays into art projects, I finally found my groove and have enjoyed it - maybe at the expense of my writing because I certainly choose art over writing more often than not these days.

I'm hoping that my husband takes the hint when I poked him in the stomach and said, "What a great gift for your wife." (We are not subtle in the Pomegranate household; we also heavily utilize the Amazon Wishlist feature.)

Dreaming of Sugarplums

Christmas is all things sweet to Italians,even to us third generation twice-removed ones. Years past, our little aunt was the family baker, boxing up pounds of cookies and pies for each family. A representative box was gingerbread cookies, taralla, butter cookies, and cannoli, accompanied by a bag of gingerbread men and ladies for each kid, plus a pie tin of pignolata. She'd begin right after Thanksgiving and declare her house off limits while she baked in her 1950's knotty pine and pink linoleum kitchen. Even in her last years when she moved into a tiny senior citizen apartment, she would manage her baking by pre-measuring ingredients into baby food jars stored in shoe boxes, de facto baking kits to beat anything Martha Stewart can merchandise. We miss our aunt, not just for her baking, but for her industriousness and thrift, and her sharing of our culinary heritage.

Me, not so much the baker. Oh, I've had my years of making all of the above and more, years when my children and sisters and I bonded over a bottle of vanilla and 4 dozen eggs. This kitchen isn't equipped for mass baking of any kind and these days, I'd rather spend my spare time painting cookies instead of baking them. Now that I can't eat sweets anymore, I can't muster the energy to buy all the ingredients, spend an afternoon baking, and then torture myself with not eating any.

Despite that, I am still so allured by reading and writing about the cakes, cookies, and other pastries that Italians made legendary. If I can't feast on them, I can read about them and dream. This morning with Mr. Pom out and The Teen asleep, I painted for a few hours and then I took down my aunt's little box of recipes (one of many distributed among the sisters) to look for the gingerbread recipe. Tomorrow is The Teen's 16th Birthday ~!!!!!~ and she is a gingerbread girl at heart. Didn't find it yet, but just listen to the names of these recipes and tell me you aren't drooling:

• hot milk sponge cake (takes 12 eggs - Sister #5 has perfected the recipe)
• Neapolitan Pie made with orange and lemon rind, ricotta, and chocolate
• Italian "Nuova Amorina" almond Cannolli recipe written by Auntie Gussie from Manana Vento's recipe
• Anita's Pizza Dough (1977)
• Cloud Sponge Cake from Woman's Day mag, 1979
• Tarten Boden made in a fluted pan and filled with peaches and whipped cream
• my mother's Chocolate ice Box Cake made with chocolate, heavy cream, sponge layers, and lady fingers
• Apple Sauce Spice Cake
• Royal Swedish Icing - you can put it on the spice cake
• Hungarian Chocolate Frosting (we are multicultural)
• Chinese Almond Cookies (see)
• Lemon Snaps (and true blue Americans)
• 5 (at least) recipes for cannoli and cheesecakes
• Swedish Rosettes
• Tiny Stuffed Walnut Tarts (from Loretta Rubino 1979)
• Lemon Chiffon Pie (something I would bathe in if possible)
• Italian Pepper Cookies
• French Lace Cookies

Looking through her little wooden box and pulling out the well worn index cards with their embossed strawberry image and "From Anita's Kitchen" at the top is like a slip through time back to her round, pink Formica table in front of the double-doored pink (!) Kelvinator refrigerator, as she took a tray of taralla out of the pink (!) oven.  Her recipe cards are annotated with warnings like, "don't add milk all at once of crumb topping will become pasty" and "Tomato Sausage Sauce (Richard's favorite). 

Still haven't found the gingerbread recipe but now I think I remember where it is. But I did find $60 in Anita's recipe box! No, it hasn't been there since she passed away almost 4 years ago, I think I hid it in there last Christmas!

And if anyone would like any of these recipes, just leave a comment telling me which ones.

Tell me your family's favorite baked good for Christmas. What is the one recipe that just the thought of makes your mouth water and plunges you back to your childhood? We all have these favorites, even if we don't have the time to make them anymore. I hope you find the time to let the fragrance of vanilla extract fill your mind with thoughts of sugarplums.

Let There Be Light....Soon

On my drive home from work each night,  I'm noticing the holiday lights more  than ever. I don't think that it's because there are more lights - though there are definitely  more of those blasted blow up snow globes and carousels. I am just reminded more this year of the roots of the custom of using lights  to mark this time of year. Ithas deep roots in pagan tradition, when the Winter Solstice was marked with fires to ensure that the disappearing light would indeed return again. As winter fast approaches, and it is sleeting heavily outside as I write this, it is hopeful to remember that December 22nd is the shortest day of the year, but it  marks the return of the light, as our hemisphere begins to tilt toward the sun once more. In the northern latitudes, the Sun makes its lowest arc across the sky and is at its lowest point at noon, with dawn arriving later each morning.  But after the shortest day, the light returns in increments, though it is difficult to imagine the expansiveness of a July evening against the nutshell of a December one.

In a time when light is available with the flick of a switch, when timers can prevent us from returning to a dark, cold house, and when streetlights and car headlights allow us to venture out at all hours, it's hard to imagine thousands of years ago - or hundreds of years ago - when the gathering darkness meant the end of the day. In my imagination, it sounds very romantic  to have lived when starlight was as deep as the ocean and when the path of the sun was marked and observed with great carved stone monoliths, with pyramids, and cairns. I imagine myself traveling through a forest, the scent of pine fragrancing the air, and gathering boughs and branches to build a bonfire, and returning to a simple hut lit by candles made of tallow. 

More likely, I would have liked to be celebrating in medieval times, when wassailing and caroling  had  their origins, and the feasting was lusty and prolonged. I'm sure many a baby was birthed nine months later in late summer. And I am certain I would have made a great wench! Fertility rituals were significant at the time of year, which makes perfect sense if you're worried about the light never returning and the end to all you know.

Think of all the cultural and religious celebrations, customs, and myths that have developed during December. The Chanukkah celebration is the festival of lights and though it commemorates a particular ancient story, it's occurrence in December is fitting.  Think of Persephone banished to the underworld and the pomegranate holding in its leathery skin hundreds of perfect seeds in utero, ready to spill forth. One of the Italian traditions of celebration are little round cookies, called taralla , and I'm sure most cultures have a wheel-shaped bread or food that marked the occasion, such as the Southern custom of serving lentils or black eyed peas on New Year's Day to ensure good fortune in the coming year. 

Perhaps if our lives were more in touch with the seasons and we were not so insulated from darkness and cold and didn't live in a perpetual cocoon of comfort, we would all find the holidays more meaningful and less stressful. Whatever your culture or religion, there is a universality to marking the Solstice and it brings a smile to my face to see all the many varieties of holiday lights strung up on lawns and gutters and bushes and think that they all have their origins in a simple torch.

Being in touch with the seasons, I try not to fight the urge to put on my pajamas and nest in my bedroom on these early evenings. It's natural to pull the covers up, get out a book, and find yourself asleep in minutes. Why fight the urge?  Tonight, it is sleeting heavily outside and we're waiting for Mr. Pom to get home and tell us where the shovel is, as The Teen can't find it in the garage. Even The Princess came home early due to the weather. Why not light the fire and gather all the candles and have an early supper of a bowl of stew or plate of pasta? Deep, hearty flavors and a glass of Cabernet is all we need to feel satisfied after a ride home in the dark. Tonight we'll have lamb and garlic sausages sauteed in tomato sauce. There's some leftover ravioli from last  night and some tiny turkey meatballs.  We won't be running out to shop or even for a latte. We'll light the fire and I'll finish up some paintings I'm doing as gifts. The house is decorated for Christmas and there's lots of candles and glitter to chase away the chill.

__________________________

To read more about the customs of the Winter Solstice, go to Waverly Fitzgerald's School of the Seasons.

Watching Troy Amidst the Dust

Mr. Pom's back and neck are killing him, so he has the pity vote and is watching Troy on TV. I don't have anything against watching Brad Pitt half-dressed and I can appreciate a good battle scene with thousands of extras dressed like Roman soldiers in a desert, but seriously it's 9:45 p.m.and I need a little food channel porn to relax, not bloodshed and shifting allegiances spoken in British accents.

Note - why do Roman soldiers having British accents? Should not, historically speaking, British soldiers have Roman accents? Discuss.

But despite all this, I came home from a horrid day at work and finished decorating the house for Christmas, sans tree, which will have to wait till next Wed when Mystery Man comes home, because the Mr. Pom, he no feel good.

Note - it was just a year ago that Mr. Pom fell off the ladder hanging the lights. This year, no ladder, no fall, yet worse back and neck pain. Discuss.

But really, all this is a distraction from the fact that we've had workmen in the house finishing off a room on the third floor for The Teen who finally convinced us she was old enough to move up there and to get up on her own and do her homework at night without supervision.

Mr. Pom found The Handyman (name of his company) by noticing a beautiful stone wall being built nearby by said company. The father and son team rebuilt our front porch and did a good job so we said, what the heck, have them build a closet and frame out the eaves so she doesn't have to live with all our storage staring at her.

Sounds good. Pleasant older man, gregarious, kids like him. 

That was two weeks ago.

The little walk in closet and sliding doors still aren't finished, her room is covered, deluged, drenched in plaster dust because they don't put up any plastic sheeting, the carpentry finish work is crap, and the sliding doors, the ones we talked about making out of BIRCH because The Teen, she likes contemporary and I thought that would be cool, well the BIRCH turned into ugly, lumpy, rough-cut MDF boards. Which they painted white so they are ugly, lumpy white MDF boards - but only because I said no! Do Not Stain Them! and I wasn't home when they came to redo it.

This guy shows up for ten minutes a day, slaps a little paint, then leaves. He's never here when either myself or Mr. Pom is around. His son never knows nothing - don't know, my father did it. Like frame out the closet door with two pieces of molding instead of one, not putty the joint, not nail it up straight.

So today I went upstairs and had a mini-nervous breakdown and wrote a punch list in legalese on a sheet of looseleaf with a watercolor pencil cause that's all the kid had in her room, to wit:

• putty the nail holes and sand
• repaint the trim after doing so
• remove the cobbed together moldings and replace with one
• do a second coat on everything
• and the front porch floor, the one they ripped up with the sheetrock, though they had just painted it, all the paint is bubbling from the rain
• and the MDF doors - not acceptable, nor is the giant metal track and the gap between the track and the frame.

I warned The Teen if she took the note down - she's embarrassed because he'll come when she's home - that she'll be doing all the work herself.

I don't want to sound like The Ancient Mariner, but when did everyone give up on doing a good job and just settle for doing whatever they can get away with?

This is the same issue I face at work everyday. Everybody has 'tude all day long.

And I almost asked them to do two more major jobs. Now I just want them out, out, out. The poor kid has been sleeping on the floor because her bed is covered with all her stuff and all her sheets and all are filthy.  All she wants to do is decorate for Christmas and nest her new room and she has hardware, tools, plaster dust, empty pizza boxes, and crap everywhere.

And the beautiful stone wall - we drove by the other day - and guess what? It's still not finished.

No photos today but maybe tomorrow because I'll be documenting our defense when he files a lien when we don't pay him.

A Little Big of Magic 2

Now that I started thinking about Christmases when the kids were little, there are some things I do miss, like Mr. Pom coming home once a week with a new Christmas book to read to them. When there were just the big two, they sat on either side of us and decided in rotation which book to read next. By the time The Teen came along, Mr. Pom took over most of the bedtime reading ritual with her while I did homework with the older two. I miss having that quiet time on the bed with a bunch of books and little kids smelling of baby powder and damp hair.

And I miss the books! Not that we still don't have them, or specifically The Princess has them in her room, under her little Christmas tree. She's reached the ripe, old age of 23 when she is nostalgic for her childhood Christmases. 

Here are some of our favorites (& sorry for the stupid Amazon search inside logo):

Mr. Pom's personal favorite (Stickball! Stickball! - you'll have to read it to understand...)

My personal favorite,

And the family favorite,

I know there are many that have gone by the wayside. When I was little, we had an anthology of children's stories that my aunt gave my older sisters. It sat on our bookcase all year and on Christmas Eve, I would take it to bed with me and read it under the covers with my Kenner Give-A-Show projector. My reading was much more classical - The Little Match Girl, Alice In Wonderland, Brer Rabbit. They weren't classic children's tales but they still put me in the mind for Christmas. 

What are your family's favorites?

La Bella Vita

When you reach a certain stage in your family's life, it's easy to let the holidays become routine, with the magic gone and links sent by emails with the specific gifts they want, and instead of pre-dawn footsteps, loud yells up the stairs at nine o'clock that everybody better get up and get their gifts - now!

That's when you have to dig in deep and find new traditions for your memories. We may not take that ride upstate and cut our tree in a snow covered field, but we still  decorate it together.   We don't  spend a weekend making cookies, but we try to make the most special ones: Aunt Anita's gingerbread men.  Christmas Eve lobsters will always happen and each  year our table grows as the kids bring friends home for the feast.  We never miss early Mass with my mother, even with the church jammed with kids making so much noise we can't hear the priest.

And now my children are old enough to enjoy them as people, as companions, and as friends. The girls and I spent Saturday in the city and had a ball playing in New York at night. No city does Christmas like New York City and seeing new parts of it with my girls and my sister and her daughter was one of the best gifts of the season.

The Princess picked us up from our Tinsel Trading class and drove up town. We decided to brave upper Fifth to see the windows and the trees. The Princess drove my car through the most incredible traffic and pedestrian clogged streets. We didn't see much due to the buses and the crowds, but we had a lot of laughs and a few screams as she weaved her way in and out of cabs, buses, and darting pedestrians.  Above is a picture of Cartier's, a gift to you since it is my favorite store decorations and this year it is all scaffolded and missing the big red bow and cascading jewel boxes.

We decided to bag the tree and head to Bryant Park, where the city has a great bazaar during the holidays.  The park is located right behind the 42nd Street Library where the two giant lions out front sport festive wreaths. After crawling the few blocks and then circling for parking, we got to the park just as the light was fading and the booths and the tree were twinkling with lights.

Bryant Park is a small jewel, a tiny, manageable size that is very European in feel.  The tree has gorgeous, huge ornaments and we all remarked that they must be wired to the tree to prevent thefts.

 

In the middle of the park is an ice skating rink and the line to get on the ice was at least two hours long. What a sight to fill you with holiday spirit as Gershwin played over the loud speaker and the buildings circling the park were all lit, and people sat all around the rink at tables and just gazed upon the skaters and imagined, I'm sure, that they were in turn of the century New York. I expected Edith Wharton to glide by in her carriage at any moment.

One things the park was short on was food and the girls declared that they could not go into one more craft booth without sustenance. We left the park and stumbled into Le Pain Quotidien, which is a reasonably priced chain with great food and rough wooden tables with a very French feel. The centerpiece of the bakery and restaurant is a long, communal table where you can eat side by side with strangers and feel like you have arrived at a big family meal. 

I began my meal with a bowl of carrot soup that was hot and flavorful and as colorful as a painting.

My sister ordered the Tuscan platter and I ordered the Mediterranean platter and we all shared them and could easily have not ordered another thing.  M's platter had fresh ricotta - to die for - olive tapenade, and mozzarella. Mine had smoked hummus and olives and both were surrounded by a different breads.

The girls all had open faced sandwiches, called tartines, that looked lovely and were very filling. A silence fell over the table while everyone dipped bread and ate sandwiches and shared the soup and drank bowls of cappuccino.

Despite all the baked goods lining the front of the shop, we decided to be good and go back to the park to shop some more. After a grueling 15 minutes in a scarf and hat stall the size of my bathroom, where The Teen tried on tens of woolen caps amidst 50 people elbowing to see the mirror, we made our way to the front of the park where the smell of something baking filled the air. Belgian waffles and jelly apples - aren't those two of the food groups at the top of the pyramid??  Despite being hummused up to their gullets, it was decided that the evening could not come to a close without a holiday sweet.

Today the girls and I went back into the city and shopped. We checked out Terri's jewelry at ABC Carpet and Home, had some oversalted food at a tapas bar, and then rode uptown to see The Shops at Columbus Circle, which essentially is a giant mall with the same stores we have in Westchester without having to pay thirty bucks to park. But whatever the cost, I so enjoyed being with my girls and realized there was no one else I'd rather hang around with, checking out scarves from India and eating gingerbread cookies sold in Union Square. I've made it through the teeth cutting stage, the soccer stage, the first boy/girlfriend stages with the oldests, and now I have the enjoyment of these grown and almost grown kids, who are funny and sweet and caring and seem to genuinely enjoy spending time with me.

La Bella Vita. This is all there is and it is more than enough.

Tinsel Trading

Even though we live right outside New York City, sister #5 and I, the one with whom I share a love for art,  seem to manage to only go in together about once a year. We don't plan it that way, but it just seems to happen. So when we had the opportunity to go this weekend into the city and to one of our favorite places for artistic inspiration - probably THE favorite place - we were like eight year olds on Christmas Eve.

Here is my sis standing in front of a mecca for mixed media artists who love vintage stuff.

Why do we get so excited about this store?  Well, where else can you get ideas like this - lampshade frames turned into a giant sculpture:

The store is crammed with vintage trims, ribbons, millinery flowers, beading, tassels, and beautiful collectibles that sent my heart aflutter.

If the Wendy Addison art doesn't catch your eye, there's an entire wall of vintage ribbon. I'm hoping to float a subprime mortgage so I can afford some of it, with prices for these antique beauties starting at $25 a yard.

But, we weren't there just to buy, though we managed to not disappoint ourselves and to keep the recession at bay, we were there to take a class with the lovely Charlotte Lyons, shown here with her Bluebird of Happiness.

The class was held in The Shop Across the Street, part of the Tinsel Trading Emporium and I didn't dare look around at the entire wall of ribbons - everything from traditional grosgrain, embroidered, velvet, to giant rick rack. We were a small group that fit comfortably around a large table.  Introductions were quick and soon we all were comfortably sewing and gabbing.

We all agreed that these simple, little felt projects were the perfect thing to slow down a bunch of busy women and give them an afternoon of playing with ribbon and thread and working with lovely textures and bright colors. Friendships bloomed and business cards and blog addies were exchanged. It's so weird to go to these events and find yourself talking about the favorite blogs you have in common, and even odder is when total strangers know all about your life from your blog! 

Sister #5 is very pleased with her handiwork. Her bird is so sweet.

Behind her, is Terri Ventura , who organizes all the classes at Tinsel Trading. She made the cool necklace around her neck and you can see more of her work at  ABC Carpet & Home and on her etsy shop.

My little bird is getting ready to nest.

Charlotte is a lovely teacher and made us all comfortable with our "talents". Some of us were more crafty than others. Some of us sewed up her bird without any stuffing and had to make a cut in the back to add it in and then cover up the whole with a velvet leaf.....and then forgot to add the wire to the ornament. But otherwise, I had a great time and had a ball hearing about behind the scenes with "Carmen" from Project Runway, who Terri has met. It was the perfect antidote to a very intense work week.  When the class was over, The Princess and The Teen and The Teen Cousin picked us up and we headed off for some more city fun, but more about that tomorrow.

If Only Life Could Be a Raffi Song

After Saturday’s hamster-on-a-wheel tempo, we awoke to a silence so full that it could only mean snow.  Like little kids, Mr. Pom and I were up and peering out the windows as dawn broke on a newly whitened landscape. I’m sure our neighbors, if any were up, finally found evidence that we are indeed crazy, as I hung out the open bedroom window to take this shot of the first dawn light and the glowing Christmas decorations wreathed in snow.

It wasn’t much, but it was pretty and Fluffernutter enjoyed eating globs of it while I took photos – in my pj’s – of snow-dusted ornaments.

The first Sunday of Advent could not have been  more fittingly  celebrated than with a morning quieted by snow. We lit the first  Advent candle early and I made some thick and rich coffee and Mr. Pom made some eggs.  I was very grateful that Mr. Pom had an early, quiet morning to regroup and relax in his big, battered oak chair by the fire.

When The Teen arose, she could be heard shrieking on the stairs as she got her first glimpse out the window at the snowfall. It was only a few inches, but unexpected, so it was like a little Christmas.  Hearing the snow hit the windows and seeing all the plants outlined in white made it sink in that summer is really gone, autumn is slipping away, and the weeks of Advent will cold and sharp, as they should be.

Seems we can relax a little while the snow falls. We are suspended behind the curtain of billowing tulle, like actors waiting for their curtain call, Sure, the aftermath can be tough with shovels to be found under the gardening equipment and icy walks to be sanded down. But it’s Sunday and there’s no rush to get anywhere but to the most comfortable chair closest to the fire.

The rest of the day dissolved into the usual hop from place to place once the snow ended. The coup de grace was my slip on a scatter rug and consequent dive into the kitchen cabinets. Ever graceful, I mainly hurt my head and my pride, and Fluffernutter took the opportunity to stand on my leg in case I needed to have it set.  After Mr. Pom helped a very grumpy me off the floor, I decided that enough was enough and took to my bed and began to read, “The Dower House”.   If the soothing snow didn’t last, there’s always good Brit lit to lose myself in. 

What I Lack in Frequency I Make Up For In Length

Whenever I fall silent for a week or so, you can be assured that I have not been captured by a roving band of gypsies, just on deadline. My brain is stuffed and my hands are flying and I cannot seem to eke out one more word than that required by my full time job and the deadline.  I will never receive blogdom fame and fortune – whatever that may be – due to my erratic posting, which makes me appreciate all the more each and every one of you who stop by and say hello.

Thank you to all who left well wishes for my mother in law. Her journey will be long and arduous, but she strongly believes in the power of prayer, so she will be warmed by all your good wishes.  Mr. Pom is an only child and his mom is the surviving sibling in her family, so he has no one else, besides us of course,  to carry the weight of her illness and all that it entails.  He is a devoted and loving son and does his best to care for her every need.  We are very thankful that she lives in a senior building and has a wide network of friends who assist in getting her to and fro to the doctors and who look in on her everyday.  We tried to arrange for Meals on Wheels for her, but she insists that so many friends drop off meals for her that she is drowning in food. It is good to know that she will never sit by herself for more than a few hours each day and her phone is always busy.

Saturday may have broken the record as the most errands done by the Pomegranates in a single day.

·       7:30 – my car to the dealer

·       7:45 – eat goat cheese, bacon, and arugula omelettes at our place, “Stanz”

·       9:00 – Mr. Pom runs over to his mom’s with groceries

·       9:30 – I box the artwork for the magazine

·       10:30 – take Fluffernutter to a much-needed bath and grooming (this dogs wins the Stink Award over any pet we’ve ever had)

·       10:45 – supermarket

·       11:15 – The UPS Store

·       11:30 – cleaners

·       11:35 – Starbucks (I will never stop using this cleaner even when they do lose buttons and keep stains in because they are right next to The Bucks)

·       12:00 – start making chicken soup

·       1:00 – hair appointment (I’m talking two hours – many processes!)

·       3:00 – quick run next door to the shop with the vintage jewelry, mercury glass candlesticks, and bottle brush tress (yes, I bought my own gifts again….)

·       3:15 – pick up sister #5 and

·       3:30 – run to art supply store for all the supplies I need for the gifts that will save me so much money –OMG - how much did I spend???

·       5:00 – home. Make rice, strain chicken soup, add carrots to cook, take all the chicken off the carcass

·       5:30 – discuss going to the movies. Both too tired to find the laptop to look up what movies there are. Stay home through attrition.

·       5>45 – Mr. Pom takes apart the outdoor Christmas lights because none are working

·       6:00 – eat chicken soup dusted with Parmigiano cheese, watch ridiculous edible ornament competition on The Food Channel with The Princess

·       9:30 – The Princess is just going out for the night, and   Mr. and Mrs. Pomegranates, those swinging dudes, are fast asleep.

Sunday wasn’t much better.

Despite all this, I am actually very organized for Christmas. I only have one gift left to buy and my foyer is filling up with those brown paper UPS deliveries. Oh, yes, there are those 12 gifts I am NOT buying but MAKING, but I took off next Monday and intend to chain myself in my studio and paint, dammit, paint!   We fished out our version of an Advent Wreath and even though I forgot to buy new candles, you know what, the big pillars from last year are still serviceable and no one will tell on us that they’ve been lit before.  Whatever the ages my kids may be, I always buy an Advent calendar, preferably one of those old-fashioned German ones with the children who look like Hummel’s and the sprinkle of glitter across the little numbered squares. Of course, I haven’t managed to get it downstairs and out of its cellophane wrapping, but I will, I will.

Sometime before the 24th.