Master Brooks's Bookses: If You Give a Pig a Party

     You might recall a few months ago, I mentioned I would be getting a new baby brother and a new room. Well, guess what? BOTH have finally arrived! And I’m enjoying them both. Bennett—that’s my new brother’s name—can’t play with me yet, but I do like giving him kisses, patting him on the back, and holding him (with some assistance). But I’m REALLY excited about my new playroom! It has lots of storage for my toys and lots of floor space for playing with my Legos and trucks. What I like best about it, though, is my book nook. That’s right. There’s a cozy place for getting comfy while someone reads me my favorite stories.

Master Brooks's Book Nook

 

    Lately, one of those favorites has been If You Give a Pig a Party. This is from the delightful series of If You... books, written by Laura Numeroff and illustrated by Felicia Bond. The stories are based on the ol’ “slippery slope” theory. You know how it goes: If you do one thing, it sets in motion a chain of events—all of them bad. Except in these stories, the events that follow are good...VERY good. Events like a bumper car ride, a game of hide-and-seek, a sleepover, a pillow fight. The pictures of the crazy, winsome characters like Moose and Mouse make these events all the more hilarious, resulting in a truly delightful read. But I must add a word of caution. If you own this book, you’ll want to remove the jacket so it won’t get torn. Then you’ll want to sleep with the book hugged against your face. While you’re sleeping, you’ll start to drool, and you’ll wake up with a purple stain on your cheek. It won’t wash off, and you’ll go to school looking like you have Kool-Aid on your face. This will concern your mommy a lot more than it does you. And that’s not theory. It’s fact.     


When Bennett gets older, I'm going to read my favorite books to him!

 

2013 Father of the Year, Bill Clinton--The Perfect Choice

            In a cartoon in the Wall Street Journal, a rather academic-looking sort complains to a colleague: “The only way to create a sensation as an essayist these days is to write something mean about cats.”

            Oh, dear. As much as I’d like to create a sensation, I can’t do that. I’m not a cat-hater. I’m not even a cat-disliker. I enjoy cats as long as they belong to someone else. And, as many of my friends are avid cat-lovers, I don’t want to offend them. So for this post, I chose a slightly less sensational topic: Bill Clinton, Father of the Year.

            This morning as I assembled my breakfast, my husband read aloud a few of the news items of the day. I listened with half my brain, using the other half to concentrate on my omelet.

“Bill Clinton Is Named Father of the Year,” he announced.

Now he had my full-brain attention. 

            Of all the names I would’ve expected to receive this honor, Bill Clinton’s was not among them. Anywhere. I’m not a Clinton-hater. Not even a Clinton-disliker. I consider him neither any better nor any worse than other politicians we’ve dealt with over the past twenty years. I think he has certain admirable traits. He’s smart and charismatic, and he makes excellent speeches. He was able to work with a Republican Congress to actually balance a budget. And I’m sure there’s a host of women across the country who can testify as to his charm and persuasive powers. Had he been named Communicator of the Year or Compromiser of the Year or Negotiator of the Year, I’d have had no problem. But Father of the Year?

            Don’t think for a minute I hold one unfortunate incident against him. If his wife saw fit to forgive him, who am I to be less tolerant? Who among us hasn’t made a mistake of some kind? But if you believe that little romp with Monica was his one and only indiscretion, I’ve got some overnight wrinkle-remover cream I want to sell you.

            You might suggest that as proof of his fathering capabilities, I look no further than his daughter. I’ll be the first to admit she appears to be a likeable, intelligent, responsible young woman. She has managed to marry well and, for the most part, stay out of the tabloids, preparing for the day she’ll run for president. But I wonder how much credit the former President can take for her successes. In my twenty-something years of teaching, I learned the best efforts of good parents can sometimes fail. And sometimes children turn out well despite their parents.

            So in an effort to understand what I considered a dubious choice, I sought out the USA Today article which reported this news. I was curious to find out exactly what the selection criteria was. In my naiveté, I assumed the list would include the old standards. You know, those out-dated, boring attributes like honesty, integrity, loyalty, fidelity. Boy, was I wrong.

            According to the National Father’s Day Council Chairman, Dan Orwig, nominees are recognized for their “...profound generosity, leadership, tireless dedication to public office and philanthropic organizations.” Oh, yeah. Organizations like the William J. Clinton Foundation. This award has a lot to do with money. The choice was beginning to make sense. Orwig went on to say this award goes to “contemporary lifestyle leaders of our culture.” And then it became crystal clear. In fact, based on that criterion, I agree with the selection. Because if anyone reflects the “contempary lifestyle” of our culture, it’s William Jefferson Clinton.

           

Say "Cheese"...and Duck

           When I asked my daughter Kristin to send me a picture of Brooks in his new room, this is what I got.

 

Seems he’s going through a phase in which he hates to have his picture taken. I can’t blame him. I’m going through that phase myself. The difference is he’ll probably outgrow it. I'll only get worse.

             It’s kind of cute when a toddler throws himself face down on the floor and refuses to have his picture made, but not so much when his grandma does it. And the strategy of ducking right before the camera clicks doesn’t work anymore. It worked thirty years ago when it took weeks to get pictures developed, but in the age of instant photo-gratification, in less than a nano-second people are on to your trick. So through trial, error, and mortification, I’ve developed some coping tactics which—using myself as an example—I’m sharing with those of you who also suffer from photophobia. Feel free to use these the next time people insist you join in the group photo. 

EXHIBIT A: DON’Ts

 

 

 

 ·         DON’T stand next to, behind, or anywhere near the youngest, skinniest people in the group.   

        (I use the word skinny as a compliment.)

·         DON’T look at the camera face-on.
·         DON’T expose any more of your body than is absolutely necessary.
·         DON’T wear anything shiny on or near body parts you don’t want emphasized, e.g. thick neck, broad shoulders. (NOTE: If you, like me, have a weakness for bright, shiny things, don’t give up wearing them. Just remove them before having your picture made.)

 

 

EXHIBIT B: DOs

 

·         DO hide behind other people or position yourself on the row farthest back.

·         DO, angle your body to the camera.

·         DO cover or camouflage as much as possible those body parts you don’t want emphasized, e.g. thick neck, broad shoulders. 

Another helpful hint is to avoid squinty, “Porky Pig” eyes by smiling only with your lips and holding your eyes open. But a word of caution here: I STRONGLY advise you practice this technique in the mirror before trying it in a picture. Otherwise, you might come out looking scared. Or scary as evidenced below.

 

 

Finally, some advice for those annoying headshots we sometimes have to provide. To avoid the expense of professional lighting, photo-shopping, and air-brushing, your best bet is to follow this acronym: KISS (Keep It Small, Stupid). I might be the only person in the country who likes her drivers license picture. In fact, the last time I renewed my license, I asked for re-prints of the photo. The agent informed me she didn’t have the right equipment. That’s unfortunate because those stamp-sized pics are perfect for hiding wrinkles, fine lines, yellowing teeth, thinning hair, enlarged pores...whatever ails ya.
 

I hope these techniques prove helpful to you. If they do, please let me know, and if you have some of your own, please share. 

Wishing you Health and Happiness in the Shiny New Year!

(And thanks to the fabulously photogenic Inklings for helping me demonstrate my techniques!)

 

'Tis the Season to be...Confused?

                        About a week ago, my daughter texted me she’d taken Brooks (her two-year-old) to the library for story time. While there, she helped him pick out two Christmas books—one about Santa Claus, one about the nativity. They read the one about Santa first. Then they read the one about the nativity. Every time they came to a picture of baby Jesus in the manger, Brooks pointed to it and said, “Ho, ho, ho!”

                        My daughter is afraid he might be a bit confused. He probably is, but then he’s only two. I think a lot of Christian adults also get confused about the reason for the season.

                        Wait! Don’t stop reading! I promise this isn't another harangue about how Christmas is too commercial. I happen to like some of that commercialism. I like giving gifts to those I love. I like decorating my house so that it’s cheerful and festive for those who visit. I like preparing a meal my family will enjoy. But it’s a matter of priority. If those activities become my main focus, if they stress me to the point I forget the message of joy and peace the first Christmas was meant to bring, then there’s a problem.

                        So in an effort to remind you—and myself—to slow down, to reflect, to celebrate the true meaning of Christmas, I’m sharing my favorite Christmas carol with you. Every time I hear this song, it brings clarity to the season and reminds me again of God’s amazing gift to us. I pray it does the same for you.

                       

 

                         

Not a Facebook Christmas

            Last night I put the finishing touches on my Christmas decorations and lingered a few minutes to admire my handiwork. No, it wasn’t a Pinterest-worthy scene, but all the same, I experienced satisfaction. Fairy lights twinkled around the fireplace; the nativity and Santa Clauses were prominently displayed; the tree glimmered with crystal “icicles” re-purposed from a dismantled chandelier.

            If all goes according to plan (does that ever happen?), this Christmas should be happy and fun. My daughter and her family will be joining us. I’m already picturing a chaotic Christmas morning when a toddler lays waste to my decorating efforts. And I’m loving it!

            But in the middle of all this decorating and day-dreaming, my thoughts drift back to Christmas 1990. Even if Facebook had existed then, I wouldn’t have been posting about that one. A long, stressful year was drawing to a close. My husband had lost his job, and we’d moved to a new town. We were living in a rental half the size of our own house, a house still for sale in a sluggish market. My dad was going through chemo treatments for bladder cancer, and my brother was going through a different form of torture, a second divorce. There didn’t seem to be much to celebrate. And yet, what I recall most vividly about that Christmas was a moment of laughter.

            My mother and I were sitting at the table discussing those annoying Christmas newsletters. You know them: We’ve just returned from vacationing in the Bahamas, our son is graduating from Harvard law school, our daughter is engaged to a neurosurgeon. Happy Holidays, Fullofit and Felicity Feelgood.  My mom said she’d considered sending her own newsletter that year: Joe is undergoing chemo, my son-in-law is out of work, my son is getting a divorce...again. “That ought to cheer up folks,” she said. Then we started laughing. Laughing out loud. Belly laughing.

            As we laughed, I realized that in the midst of all that was wrong, so much was right. We had been able to come together as family, we had plenty to eat, we had a warm, comfortable house in which to gather. And we hadn’t completely lost our sense of humor. While we might not have had all we wanted, God had blessed us with all we needed and then some.

            The purpose of this post is not to brag about how good things are for me now but to offer encouragement to those whose Christmas might not be so “jolly” this year. Not all Christmas memories are warm and fuzzy. Not all Christmas experiences call to mind a Norman Rockwell painting. Deaths of loved ones, illnesses, family issues, financial problems, loneliness—all of these situations become intensified when it seems everyone else is celebrating. But even in the middle of our problems and woes, we can claim the promise of Christmas. Not a promise of a pain-free life, but the promise that God shares in our pain and will see us through it.

 

I wish you and your loved ones a joyful and blessed Christmas.

 

 

Circle of Friends Christmas Tea: In a Word--Piquant!

         “Are you bringing sweet or savory?” My friend Carol asked me this a week before the Circle of Friends Christmas Tea and Book Exchange. Little did she know that in asking the question, she provided the inspiration for the title of this post.

            I didn’t need to look up the definition of sweet to know that it means pleasing, agreeable, or delightful to the senses. Or, in the case of a person, amiable, kind, or gracious. But savory sent me to dictionary.com just to be sure I had it right. I found that savory also means pleasing and agreeable, but there is an added word—piquant. Piquant? I did another search. These are three definitions I found:

            1.  agreeably pungent or sharp in taste or flavor

            2.  agreeably stimulating, interesting, or attractive

            3.  an interestingly provocative or lively character

            Yes, yes, and yes! Our Christmas Tea is most definitely piquant! We had pungent dishes, attractive (or rather gorgeous!) decorations, stimulating and interesting conversation, and—as we have at every meeting—“interestingly provocative or lively characters.”  

            Since a picture is worth a thousand words—and since at this meeting I actually remembered to take pictures—I’m going to let them show you just how special this occasion is.



Carole's beautiful decorations provided the
perfect setting for the festivities.

Difficult choices for Paula, Anna, and Judy!

Eat your heart out, Martha Stewart!

Three days after knee surgery,
but Shelley was determined not to miss.
Yes, the tea is that special!

Our hostess, Carole.

Elizabeth was excited about her new book, but
we were excited about her announcement!
Check out the "rock" on her ring finger!

Brenda with her new book, Nothing Daunted.

Pat couldn't wait until she got home to
start reading her new book.
A true bibliophile!





 

 

There were waay too many great dishes to pick out a favorite, so I decided to give the recipe for Cheryl's Chicken Pot Pie which I promised in my last post. The best way I know to describe what an awesome cook Cheryl is is to compare her to me. Cheryl is the kind of cook who will taste a dish and say, "It's a light cream sauce with a little white wine and just a touch of basil. I can make this." I'm the kind of cook who reads a recipe and says, "Hmmm, sugar, cream cheese, and Oreos...what's not to like?" So while this recipe might look daunting, it's really not if you do it in stages. And the results are well worth the effort!

Cheryl’s Chicken Pot Pie

 

 Filling

3-4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts

3 cups chicken stock/broth

1 medium onion chopped

3 medium carrots cut into ¼” slices

2 stalks celery chopped

10 ounces baby Portobello or crimini mushrooms sliced thin

2 T soy sauce

1 T tomato paste

6 T butter

6 T flour

1 cup milk

1 T lemon juice

salt & pepper

minced parsley

1 cup frozen peas

2 potatoes

Cook chicken until just done. I sprinkle with Montreal chicken seasoning and bake for about 15 minutes at 350degrees. In Dutch oven add 2 T oil. Add onions, carrots, celery, diced potatoes (unpeeled), salt & pepper. Stir, cover and cook about 8-10 minutes until carrots and potatoes are tender, but not too done. If needed, add a little chicken to pan while cooking. Transfer veggies to bowl with chicken that has been diced or shredded. In same pan add oil and mushrooms. Cook about 5 minutes. Stir in soy sauce and tomato paste and cook until liquid is evaporated. Put mushrooms in bowl with chicken and veggies.

 

Bechamel

Using same pan, add 6 T butter, Melt. Add 6 T flour and cook 1 minute. Slowly whisk in 2 cups of the chicken stock and the cup of milk. Cook until thick. Then thin down sauce to the thickness you like with the other cup of chicken stock. Add salt & pepper, lemon juice and 2 T parsley. Mix sauce with chicken and veggies. Add frozen peas, Pour in pan. Bake at 425 degrees for 5 minutes. Add crumbles to top and bake another 10-13 minutes until pie dough is brown and done. Add parsley to top.

Crumble Topping

 

2 cups all purpose flour

2 t baking powder

1 t salt

½ tsp pepper

6 T butter, cut in 1/2'” chunks, chilled

½ cup finely grated parmesan cheese

¾ cup + 2 T half & half or whole milk

 

Combine flour baking powder, salt & pepper. Sprinkle butter over. Cut in batter with pastry cutter or pulse in food processor to pea size. Stir in parmesan. Add mile and stir just until combined. Crumble mixture into irregular pieces on a cookie sheet. (I put parchment paper on. Bake at 425 for 10-13 minutes. Set aside.

Enjoy! And I wish for you and your loved ones a Joyous Christmas Season!

 

"To Dance with the White Dog" -- a Southern Delight

             Terry Kay’s To Dance with the White Dog was the Circle of Friends book selection for November. From the discussion, I gathered everyone enjoyed this book as much as they enjoyed Cheryl’s delectable chicken pot pie (recipe to come later) and Brenda’s decadent brownies. I know I did.

            Kay is a southern writer, and the story is set in the south. I don’t know why I’m just now learning about him, as his first book was published in 1979, and he has written several books and won many awards. To Dance... was published in 1991 and made into a Hallmark movie in 1993. But somehow he managed to slip under my love-of-all-things-southern radar. Now that I’ve discovered him, I’ll be reading more of his works.

            The Friends liked that Kay—at least in this book—imparts southern “charm” and not southern “crazy.” Not that we’re totally opposed to southern crazy, but once in a while it’s good to let the rest of the country know we’re not all down here eating fried butter on a stick or entering our toddlers in beauty pageants. And we liked it because it is a “sweet” story. It has conflicts and an engaging plot but without the violence, hatred, and angst that’s prevalent in a lot of literature.

             I personally liked To Dance with the White Dog because it is a story about love—love for a spouse, love for children, love for parents, and, yes, love for a dog. And I think that last love is what made the story resonate strongly with me. In the protagonist’s relationship with his dog, I saw much of my own father’s situation. Over the past few years, my dad’s mental state has rapidly declined, and he bears little resemblance to the person he used to be. He is still a fairly easy-going, contented individual, but he remembers only snatches of his past. His children and grandchildren are strangers to him most of the time. His verbal communication skills are all but lost. Sandy, his mixed-breed German shepherd, is his constant companion. My mother and my sister take good care of him, but Sandy keeps him grounded in a world which must seem to grow increasingly confusing. She keeps him moving as he struggles to take her on walks. She sits patiently by his side for endless hours. And because a rub behind the ears and a responding lick on the hand communicate everything, no conversation is required, 

            Kay poignantly reflects his understanding of this man/dog bond in his book. He also addresses the challenges of growing old, the problems of dealing with an aging parent, the awkwardness of reversing the parent/child role. And he does it with respect, compassion, and humor. Even if you’re not a dog-lover (or a southerner), there is much to enjoy and contemplate in To Dance with the White Dog. 

 

  

PS  My mother takes this relationship in stride. One time someone said to her, "Gladys, I think Joe thinks more of his dog than he does of you." Her reply: "Oh, I know he does. He doesn't kiss me goodnight and tell me what a pretty girl I am!"