wishes for the new year

Let's try to savor the quiet time in December 

between the end of the old year and the beginning of a new one. 

May the coming year be filled 

with creativity, love, peace, prosperity and possibility!

xoxo,

Petunia

cue the mariachis!

We want to wish you a Merry Christmas from the bottom of our hearts!

do you believe?

Kris Kringle: You think I'm a fraud, don't you?
Dorey Walker: Fraud is a bit too strong of a word.
Kris Kringle: But you don't believe in me.
Dorey Walker: I believe that Christmas is for children.
Kris Kringle: Well your daughter doesn't believe in me, either.
Dorey Walker: I don't think that there's any harm in not believing in a figure that many do acknowledge to be a fiction.
Kris Kringle: Oh, but there is. I'm not just a whimsical figure who wears a charming suit and affects a jolly demeanor. You know, I... I... I'm a symbol. I'm a symbol of the human ability to be able to suppress the selfish and hateful tendencies that rule the major part of our lives. If... you can't believe, if you can't accept anything on faith, then you're doomed for a life dominated by doubt. 


Well, I think we all know how this ends, don't we?

you'd better watch out...

This has definitely got to be
one of the weirdest things I've seen in a long time.

 

What ever happened to the good old days,

 when all a boy wanted for Christmas was a Red Ryder BB gun?

You'll shoot your eye out, kid.

Naughty or nice? You decide.

clement clarke moore is rolling in his grave right about now...

'Twas two days after Christmas, and all 'round Camp Cactus

Not a creature was stirring...they were all out of practice;

The stockings were emptied, the presents unwrapped,

Just recycling the paper left our energy sapped.

Girl child and puppy cuddled snug in a chair,

Whilst commercials on TV continued to blare;

And Poppa in his rocker, a cat in his lap,

Had just settled down for a little nightcap,

When out on the porch there arose such a clatter,

Cat sprang from his perch, sending cocktail a-splatter.

Away to the basement he flew like a flash,

As the dogs began barking and got into the trash.

While he hid in the basement, an unearthly light

Lit up our street like Las Vegas at night,

Then, all of a sudden we heard a Bronx cheer,

As the neighbor's bright decor again did appear,
With rope lights and candy canes, and icicles galore,

They had no competition, that was for sure.

(photo borrowed from these guys)

More brilliant than searchlights, those ornaments were,

And they blinked and played music and caused quite a stir;

Blow up Snowman and Snoopy and reindeer aplenty,

And penguins, I swear there were as many as twenty!

Then the cars came! And vendors! And people on foot!

I found myself wishing Christmas would go kaput!

Our street filled with gawkers and kids by the dozens,

All with their cellphones, taking pictures of cousins.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard in the sky,

A TV news 'copter in a prime-time fly-by.

As I closed all the curtains and turned my head 'round,

Through the door a reporter burst in with a bound;

He was dressed in a parka, his news station's logo 

Emblazoned all over, from his head to his big toe;

A microphone clutched in his hand like a club,

The former top newsman was now a poor schlub; 

His eyes -- they looked haunted! his complexion, how scary!

His cheeks were all puffy, his nose like a cherry!

His mouth was a grimace, drawn up like a bow,

And his teeth, oh! his teeth, they were whiter than snow!

The poor man was a wreck, hadn't slept in a week;

And the stress, it showed up in his flabby physique.

He had a broad face and a big ol' round belly,

And his nerves made it shake like a bowl full of jelly.

He was chubby and bent, a right shaky old elf

And I gasped when I saw him, in spite of myself;  

A tick in his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know he was just filled with dread;

He asked all his questions, finished his interview,

And fulfilled his damn duty to me and to you,

And laying his microphone down by the door,

He escaped out the back to be seen never more;

But I heard him exclaim, as he fled from the lights,

"Happy Christmas, my ass! This holiday bites!"

with apologies to Clement Clarke Moore

a holiday tradition and a giveaway

Every family has its holiday traditions, whether it's latkes at Hannukah, or clam chowder on Christmas Eve, or black eyed peas on New Year's Day. In Dave's family, one sure herald of Christmas was the arrival of his mother's fudge. And lest you say, "Oh, my mom/grandma/aunt makes fudge!", I assure you this is not your garden variety fudge. This is fudge so creamy and smooth and light, you'll find you've eaten an entire pan of it before you snap out of the bewitching spell it casts.

I've heard people say that fudge is easy to make, and I agree that on the face of it, it appears to be the case, but in reality, it is not easy to do well. It requires a degree of expertise, and I might add, very strong forearms and wrists to pull off correctly. In this case, Fern (my mother in law) had the expertise, and Ray (my father in law) had the muscle. They made a great team.

Shortly after they passed away, my sister in law entrusted me with Fern's fudge recipe, and I had no idea what path that formula would set me on... now, almost twenty years later, I've made hundreds of pounds of the stuff, with no hopes of slacking off any time soon.

It all starts with a few very basic ingredients: butter, sugar, and milk.

These are brought to a very specific temperature


and more stuff* is added, after which you stir, stir, stir, stir, until you think your arm will probably fall off...and then you stir some more, until it's creamy and glossy and smooth...

(and by the way, that heart really did appear randomly- I'm not that good with Photoshop)


and then you taste it to be sure it's perfect...




and pour it into Fern's original perfect fudge pans.

After it's cooled, you cut it into squares and package it up in nice little square boxes with labels...

(Fern skipped this part and gave it out in pans and tins and whatever boxes she had saved during the year...she was very frugal that way)

and then you send it out to about a million family members and friends, and friends of friends, and kids of friends, and the mailman, and your hairdresser, and the garbage man, and your co-workers, and so on and so on, until you've made about 30 or 40 pounds of it, and you never want to smell chocolate again....and then you taste it to make sure it's perfect, and somehow feel compelled to make yet another batch.

In the spirit of the season, I'll be giving away a box of Fern's Famous Fudge. To be eligible for the random drawing, just leave me a comment, and my trusty assistants will eat draw your name from a hat food bowl.

cheers!

*This is a top secret recipe. My lips are sealed.

heads up!

I was going to write a quick little post about the weather today, but I got sidetracked just now with some breaking news. Check this out:



Too bad that Iraqi journalist missed. Got to hand it to old Dubya, though. He certainly has quick reflexes. According to the reporter on FOX news, White House press secretary Dana Perrino was also smacked with a microphone (not sure if it was an unrelated incident) and could have a black eye in the morning...

So, on to the weather update: It's snowing, and I thought I'd take the pups out and attempt a Christmas card photo shoot.

Abbie was very cooperative.

And so was Cooper.

We're gonna have to work on the reindeer idea, though.