pomegranatesandpaper

And a Happy New Year!

As 2009 sets sail,  the Pomegranates wish you and yours health, prosperity, and most of all, creativity for 2010.

May your year be blessed with blue skies, with calm waters, refreshing breezes, and sunny days.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for coming round all year, for leaving such supportive and witty comments, and for bringing me the luxury of knowing that my words do matter, that my thoughts make a difference, and that I have friends scattered like jewels across the beauty of this earth!

Christmas At the Poms

I popped into work today and never looked up from 8 till 5. But I got all the year end matters cleared up and my desk tidied. I now have clear sailing for a week off. 

 Christmas is not over at our house, though we are sad that Mystery Man is traveling back to work.  We've loved having him home. Yesterday evening, he and Mr. Pom were watching the Jets game and there was a lot of very loud and raucous cheering and yelling.

When my Dad used to watch football, he would scare the life out of you by suddenly yelling at the top of his lungs, "Go Go Go!!!!"  Both Mr. Pom and MM have adopted Dad's enthusiasm and they make me smile every time I hear them hollering. I know that Mr. Pom really enjoys being with his son and that he will really miss him. We are both so happy and grateful that he found a job in his field and seems to be thriving, but we will admit to wanting him a little closer.

I am reading - a lot! I love nothing more than having a big ol' stack of books to fill in the time between Christmas and New Year's. I really was the kid whose favorite gift on Christmas was a new book (remember, it was Old School, those days before Borders, Barnes and Noble, and Amazon.) I promise a proper write up of the books plus a few give-aways after New Year's. 

Tomorrow, MM and I are having breakfast where The Teen works, and then I will kiss him good bye and drive in the city to go to a few favorite haunts that I haven't been to in...don't remember when. More with pics laters.

Wednesday, we are going to the Cape. We had every room painted and we've only seen glimpses of it in emails, so we're excited to get there. I'm going up early and then Mr. Pom and The Teen will come up that night. Sister #2 is coming and I heard rumors that a cousin or two may also be visiting, plus the Albany cousins may stop by for a night, and The Princess is on standby in case her more exciting New Year's Eve plans fall through.  Let's all cross fingers and toes that it's not 5 below zero and raining! 

But we are nesting big time, hanging all the curtains,  the pictures, getting the rest of the beds, and hauling up chairs for the kitchen table. I have a suitcase full of books, fabric, laptop, art supplies, and cheeses from The Teen's shop. (Not all in one bag - the cheese tends to stink.)

Come on up, I'm sure there's a jigsaw puzzle to put together, my sister is bringing her Wii (right??) and I am going to atempt clam chowder.  The pups promise to be good and not get up at 4:30 a.m. or eat anyone's shoes. I might even make it to the midnight fireworks over the Oyster Pond in Chatham!

See you there!

B-Day

If your house is like my house,  you are digging out of the rubble of torn Christmas wrapping paper, bedraggled ribbons, and demolished gift boxes. There is tinsel stuck to the back of your pj's and your tables are littered with paper plates containing sticky remnants of hardened icing and shredded tinfoil from chocolate Santas.

You are weary and bleary and wondering just how you are going to wash out the ten gallon drum of lobster water that is sitting on a propane ring in the backyard, threatening to topple onto two rambuctious dogs that are hopped up on filched sugar cookies and the general mayhem of the last two days.

If you, too, are still in bed at 10:30 a.m., wearing your new fuzzy slippers and a top sticky with honey from pignolata and a triple venti cap (God bless Mr. Pom), I am here to relieve you of any concerns of this day.

The Brits call it Boxing Day. Henceforth, I proclaim it shall be called,

"Beholden to No One Day"

Today I am giving dispensation to all my family and friends to  do nothing. Or everything. Whatever they wish. So long as it does not involve me.

I will be not doing the following:

1) getting  dressed; 2) leaving my house except perhaps for mid afternoon lunch where The Poor Teen is at work (bless her heart).

I most definitely will not be providing anyone's sustenance, entertainment, or  welfare.

Even the poor dog (the crazed pup not the Mama who likes to lay around as much as I) has been deposited at Doggie Daycare for a good day of running and wrestling that he so desperately deserves (as do we).

I may venture forth to buy some cotton yarn and a crochet hook cause this lady has gotten me crazed to do some Granny Squares, something I have resisted mightily in the last few years.

I leave you with a photo trail of the last two days. Enjoy, or not, because it is Beholden to No One Day. (And thanks to Mar for the photos, without her we'd have none cause my camera never left my purse!)

Like Father, Like Son (cute pinny, Mr. P.)

24 years of calamari-in-mouth photos

Lobster Chef Extraordinaire

The Swap

Ready for Santa

Voted Best Gift 2009

Christmas sweaters

Waiting for Pigs- In-A- Blanket

Dancing Cousins (a glimpse of Mrs. Pom with bebe - not ours!)

Time To Cut Off the Christmas Candy or Grandmas Gone Wild

More to come soon as I find Mr P's camera, cable, upload, save....much later, after my 24 hour nap.....

Sunrise....Sunset...Thank Heaven for Little ....Have Yourself a Merry...

Well, we are just about up to our ears in goodness and felicitations and everything sentimental you can think of for this holiday  Christmas season.

First of all, it is going to snow, big snow, a real blow of snow, and we will have a white Christmas.

Secondly, although we want it to snow we are hoping it is not too much snow, because we have lots and lots of plans this weekend.

Saturday we will grocery shop, bake, and wrap.

Sunday morning we are going to the city for brunch and sightseeing.

Then, and this is the really big event, we are coming home to have cake with our whole family,

because on Sunday,  this little girl

 who is now this young lady

(and who also happens to be the artist  but hates these self portraits because 1) she made her nose way too big and 2) she never thinks anything she does it any good...)

Anyway, The Teen

Is celebrating her

18th Birthday!!!!

And just to make

life that much sweeter

she found out today that
 she was accepted as early decision at her first choice art college

!!

 

 We will celebrate both events on Sunday, come snow or high water, with all The Teen's childhood favorites:  "Funfetti Cake" and "Dirt Pudding Cake" (if she let me make goody bags you know I'd do it).

And now I must go, for when The Teen finds out that I posted her self-portraits and the photo that The Princess texted me, I will need to lock myself in my room and hold her birthday presents hostage until she forgives me.

The Light of Winter, Day Two

The Poetic Eye's prompt for today is, 

The Miracle of Light

                                                               

                                          

The Jewish people understand the Miracle of Light. They were able to survive with a tiny bit of oil for 8 days through a miracle.  Our miracle is not so extraordinary or of monumental religious and historical significance.

Except for us.

Our miracle of the light is the celebration of family that we created our the last twenty years with  traditions and customs and rituals that we have robbed, cobbled, morphed, and created out of whole cloth.

Our family year culminates on Christmas Eve when we have dinner and dessert and the present exchange with the extended family. It is the night I wept the most when we lived across the country, the night that weighed heaviest on my mind as I thought of my sisters and my mom celebrating Christmas together.

But through isolation sometimes comes strength. We never let our Christmas Eve tradition lapse and if anything, it grew more important, more elaborate, and more emotional for us.

Today, we are blocks away from most of the family. They can get here even in a blizzard. There is always room at our inn.

When we came back, Mr. Pom wanted something very special to commemorate our return to the Promised Land.

See the string of lights around the doorway in the photo below. I know it's hard to see, but here is a closeup:

 
Lobster lights. To string around the doorways. Orange, cheerful, bright, silly, and whimsical lobster lights.

A lot like Mr. Pom.

The Light of Winter: a photo prompt

LK Ludwig is sponsoring a lovely venture on her blog, The Poetic Eye. She is posting a prompt a day from December 14 to January 1st to inspire you to capture a photo that day of the light of winter.

I think it  the perfect way to celebrate the earth's return to lengthening days after the solstice. And a nice gift, a quiet offering each day in the midst of the cacaphony that can be Christmas.

I will mainly be posting from my stock of photos, new and repostings of some of my favorite photographs.I am adding some text to each one, a fragment of story.

The prompt for today is: Today, December 14, the prompt is the Light of memory, the light of remembrance.

The streets of Provincetown were gray and wet as she wandered through the alleys. It was not the soft rain of summers that she felt. The damp was a cold that turned her feet into wooden blocks and sent her spirits plummeting as low as the temperatures. She tried to find the beauty in the chill, in the empty streets that ran right into the monochromatic bay, in the gulls squawking overhead, but all she felt was the emptying out of place, the abandonment of summer excess and the austerity of her soul.

Sunday Evening Rain Is Falling

And has been falling all day. I did not get out of my pajamas today. No breakfast out, no walk with the dogs. It was dark when we got up and remained dark and dreary and wet, with the rain getting harder as the day progressed.

I was blessed to have weather that made me want to stay in my flannels and hair unkempt and slippers on.  Our trips to the  Cape got me entirely in arrears for the December submission to CPS. Never have I been so behind!

Saturday morning found me in full panic mode, with two shopping bags full of work, unfinished artwork a day overdue, and all of Christmas waiting for me and Mr. Pom to make come true.

All I wanted to do was drink coffee and read Christmas issues of my favorite magazines. I was itching to go into the art room and sew up some stockings from vintage linens and cover a bunch of pillows for the living room.

I began a painting and hated it. Began an assemblage and realized I was way over my head to think I could get it done in two days. I forgot it all and went and bought the tree with Mr. Pom. I cleared off the living room and dining room bookshelves to make room for Christmas decorations. I put away groceries. I twisted my ankle on a dog toy and fell against a chair, hurt my ribs, and smashed the glass face of an antique clock I was moving for safekeeping. We had dinner with old friends at their house.

Everything but make the artwork.

This morning I sat in my artroom for an hour and decided that I needed to sew. Hand sew. To sit in one place with fabric, buttons, and ribbons and just make something. In a few minutes, I had a small wall hanging planned that illustrated the theme of the article. I filled a basket with hand dyed ribbons, mother of pearl buttons in the shapes of stars and wings, and the pages of a little collage book that I'd never finished.

Mr. Pom went out and got Starbucks and bagels. I watched cooking shows. The girls got up and we had a rare treat of Chinese food for Sunday lunch. Mr. Pom got his star topper from his childhood on the tree again this year and slowly put up the lights. I stitched and stitched and played with lavender gross grain ribbon and spring green silk. Julia and I watched an amazing art documentary, Beautiful Losers (watch it!) and both of us were absorbed in it though coming at it from such different generations.

From 9:00 a.m. till 8:00 p.m. I stitched and stitched and now it is done though my hand hurts from grabbing the needle. I am in bed and my shoulders wrapped in a fleece throw. Cucciolo is rammed up against me on the bed. Bella Sera is voluntarily in her crate with her clearn warm bedding that Mr. Pom washed (he hasn't sat down all day).

Prayers and good wishes requested for tomorrow for The Princes who takes grad school entrance exams.  The Teen is nervous as she hears from her #1 college this week - and has a very big birthday on Sunday.  Mystery Man is looking forward to coming home for Christmas. I am anxious to have this huge work project over with, though it looks like we won't meet our goal for the results we need by year's end.

Most of all, I want to watch old movies and sew ribbons and and beads. I've forgotten how centering it is for me to have fabric in my lap, thread at my elbow, and a needle in hand. More to come over the next few weeks. More pleasurable hours by lamplight and fire, with my world in my lap.

 

Advent of Winter

I have spent most of the lead time up to Thanksgiving and and now saying, doesn't feel like it's time. Surely we need a few more weeks. Shouldn't there be two months between Thanksgiving and Christmas?

I'm really not talking about the ubiquitous rant that we all hear about Christmas being overdone and commercialized and advertised too soon. We all know that. I just do my best to ignore it and concentrate on the things that make me happy. No, I just think the years fly by. And the weather! 60 degrees the first weekend of December? Just not making me happy.

What makes me happy?  Well, this will sound strange, but it is making me happy that we are expecting a rain and snow storm tomorrow, that it was 35 degrees this morning, and that it was pitch black by 4:15 over the weekend. Seasonal weather.

Now, I know that it is Advent.

Advent to me is the spare season. It is the season of the dark, the Great Prologue to the equinox when the earth tilts back in a slow spiral to the light.  Advent is the season of black and grey and white; the season of spare branches, red winter-berries, and my neighbor's woodsmoke that smells like incense. Advent is driving home counting the houses with Christmas lights, and the long line of cars on the parkway with  the red brake lights punctuations of Christmas coming.

At work, many of my colleagues are suffering through very difficult times. The loss of a close relative, job issues, sick children,  sick spouses, elderly parents with serious health issues.  I see the pain in their eyes. I hear their slow footsteps dragging into the office, see their slumped shoulders. But more hard to bear is the lack of interest in their demeanor. I see the absence of anticipation, I hear the recitation of the litany of chores, the gifts not yet bought, the dreading of the decorating. Our youngest staff person, our Christmas elf who did all the decorating, left a few months ago for a new job. No one has taken up the mantle of decorating and no one expresses an interest in it. 

It is a dull ache. I say nothing but feel the sadness. I buy two amaryllises and a Christmas cactus and decide that is all the Christmas decoration I shall add to my office this year.  Little by little, several people come in and ask me about the plants.  Many of them have never heard or seen  amaryllis or the Christmas cactus with its fuchsia blooms.

The person whose very close relative passed away, is also a plant person. She's never seen an amaryllis. I hold my hands together like a fist opening up to explain the lily-like  furls of the flower. The stems grow by inches every day. However, when I bought them, they were the same height, but come Monday morning, the one on the right is twice as big as the other.  When the person who suffered the loss comes into my office to have me sign something, she exclaims, Oh my goodness! Look! This one has split into two buds!

Sure enough,  the short stunted one  has articulated into two fat, juicy buds and a glimpse of furly petal is just peeking through the bud.   We all look stand around looking at it, willing it to burst into bloom.   We decide that while it would have been beautiful to have the two plants blooming simultaneously, it is just as nice to have one bloom before the other to prolong the show.

Later on in the afternoon, I hear someone say, "Anyone know where the Christmas decorations ended up after we moved?"  Awhile later, I see that the tree is up and decorated in the reception area.  A couple of ladies bring garland around and begin draping cubicles. Suddenly the season is apparent.

I look up again when I hear the soft laughter of our colleague who suffered the loss. She is laughing as someone tries to get her to catch the garland they are throwing from one cubicle across to the other.  Later on, I see her shaping a garland in the shape of a heart on the wall. She pins a few tiny decorated gift boxes in the middle of the heart.  I see a few of her friends exchange protective glances. The mood in the unit has lifted just enough to allow us to breathe easier. I take a deep breath and wonder if it smells like snow outside.

And now we wait. Will the amaryllis bloom tomorrow? How tall will the other grow? Will they both bloom before Christmas? Each morning they will all come in to take stock of the situation.  The season of waiting and watching.

Marvelous Bakers

I am so funny.

Anyway.

The Princess would feel very hurt if I didn't post her baking adventures. Though she wants the record to reflect that no boys were involved, mainly because The Physicist is in Italy doing...uh, physics stuff.

This is The Princess's friend, Jessica. Isn't she adorable? And doesn't my baking area look so cute for Christmas??  I've decided that even though I have the grottiest kitchen in the world, I might as well try to make it a little nicer.

Where was I?

This is her another cutie pie friend, Tiffany.

While the parents were in Cape Cod, the girls decided to make Aunt Anita's gingerbread cookies.

Muggins came to help. He belongs to Tiffany Jessica Tiffany. The Teen and I are not sure. He belongs to one of them. [Tiffany as per her FB]  He is also adorable.

Cucciolo and Bella Sera are just thrilled that he came to visit.  Dude, settle down already. We're resting. And why are you so perky, they ask.

Muggins is interested in exploring the house.  Our dogs are interested in exploring the Buffalo Mac and Cheese that the girls brought.

 

Now, I don't know if you've ever done a project with The Princess, but she is very intense. She is exactly like The Empress. You'd better do it right if you are going to do it all. She keeps us all on the straight and narrow.

Especially when it comes to cookies.

Especially "nautical" cookies, made with cookie cutters that her Momma brought her back from Cape Cod, just for her.  [She wants you to know that the cookie on the lower right is not a Batman on steroids, but a lobster.]

This one is my favorite:

  Note the belly button ring.

______________________

-Note: all photos were stolen from FB. She was the only Pom child foolish enough to friend her mother.

Here's A Story

It's been a tough few weeks, my internets. When I stop, I drop. But tonight, I am fortified by cups of tea and Pim's orange and chocolate cookies. Mr. Pom and I are snuggled in for a rainy night on the Cape. I thought I would bake Christmas cookies, but when I realized I had to buy a rolling pin, cookie cutters, and a sundry of ingredients - all of which are in my pantry at home - I decided instead to tell you a story. since I finally have a quiet moment to tell you one. I am rather late in my recounting, but better late than never.

Thanksgiving by Mrs. Pom!

Every Thanksgiving that I can remember has started alone in the kitchen, up at dawn when the moon is still in the sky and the house is quiet and cold. I light the oven and wrestle a cold, unwieldy turkey carcass out of the refrigerator, shuddering a bit as I plunge my hands into the clammy, pink interior to pull out the package of giblets. I half slide/half drop it in the sink and run cold water over and through it and then dry it with paper towels. Salt, pepper, fresh thyme, rosemary, sage, and marjoram, butter, and oil are my mise en place. This year, I have no patience to carefully lift the skin and lay out the herbs in a quiltlike pattern. Instead I thrust handfuls of the herbs into the cavity, add an onion and carrot, and slide it into the hot oven.

I'm not really the only one up in the house. Two creatures are underfoot, investigating the rooms, sniffing under and around, checking out the opened table and threading their way through the chair legs. When they have finished their morning rounds to make certain there are no crumbs left from late night snacking, they take up their kitchen positions: Bella Sera by the back door, paws crossed in front of her like the lady she is. Cucciolo stands front and center, ready to get between my legs and the counter should the 23 pounds of turkey suddenly decided to fly to the floor.

Don't worry: they've been fed, walked, watered, and dog-boned. Still, the ktichen and my feet are more interesting than the hundred dog toys that lie like doggie bombs for the unsuspecting visitor in the dark.  I have no time, though, for pets and licks and sitting with large dogs in my lap. It is Thanksgiving, doggies! I lecture them. Cucciolo, you were too little last year to remember the smell of roasting turkey filling the house and causing you to whine in hunger  all day. Bella Sera, you still lived on the farm last Thanksgiving. Were you given a leg to gnaw on after dinner? Did they dress you all as pilgrims and indians for the feast?

  My questions are ignored in lieu of cornbread.  Note to self: build higher table for kitchen.

 

Well, if you're not going to pay attention, I have no time for stories. There are carrots to peel.

Rosemary needs to be picked from the pot in the front. If only dogs had hands, you guys could go out there and spare the neighbors the sight of me in my slippers and crazy bedhair.  Will I have time for a shower before the guests arrive? Not if I stand here telling stories!

Cucciolo! I told you that you wouldn't like cranberries. So skittering across the floor after that rolling berry as if it were Adam's rib and sliding into the wall in pursuit must make you feel pretty silly after you spit it out. Don't give me the evil eye. Your crate's right in the dining room should you choose to be impertinent. These jewels came all the way from the Cape, you know. You might even like them once I simmer them with lemon peel and orange and brown sugar and apricot jam.

 

Mom's talking to the dogs again, comes the cry from the dining room. The Princess is shuffling round the dining room table, laying the plates, polishing the silver, folding the napkins and announcing my senseless chatter with the dogs. Hmmpf, at least someone is in here wanting to talk to mother, I mutter to myself. And they can't talk back. 

 

Oops, The Princess heard that. She's glaring at me accusingly and pointing to the pie she made yesterday, a most beautiful, succulent, and sweet apple pie that looks like a fairy tale pie made by a princess with birds twittering and little squirrels helping to crimp the pie edges....The Princess opens the back door. I think the gas oven is getting to you, Mom.

Ack! It's twelve o'clock! The flowers are on the table, the turkey is almost done, the cranberries have simmered, the stuffing is golden, the cornbread is warm, and I am scurrying up the stairs, ready to pound on the bathroom door to hurry up whatever child is taking a half hour shower with a line for access as long as the day right outside the door.

In no time,  the house is full of hungry people.  The dishes are carried to the table, serving spoons are found, folding chairs are hauled out and the champagne is poured.

Wait, take a picture of the table, then another from this end, and everybody on the other side smile now, okay, okay, I'll stop.

 NO, wait! There's grace, a toast, and what we are thankful - ok, ok, at least get in grace and clink the glasses in honor of all who are here and all who we remember in our hearts.

Don't worry, mommy didn't forget about you. There are two huge bones for you guys. No, no turkey bones! Just the kind from the pet store. Settle down and don't jump on The Empress or she'll have to wash her hands - again.  I'll pet you as soon as I finish my mashed potatoes, clear the table, wash the pots and pans, cut the pies, whip the cream, and perk the coffee.

Now, shush, be quiet and don't bark! It's almost midnight and I just snuck down here for a mouthful of chocolate pudding pie. I did good today - you guys, too. Tomorrow you can sleep in on my bed while Daddy goes to work. Then we have to clean up around here and maybe bring out the Christmas decorations. Don't look at me like that - I'll take you to the doggie park. Or at least get The Teen to do it.

Oy! Where are we going to put the Christmas tree so Cucciolo can't get at it!

Oh, it's going to be a long Christmas, a very long Christmas!

Here and There

The two dogs jump on the bed in the morning and vie with each other for as much love and affection as they can possibly receive. This involves much continuous petting until my arms fall asleep and/or they begin fighting wiht each other over who gets petted more and then lose my patience and force them off the bed.

And this is before the lights are even on.

Mr. Po laughs from the shower when he hears my raised voice. It is my just dessert since he gets up with them and does the first morning run and pooper scooping.  I am thinking of getting a giant rubber sheet to put over my bed - a bed condom, perhaps? I can't even look at pretty comforters and use an old blanket on top of the bed for when they are on it. But since they are on it right before we go to sleep and on it right when we wake up, the old blanket has become constant and I have to figure this out because it's not pretty, meaning absolutely yuck.

What else is new here? I am in the midst of a huge end of the year project for my job. If I were to really be able to complete it all, I'd have to work 12 hours a day every day from today until Dec. 31st. I am getting a bit tired. And I'd like to celebrate Christmas.

Next Monday is Mr. Pom's birthday and we are going to the Cape, ostensibly to check on the house painter. He was supposed to be ready to paint all the walls yesterday but he never called me to get the room colors. When I called him a day later, it took three minutes for him to remember who I was.

I don't think that's a good sign that this house will be painted before Christmas.

So, although I should work all weekend, we're going up. I'll bring the laptop and sit in the living room and watch old movies.

Meanwhile, I am absolutely loving the free CD that Starbucks is giving out with a $15 purchase. It is just beautiful and although it only has 4 songs, I listen to it constantly in  the car and at work and it keeps me happy.

And I'm playing my Christmas music as no one can get snarky about it now!

What are you doing to get ready for Christmas in your mind?