Bad Start, Strong Finish

After a morning and early afternoon of unrelenting mayhem (buy 30 bagels! buy 6 cookie sandwiches and a giftcard at Teacake! buy 2 gallons of milk! now use the milk to make a vat of homemade cocoa! cut out a few more corrugated cardboard circles! transfer cocoa to thermos carafe thingies! pack chocolates, cookies, and...well...everything! bring it all to school, but make sure none of it gets wet! put your hood up! try to maintain some dignity, you hood-wearing pack mule! set up 2 class parties! do a craft with the 3rd graders! try not to scream while all of them at the same time say, "Ms. Montes? Ms. Montes? Ms. Montes? Ms. Montes?") punctuated by equally unrelenting rain, the kids and I crossed the threshold of our warm little house. Vida went to the den to read. Lea went to her room and shut the door. Risa checked in at Woozworld. And me? I earthwormed into my bed and read Lord of the Rings while the rain pattered my window. Just like that, the hours preceding disappeared and life was good, warm, dry, and so nice.

Then I decided I would make Arroz Caldo with Chicken. The recipe (I know what you're thinking: why does she need a recipe?) called for "1 small chicken." I didn't have "1 small chicken," but because the cookbook was my mother's and was published in 1970, at which time I imagine chickens were quite small, I just decided to use the fat chicken breast in my refrigerator. Also, sadly, I lacked "1 small onion, chopped." I did, however, have a leek. So I used that. And it turned out so excellent and reminiscent of both my childhood and, not unpleasantly, the Greek version (is it avgolemeno?) of the soup. Now the kids and the SU are sitting in front of the fire playing Monopoloy and drinking eggnog. And, yes, there are Christmas carols and twinkling lights and stockings. I like it here.

Despite the annoyances that occurred earlier today, I just caught sight of the holiday craft I did with the 3rd graders, and it's kinda cute. Here's Lea's:



The SU says it's the "least offensive craft ever." I think that's what people mean by the term "faint praise." I'll take it.

Stocking Stuffers & Funhouse Mirrors

What sort of mother forgets about stocking stuffers? THIS kind of mother. *points at self*

In fact, I forgot about a bunch of stuff, the net result of which is I will be running around tomorrow like a woman on fire. And that won't be easy to do, considering the fact that the traffic has tripled these past few days. I've spent an inordinate amount of time stuck in driver's limbo, dramatically running my hands through my hair and gnashing my teeth.

At this time I would like to communicate a cautionary retail tale, also known as (I just made this up) a "retale." I will probably never have cause to cross the threshold of a Sunglass Hut, but if I did it would never, ever be the one in my nearby mall. Do you want to know why? Because for years now, one of the store's full-length mirrors is positioned in such a way as to force passersby to catch a glimpse of themselves. In and of itself, that's not a bad thing. But if the mirror is cheap and warped in such a way as to make passersby look two feet shorter and two feet wider than they in fact ARE, the feeling engendered is not one of goodwill. You'd think by now I'd know to avert my eyes, but for some unknown, masochistic reason, I'm drawn to that mirror like every cliché moth to every cliché flame. So I guess what I'm trying to say is that if you ever become a shopkeeper, make sure your mirrors reflect the queen and/or king in all of us.

The End.

And also, happy holidays. Stay gold. Drink milk. Be nice.

Flipping The Bird

I have to flip my turkey now. It's not a simple task, you know, to flip a 17.29 lb. turkey on its side after it's been roasting for 45 minutes, but that's what I'm supposed to do. I've flipped it one wing-side up already, where it's been roasting for 20 minutes, and now I need to flip it the other wing-side up. After 20 minutes, I flip it one last time: breast up. I'm using wads of paper towel to keep from burning my delicate Nesting Ground Mistress skin.

{pause}

Well, that was fun. It took me several minutes to wrangle a firm grip, and then just as my flip was almost executed, the V-rack collapsed. So then I placed the turkey rather awkwardly on top of the collapsed rack, pulled out a large pan, moved the turkey onto it, then proceeded to fix the V-rack. One of the supporting bars had become unhinged (much as I have in the last few hours), and I couldn't use my bare hands to fix it, so I made do with some tongs and brief touches with my fingers. Success! Then I finally flipped the bird (hahahahaha!!), shoved it back into the oven with a satisfied grunt, and shut the door. I have to admit, it's getting a lovely all-over tan. The final flip will be another adventure, I'm sure, but I'll spare you.

As for the rest of the early evening menu, I have relied heavily on the holiday cookie issue of Sunset Magazine. I have Gratin of cauliflower with gruyere, Yukon Gold mashed potatoes with buttermilk and roasted garlic, Italian sausage and chard stuffing, and Green beans with a citrus vinaigrette. And I'm making some pumpkin soup, using a recipe from my sister-in-law that has served me well lo these past many years. And pies! But we got those from Heidi's Pies, so they don't count.

I am thankful for many things. But I am also sleepy.

Eat, Drink, Merry

I am sitting here in my trainwreck of a kitchen, simultaneously cleaning up from last night's festivities and making a shopping list for the next two days. Yesterday was all about crab. My dad schooled the girls on crab anatomy:


And then, much to the delight of everyone under the age of 9, he insisted that two of the crabs participate in a foot race prior to their demise:


Let's hope he has no such plans for tomorrow's prime rib roast. Speaking of which, I am off to Pape Meat Co. to pick it up! I have mentally prepared myself for being jostled around by people who, for reasons unknown, strongly believe that they should be served first. But never mind them! They are but specks in my sea of happiness!

I'll meet you back here after all the merrymaking! And here are a few more exclamation marks: !!!!

Thanksgiving Day, 2008

After last night's harrowing 7-hour drive, we are ensconced comfortably in that neverland zone between moving from one home (my in-laws') to another (my sister-in-law's) on this, Thanksgiving Day. The girls are watching the parade which, for a reason that remains vague to me, currently features Rick Astley singing "Never Gonna Give You Up." Not that I'm complaining, mind you. I love that freakin' song.

I don't usually bring my laptop along on this particular roadtrip, but I have some writing to do and knew we'd have downtime. Instead of using said downtime wisely, however, I've been sucked into the Black Hole of the internet. The most fascinating find of the day has been...

...The Golden Notebook Project...

which, according to the FAQ, is "an experiment in close-reading in which seven women are reading the book and conducting a conversation in the margins." Doris Lessing's publisher has given permission for the entire book to be published online, so you can follow along with the participants as they read.

I think this is a brilliant idea, and am also thinking it would be wonderful to do with Filipino and Fil-Am literature. Anyone have the energy for a new project? E-mail me! Or text me! Or leave a comment! Or shout when you see me crossing the street! Or ignore me completely and go back to your peaceful day!

To you and your families, Happy Day.

Nesting @ Nesting Ground

Am smack in the middle of a flurry of culinary activity and holiday-ing-ness of the domicile as we prep for a Thursday evening of cheer with 30 or so neighborhood and school folks. I didn't think we could have that many people, but last year my good friend K. did so with much success in a house of similar size. "You just need to be willing to give up some furniture," she said. And she was right: clear out the center of your living room, fill the space with stand-up cocktail tables, candlelight and voila! Instant cozy supper club. Ample room (fingers crossed) for spillover in the dining room, den, and the kitchen.

Look! The spousal unit has already made the mantle all festive-like. Just add fire:


Tree? Check! For the last two years we've gone to cut down our own at a tree farm in Half Moon Bay. Hard to imagine your Nesting Ground Mistress wielding a handsaw, I know. Go ahead, let the idea sink in. Anyways, we found this beauty after a short hike up the mountain:


Gratuitous shot of sexy new Room & Board sofa. Pushed to the side, like I said, to make way for supperclub cocktail tables, like I said:


Now I must return to my kitchen duties. Tonight is empanada night...

Calm Before Holiday Storm

Just getting into the rhythm of being back home again, which means that everything is buzzing: washing machine, dryer, dishwasher, Sonicare toothbrush, iPod, laptops. The SU has just built a fire, I've just ordered our holiday cards and baked some cornbread to snack on, and the girls are working on a puzzle. It's all very exaggeratedly cozy.

And that's fine by me.

Boo.

For your viewing enjoyment, I humbly present a few choice pictures from yesterday. First of all, let's give it up for old school:



A nod to the Summer of Love:



Be still my heart! A different kind of superhero:



Be still my heart redux! My own "spider witch," cowgirl, and princess ("but not a Disney princess," she points out):



The SU carved a bunch of pumpkins, but this was my favorite. Look at that nose:



And I just found this! It's from last year (Lea, on the left, is soooo tiny), which was our family's final one at preschool. For four years, I had staunchly refused to stick my finger in the infamous decomposing pumpkin. Determined to overcome my ewwwww-i-ness, I finally took the plunge. One of the teachers documented the momentous event:



You know what? It was FREEZING in the decomposing pumpkin.

In closing, I would like to beg someone to please get this bag of leftover Kit-Kat bars away from me...

Recovery/Re-Entry

I'm making an excruciatingly slow re-entry into a world that does not revolve around wrapping paper, large quantities of overly-rich foodstuffs, and basically running around in—when you boil it all down—circles. Despite the late nights and general feeling of exhaustion, it was a lovely holiday spent in constant and pleasant culinary interaction with friends and family (one cousuncle just e-mailed to chide me—me, of all bloggers!—for not updating here since the 22nd, but never mind).

The SU and I spent the bulk of yesterday alone (the girls being in the tireless hands of their sitter who, unlike me, is not adverse to leading them triumphantly through craft projects that require acrylic paint) and leisurely enjoying things that I now imagine only the child-less can leisurely enjoy: eating out, shopping, going to the movies, wandering through a bookstore. Our movie of choice was "Dreamgirls," the theatrical version of which I saw onstage when I was very young. I had specific memories about the original version, certain moments that I loved. And so I waited the entire film for CC (he being the songwriter brother who basically turned his back on his super-talented chanteuse of a sister for several years, only to return once he realized that success wasn't all it was, you know, cracked up to be) to sing Effie I have a song, and only you can sing it the way it should be and for Effie to wail back I've waited sooooooooo long to hear you say that to me. Say it again, say it aggggaiiiiiinnnnnn.... and for CC, of course, to answer Effie sing my song the way it should beeeeeeee. I waited because it's my favorite scene. In the whole story, it's my favorite scene. And the scene happened, but the song didn't. I almost jumped out of my seat to demand...something. Instead, I just sat there, crumpled up in disappointment and asked the SU to pass the popcorn. I curse the person(s) who edited the scene! I curse them with spiders and evil monkeys and colicky infants, and dreams about falling off the edge of a cliff! Fie on them, I say. But besides that, I enjoyed it. Our audience clapped every time Jennifer Hudson sang, and then again when her name appeared in the credits. I felt somehow bad for Beyonce and her enormous wigs. It's a strange thing, indeed, to feel sad for such a beautiful and talented (even if her specific talents don't appeal to you, I don't think anyone could successfully argue against the adjective) person.

We cooked an 8-lb. beef tenderloin on Christmas Day, and this morning I shredded up the leftovers and tossed them into a pot with a head of sliced up garlic, half an onion, crushed tomatoes, chili powder, cumin, salt and pepper. It's been simmering for almost 5 hours, and if you were to take a bite it would literally melt in your mouth. There's something a little off about turning filet mignon into something to put in a flour tortilla, but so be it. Pass the shredded cheese, please.

Vicarious Living And, Well, Waffles.

I may as well admit that I've been living vicariously through this blog since November. This Ms. Posie woman is like some kind of miraculous, shimmery, fairy-like person. Or at least that's how I imagine her. A gumdrop wreath? Handcrafted fabric dolls? Cupcakes of such exquisite perfection that I wouldn't dare eat them? And that's only the beginning. It's borderline insane; she makes Martha Stewart look like a bumbling amateur. I really should write to her and tell her how much pleasure she's provided lo these past few months and how her blog is the ultimate antidote to bah-humbug-ishness. But then again, some folks are meant to be admired only from afar. Such is the case, I believe, with the very magical Ms. Posie.

***

In other pleasant holiday news, my niece-in-law Sarah hilariously gifted my girls with a complete set of Hello Kitty appliances. Without getting into why they have already opened these gifts, I will just declare that if by some miracle you have been considering purchasing the Hello Kitty wafflemaker, you must do it. Because never, never, never in my life have I had better waffles. They're all fluffy yet crispy, and tiny enough to eat in one or two bites. I would not lie about such a thing, as I take waffles quite seriously. Shut up, I really do. Here is the wafflemaker:


And here are the waffles (they have regular waffle-y marks on the other side). The girls added chocolate chip eyes to theirs, but I required no such accoutrements:


And so, as you fall asleep tonight, I hope that visions of Ms. Posie's posy things and, yes, Hello Kitty waffles dance through your heads.

Today in Three Vignettes

I can't decide which is more disturbing: penis/bust enlargement spam or spam that says...

Then he slowly rolled over on his side and began the terrible job of getting to his knees again. Because you went on living to find out what happened next, isn't that what you're really saying? Paul jammed his teeth together and grimly told himself he would not vomit, would not, would not. Paul jammed his teeth together and grimly told himself he would not vomit, would not, would not.

What's that all about? Maybe it's not spam. Maybe someone is just sending out a getting-to-know-you-e-mail. In which case, I would have told him/her not to include the word "vomit" in an initial correspondence.

***

Day-to-day happenings are fairly predictable out here on the Peninsula. We are simply not privy to the stories that play out so obviously in every coffee shop, laundromat, corner store, bus stop and whatnot all over a city like San Francisco. And while there are days when I view this as lamentable, I can't deny—certainly since I became a parent—that I find comfort in the relative lack of drama. Still, I'm occasionally privy to something more than people in tracksuits sipping their latte or whatever and reading the Wall Street Journal. Today, for example, while waiting for my order at Kinko's, I watched as a large homeless man busied himself laminating his "Homeless—In Need" sign. He then purchased some hardware to turn it into a banner. And this image has kept me company all day.

***

Our neighbors one block over invited us over tonight to light the menorah(s). First the dad gathered the kids around and read the Story of Hanukkah (one of his kids had removed the paperclip that kept five complicated pages of war scenes segregated, and the dad accidently read too far into said pages to extricate himself. Quite hilarious to watch him fumble around, editing all willy-nilly), then we lit the candles on the three different menorahs (two kid ones and a family one), then they played the dreidl game, and then we got potato latkes to go, came home, and made dinner.

And I gotta tell you: latkes and pasta are not a bad pairing. Anyways, some photos (though, sadly, not of the latkes and pasta):

Sugarplums Dance

We're getting all gussied up and heading into the city for the family matinee of Nutcracker. They are serving cookies and cocoa at intermission, and the kids can take pictures with their favorite characters. Lea, of course, has her list prepared: sugar plum fairy, snow queen, and I think the rat king. I'm disproportionately thrilled about the cookies and cocoa and picture-taking, so much so that I'm sure to be disappointed. No doubt the cookies will be dry and the cocoa will be filmy and the sheer numbers of frantic children trying to score a photo op with, let's say, Clara will be enough to induce a migraine. But for now, four hours before curtain time, I will live in VerWorld, where the cookies are pleasantly warm 'n' chewy, the cocoa has been poured through cheesecloth, and a gigantic Nutcracker awaits me in my own private photo booth.

December, Remembered

For the past several years, December—arguably my favorite month of the year—has disappeared in a disconcerting flurry of shopping, cooking, inevitable colds, social obligations, card-sending, and all-around stress. By the time it's over, I have little memory of what occurred; all I know for sure is that the person looking back at me in the mirror needs a vacation and several spa treatments. But this year, I'm making a change. This year, I am reclaiming December! How, Ver? How are you reclaiming December? Please tell me so that I too may recapture the glory that once was. I'm doing it by adding yet another thing to my to-do list. Oh, but Ver, that sounds so antithetical to your stated purpose. Please explain.

[Aside: can anyone pinpoint the exact moment I started to talk to myself on this blog? I'm turning into one of those women with 400 cats who applies blush too liberally and wears a tinfoil visor so nobody can steal my thoughts...]

Anyways, this task that I've decided to undertake will leave behind a record of at least one thing that happened each day of the month. Every night so far, I've plunked my personage down somewhere and decorated these chipboard thingies. Here are the fronts of days one thru three:


And this is what's on the back. I haven't filled in the text blocks yet, but that's the least of my worries:



I guess it's kind of a twist on an advent calendar? I'm not sure. If I actually end up with thirty-one of these at the end of the month, I'm gonna do a little dance, videotape it, upload it to You Tube, and post it here.

You wish.

***

Writer's group was so excellent last night. I was in a goofy mood, probably because I hadn't eaten and had made the drive into the city with my heat seater turned all the way up while singing along at the top of my lungs to John Legend. I also double-dosed on Claritin because there's a dog at S's home. S's wife, who teaches in the writing program at USF, was holding her final class of the semester at the house, too, so in my deranged mind I set up this faux war between the groups and encouraged my fellow members to engage in some mayhem. "Let's fight them," I whispered. "Come on. I can totally take that guy in the argyle sweater."

But enough about my nonsense. I had my work-in-progress up for discussion and was so energized and encouraged by the conversation that I shirked today's errands and slipped into the library for some uninterrupted writing time. And then I was so pleased with my output that I took myself to lunch before rushing home to host a playdate for Lea. Now the girls are building some sort of Lego kingdom, there's a pot of picadillio simmering on the stove, the Christmas lights are on, and nobody is yelling, "Mama! Mama! Mama!" You know what that's called? A very good day. Plus, we're forcing bulbs and the first one has just opened:


[insert lame smiley face emoticon—possibly sporting a Santa Claus hat—here]

Hearth/Home

As you can probably imagine, I am deep, deep into the domestic. Pumpkin seeds are roasting, almonds are toasting, one soup is finished and the other is being prepped, cupcakes are cooling, and final costume details have been settled upon. The SU carved all the jack o' lanterns yesterday (of note is the clever kitty cat), we are fully stocked with candles, and we christened the fireplace tonight.

Right on cue, my FedEx from Rusty Zipper Vintage Clothing arrived today (you'll recall this is for the upcoming Saturday Night Fever party).

So much polyester, so very little time.

I'm torn between using the Vera scarf as a headwrap (it would create a very Rhoda Morgenstern look, if I'm not mistaken), which puts both said scarf and the super-disco twisty silver earrings at good advantage, or tying the scarf around my neck and leaving my hair down, which does a small disservice to the earrings.

And this is my life at the moment. Which makes me either ridiculous or fantastic. I can't decide which...