Twas just weeks before Christmas,
And the house was a mess
As we searched through the clutter
We exclaimed, "We need less!"
The decorations unpacked
And the tree in its stand
I plugged in the lights,
This isn't what we planned.
The lights did not work
That is just not right
No more, that's it,
Get that tree out of my sight.
This year we will start
a new tradition of less
Put the red tree in the trash
We don't need this much mess.
With less decorations
Garland adorning the mantle
A simple wreath on the door
Our Christmas was handled.
But then my eldest
observed in complaint
A Christmas with no tree
Is like a church with no saint
So the red tree in the trash
Came back in the house
The lights rigged to shine
We all said our wows.
The tree condemned to waste
Had been resurrected
Put back in its place,
The broken lights retested
Like a Phoenix from the ashes
Our tree is reborn
It has come back to life
years more to adorn.
Friday, December 28, 2012
A Christmas Story - The Phoenix Tree
Friday, December 14, 2012
A Short History of Cooking
When I was a kid in middle school, my dad worked for the LSU Agriculture Extension Service. I am still not quite sure what that is, exactly, but I remember going up to his office occasionally and visiting the bug lab.
Anyway, one fall in the early 1980s, he came home and announced to my mother that the department was putting together a cookbook. And since the folks who thought up this idea were the men in administrative roles in the department, they had the idea of the cookbook comprising recipes from the wives of the men who worked at the LSU Agriculture Extension Service.
That conversation started one of the biggest fights I can remember between my mom and dad.
The first problem is probably obvious, my mother was not going to have anything to do with the antiquated concept inherent in the premise of a "wives' cookbook."
Second, my mother is not renowned for her culinary preparation skills, and I suspect she did not want her deficit in this area on display for the world to see. My dad was the son of a caterer with a rich history of Italian cuisine. My mom's mom served plain spaghetti noodles as a side dish every year on Thanksgiving. Do I need to explain their food heritage any further?
Third, and this is only a guess, but, I bet my dad was significantly influential in coming up with the idea of a wives cookbook. Keep in mind that he grew up eating fabulous food...all the time. My mother left home with only rudimentary skills in the kitchen. I think partly as a way to help expand my mother's cooking repertoire, and to help expand his own dining variation, my dad really wanted to encourage my mother to explore in the kitchen a bit more.
The fight between them came to a head a few days later when my mom, apparently acquiescing, gave my dad a recipe to submit for the cookbook. It went something like this:
Of course my dad was livid. He was embarrassed, and his manipulation backfired very badly. I think the rice cooker for a Christmas present may have challenged this event for the Bad Judgement Award, but the cookbook episode will live with me forever.
This is my culinary heritage.
And this is why, in my forties, I am just now learning to cook. I don't mean making mashed potatoes from a box of potato flakes, I mean making things like baked pheasant, chicken and sausage gumbo and spiced pork over roasted vegetables. I've recently taken to making my gumbo with a base of homemade chicken stock.
I don't know if homemade stock is any better than what can be bought at the grocery store, but I ran across a blog post by a "foodie" type that justified my gumbo process, Five packaged foods you never need to buy again. Number 2 on that list was "Never buy stock or bullion." I did not need to read any further, I was now justified! The article then linked to a method for making and storing vegetable stock, a recipe I am looking forward to trying out.
Bon appétit
Anyway, one fall in the early 1980s, he came home and announced to my mother that the department was putting together a cookbook. And since the folks who thought up this idea were the men in administrative roles in the department, they had the idea of the cookbook comprising recipes from the wives of the men who worked at the LSU Agriculture Extension Service.
That conversation started one of the biggest fights I can remember between my mom and dad.
The first problem is probably obvious, my mother was not going to have anything to do with the antiquated concept inherent in the premise of a "wives' cookbook."
Second, my mother is not renowned for her culinary preparation skills, and I suspect she did not want her deficit in this area on display for the world to see. My dad was the son of a caterer with a rich history of Italian cuisine. My mom's mom served plain spaghetti noodles as a side dish every year on Thanksgiving. Do I need to explain their food heritage any further?
Third, and this is only a guess, but, I bet my dad was significantly influential in coming up with the idea of a wives cookbook. Keep in mind that he grew up eating fabulous food...all the time. My mother left home with only rudimentary skills in the kitchen. I think partly as a way to help expand my mother's cooking repertoire, and to help expand his own dining variation, my dad really wanted to encourage my mother to explore in the kitchen a bit more.
The fight between them came to a head a few days later when my mom, apparently acquiescing, gave my dad a recipe to submit for the cookbook. It went something like this:
Seafood Salad
Preparation time: 45 minutes
Ingredients:Transportation
A working telephone
Directions:Dial 766-7823. Inform the person who answers that you would like to place an order to go. Be patient, you may be placed on hold for a minute or two. When they come back on the line ask for the seafood salad. Each seafood salad feeds about two adults, so be sure to order accordingly. Depending on when you call them, your order will be ready in about 20 minutes. After waiting an appropriate amount of time (this will depend on how far you live from the restaurant), drive to Mike Anderson's restaurant and pick up your order.
Serve chilled.
Of course my dad was livid. He was embarrassed, and his manipulation backfired very badly. I think the rice cooker for a Christmas present may have challenged this event for the Bad Judgement Award, but the cookbook episode will live with me forever.
This is my culinary heritage.
And this is why, in my forties, I am just now learning to cook. I don't mean making mashed potatoes from a box of potato flakes, I mean making things like baked pheasant, chicken and sausage gumbo and spiced pork over roasted vegetables. I've recently taken to making my gumbo with a base of homemade chicken stock.
I don't know if homemade stock is any better than what can be bought at the grocery store, but I ran across a blog post by a "foodie" type that justified my gumbo process, Five packaged foods you never need to buy again. Number 2 on that list was "Never buy stock or bullion." I did not need to read any further, I was now justified! The article then linked to a method for making and storing vegetable stock, a recipe I am looking forward to trying out.
Bon appétit
Friday, December 7, 2012
The secret lives of bald men
I am a bald(ing) man.
So when I was watching a generally uninspired episode of Family Guy with my teenage sons, there was an out take scene that I...well, just watch:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r9YETpQ1V74
First, a message to the episode writer, Danny Smith:
I don't know who you think you are, but how dare you reveal that there is a bald guy "thing!" However, I have to thank you for the diversion from the REAL bald guy thing. I think you know what I'm talking about.
Now for the purpose of this post:
My boys have had a fascination with my bald(ing) head since they were little. My oldest routinely attempts to rubs my head for good luck. He is often thwarted by my lightning quick reflexes.
Recently, I grew a beard. No, this is not part of "Movember" or "No Shave November," I have another reason that will be revealed in the future.
My boys have taken to rubbing my beard. Because it is there they want to touch it. It alternatively feels soft or like velcro. They are fascinated with my beard.
A couple of days ago, we had a foundation repair company come out to give us an estimate on fixing the foundation on a house we are considering for purchase. The guy that came out was probably 10 years my junior, but he had a full beard. I told the boys I trusted his opinion more than a opinion I received from another foundation company that sent out a beardless estimator. Naturally, they asked me if there was a bearded guy thing.
"Why, yes there is."
They asked, "What is it?"
"When you grow your own beard, you will find out."
So when I was watching a generally uninspired episode of Family Guy with my teenage sons, there was an out take scene that I...well, just watch:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r9YETpQ1V74
First, a message to the episode writer, Danny Smith:
I don't know who you think you are, but how dare you reveal that there is a bald guy "thing!" However, I have to thank you for the diversion from the REAL bald guy thing. I think you know what I'm talking about.
Now for the purpose of this post:
My boys have had a fascination with my bald(ing) head since they were little. My oldest routinely attempts to rubs my head for good luck. He is often thwarted by my lightning quick reflexes.
Recently, I grew a beard. No, this is not part of "Movember" or "No Shave November," I have another reason that will be revealed in the future.
My boys have taken to rubbing my beard. Because it is there they want to touch it. It alternatively feels soft or like velcro. They are fascinated with my beard.
A couple of days ago, we had a foundation repair company come out to give us an estimate on fixing the foundation on a house we are considering for purchase. The guy that came out was probably 10 years my junior, but he had a full beard. I told the boys I trusted his opinion more than a opinion I received from another foundation company that sent out a beardless estimator. Naturally, they asked me if there was a bearded guy thing.
"Why, yes there is."
They asked, "What is it?"
"When you grow your own beard, you will find out."
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