My grandma used to make eggnog. Every year. (Non-alcoholic because she was a very strict Southern Baptist who didn't believe in the cardinal sins of drinking, gambling or dancing.) I was an adult before I tasted "store-bought" eggnog.
o_0
Grandma never measured anything. She put in "enough". I think I've come close to her recipe.
8 large eggs 1.5 c sugar 2 c heavy whipping cream 4 c half and half 1 T vanilla 1 t rum extract 1 t nutmeg
In a blender combine the eggs and sugar. Mix until smooth and beginning to be a little fluffy, add heavy whipping cream and continue to mix until foamy. Then slowly add the half and half, finally add vanilla, extract, and nutmeg.
Grandma served it straight up. If you are squeamish about the idea that there are raw eggs involved, pour the entire mixture into a large saucepan. Over Med-Lo heat, while stirring, slowly bring the mixture to 160*F and maintain temp for 5 minutes to pasteurize. (It takes a long time to do this, but you can't heat it any faster or you will have custard instead of eggnog.)
It's been a quiet weekend around my place. After last week, we all needed some down time. So we have cooked comfort foods (cookies, eggnog, soup ...), we've played a lot of board games, we watched movies, and we made a fire in the fireplace
I don't know that we're completely ready for our week to start tomorrow, but we are feeling better.
I have been more at the mercy of my emotions than I can remember being for a very long time.
There have been several rather intense experiences this week that contributed to the storm.
As some of you know from past posts, I attended New Life Church when I lived in Colorado Springs. I've had dreams this week of walking through the building and seeing blood on the floor.
The boys have been sick.
Tucker had a major incident at school on Thursday, the first in two
months. It's worrisome as I try to figure out what to do next to help
him.
In a surprising turn of events, I have on my mantel three little boxes with my name on them. They are approximately jewelry sized boxes. Two are from my sister and one from my children (they told their Dad what they wanted to get me and he helped them shop.) I don't know what is actually inside the little boxes. It could be a piece of paper offering a free foot massage. But, I like shiny pretty things as much as any little girl and I find myself caught between hoping that these boxes contain shiny pretty things and the fear that they don't..
Work has been particularly intense as we received our license yesterday to act as a UCCC lender in Colorado. I'm the point person for getting all the documents, processes and procedures in place to begin lending on January 4.
My other sister had surgery this week. It was a fairly routine procedure to remove her gall bladder, but with her, nothing is ever routine. She has an amazingly large number of complicating factors and there's never any predicting how things will go with her. She also emailed to remind me of her funeral preferences just in case. - I'm guessing that was just in case I wasn't quite freaked out enough already. The end of the story is that she came through the surgery with fewer complications than she might have. At least for now, the funeral plans can go back into the vault.
I'm fighting with the Post Office. UPS, FedEx, DHL, and anyone else who wants to find me seems to have no difficulty. But the Postal Service which can deliver through storm, sleet, hail, and dark of night is apparently unable to conquer the 21st century apartment complex. I've received three packages this week. Or I should say that three packages have been sent to me. In every case, instead of delivering them the carrier left a note in my mailbox informing me that I can retrieve my package from the post office the following day. One of these packages was an overnight delivery with signature required. The carrier didn't even attempt to deliver it. I know this because when I found the note and went to the post office, my package was there - on the same day that I received the note - at 3:30 pm. That tells me that the carrier didn't even ever have it on the truck because the postmaster told me that the carrier already doesn't make it back to headquarters until after 5 and "he simply does not have time to make deliveries to people who live in apartments." I tried to let that go, but the more I thought about it, the more I became convinced that this is a battle worth fighting. If someone pays the $22 for a package to be delivered to me overnight, by golly, I want it overnight.
I'm crying over cards, music, lights displays, things people say to me, antics of the stupid cat (who has spent much of his week perfecting his Puss in Boots impersonation), and this afternoon I found myself incredibly touched by a moment in the Alvin and the Chipmunks movie.
Do you have a favorite Christmas music album? Or do you roll your eyes and wish that the muzak people would resist the urge to pipe the Carol of the Bells into every office and voice mail musical wait you'll experience for the next 12 Days?
You know me, I like stories. So my favorite albums tend to be concept albums that incorporate story with music. This year, my favorite is the Trans-Siberian Orchestra's Lost Christmas Eve. This album doesn't just come with liner notes, it comes with a book. Listen to how it begins ...
It was the night of Christmas Eve and somewhere on the other side of eternity (which is somewhere after today but before tomorrow) a tear welled within the eye of a beautiful young lady. The sorrow within the tear was so great that though it desperately wanted to stay with her to give whatever comfort it could, the weight of the pain caused it to fall. It fell through eternity, across countless galaxies, star systems, and universes until it found itself entering the atmosphere of our own world. There, while falling through the clouds it was slowed for a moment as it landed on a strand of the Princess of Winter's snow white hair. The tear ran to the end of that strand, where it lingered for a moment, before continuing its fall. The Princess, having noticed her small visitor, had blessed the teardrop transforming it into a snowflake, which allowed it to continue the remainder of its journey in a gentle descent among countless other snowflakes, until it landed in front of an old toy store ...
This album tells stories, wrapped together and viewed through the eyes of an angel. Stories of loss, and pain, of reaching out, and of the hope of redemption.
If a single tear fell from your eye into the ocean And then washed up on some far and distant shore I would still recognize that teardrop For in the end that tear would still be yours.
Oh, yeah, it's sentimental. Sometimes, I get really tired of being a realist. I know, some of my friends might suggest that I'm not a very good realist any time, but I feel weighted down by my cynical regard of life and people. I don't expect much. And although sometimes I'm pleasantly surprised, I'm less often disappointed than I used to be when I expected a lot more.
Every now and then, I'd rather go out on a limb and risk disappointment or worse for that moment of belief that the spark inside humanity is alive and that it is strong enough to overcome.
I wasn't really immersed in Christmas music until just a few days ago. It started the other night when I was having trouble sleeping. So I went to You Tube. And watched dozens of videos of Christmas lights synchronized to TSO's Wizards of Winter. There are some truly amazing displays out there. And yes, if I had the means and know-how, I'd do one of those crazy displays too. (I'd pick a different song.)
Tucker comes home from school early on Wednesdays. Often he likes to play with his clay to make little animal figures. So today, he worked and worked and made a bird on a nest. Then he started giggling. "If I had to sit on a nest that long, I'd get really bored, so I gave my bird a tv, and a remote. Can you hear it? Click, click, click ... Honey! We need more channels!"
I really miss my Air Supply Definitive Collection. I miss it so much that when they play the Wendy's commercial that contrasts the jalapeno cheddar bacon artery clogging special to the Air Supply burger, I think that the Air Supply burger is cute.
The school nurse called me this morning and said that Michael had a nasty cough and would like to come home. So I went to pick him up, but he brought work home. Joe the cat is very interested in essay writing.
"Hey Dude, isn't that supposed to be a semicolon instead of a comma?"
Cooking lessons. Yesterday, he asked to have the new Rachael Ray book. I wanted if for myself, but he said, "Mom, I think it's time for me to learn some real recipes."
As though making chicken chow mein were not a real meal.
Tucker lounging on his messy lower bunk while Joe the cat lounges on the upper bunk.
"Don't bother me, I'm keeping an eye on the people's here."
It's been three weeks since I fell and hurt my knee. I can't figure out why it's still hurting. And in fact, why it's hurting worse this week than it did last week. It's swollen, hot and tender to the touch even if it's just the fabric of my clothes doing the touching.
Last night, it kept me from sleeping well. It wasn't just that it hurt, it was that I've been watching WAY to many CSI type shows lately. I kept imagining that the problem is a chipped bone. And that a tiny bit of the chip, shaped kind of like a spear, was hurtling through my veins to attack my heart - or worse my brain. And I'd wake up in pain, and stupid, with a headache.
I know, normal is just a setting on the washing machine ... but as much as it ever is, today is a normal day. Tucker is back in school.
He had his normal round of protests, he was sure that he was burning up with fever (it was 97.0), then he was suffering chills (that was because I had the heat turned low through the night), then he told me that his shoes were too tight. We just bought them last month so I'm pretty sure that they are still wearable. And he had no appetite, until I made him a grilled cheese sandwich.
The kid is a sucker for grilled cheese.
Once he had food in him, and shoes on him. He got a lot happier. Or at least, he went to school.
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