Still Cookin'

It's a black moment in my kitchen, with cookies and meringues cooling, dicing and slicing, browning and whipping, peaking and poaching going on. I pretend I like to cook and play house elf. Don't get me wrong - I love to eat. And this is the time of year when extravagant goodies are not only allowed, they're encouraged. I guess what I don't like is the expectation that it's a good gig, fun for the kitchen slave, and it's expected. As my grandmother once said: "Four hours to make that pie and it's gone in ten minutes. Not doing that again." If only food lasted, like words on a page. Or something stitched up. Or painted. The ephemeral nature of food is what gets me - I want my art to stick around for more than a meal. I so admire people who can stand in a kitchen for hours and come up with one amazing creation after another, unconcerned that it's about to end up in someone's gullet. Or maybe it's just that I want to be the one with the gullet and not the tired feet, LOL. Yeah, that's it.

The lack of Christmas excitement in the stores in a real downer. Normally, I absorb all the rush and bustle like sunshine. Crowds and lines make me smile. Not this season. Finding a parking space is way too easy, and for the first time I can remember, there're no lines of cars creeping into the mall at a snail's pace. Bummer. Where can I get my holiday jollies? All my gifts are wrapped, mailed, or under the tree, so I don't even have that excuse to enjoy the days before Christmas. Come on people, it's not that bad! Christmas should have a surfeit of happy moods and silly singing aloud in the car as the same carol is repeated for the thousandth time. Let's get with the program! Or I may start cooking again, and believe me, you don't want me to do that.

Women and Food

This is a mini-rant of sorts. Since I'm confused, I'd love to have an answer to my Big Question.

Why do women diet at parties? I mean, the point of a party is good food, good friends, and lots of both. I swear, I see women nibbling on celery sticks, and I want to strangle them. Why go to the party if all that lovely food makes you miserable? The host or hostess goes to a ton of trouble to prepare juicy morsels, and women act as if the tables are laden with poison.

Now men, they eat. No issues with seconds or thirds. I'm with the guys on this one. Diet tomorrow. Eat an apple for lunch. But don't insult the hostess by acting as if her lovely food was designed to kill you. It's all an act, anyway. We know you go home and stuff your face with potato chips because you're so danged hungry.

There, mini-rant complete. Can you tell I'm not happy at all with No Nascar? Hanging in there, barely. . .

A Good Book and Eclairs

I just finished a mystery titled WALK IN HIS MOCCASINS by Craig Johnson, and boy howdy, did I love it. Wish I'd written it.

Many years ago I wrote a manuscript on spec about the Children of Dust, and my then-agent told me it'd never work because it was ancient history and no one cared about Amerasians anymore. Since it had murder, intrigue, and music, I figured there were other selling points, but she didn't see it that way. I may drag that book out of dust bunny hell, if I can find it, and re-read it for the heck of it.

Now, I'm not giving away Johnson's story, but it involves a Child of Dust. Go forth, buy the book, and plan a day or so to enjoy it. Give it to yourself for Christmas.

The Christmas decorations are slowly finding their way around the house and yard, I'm picking up the Frazier fir tomorrow, and if the darned leaves will ever stop falling, it'll start feeling like the holidays around here. If the ancient oaks and maples all over our property weren't so gorgeous the rest of the year, I'd be tempted to commit tree murder and have them removed. I can't remember a fall where the leaves are still coming down in December as they are this month. My love-hate relationship with them is now full-fledged hatred.

My oldest has a birthday tomorrow, making me feel very old and nostalgic. Just today, I was remembering her terrible-two stage when she was hell on wheels. Hmmm, the more things change, the more they stay the same??? The good news is, she's a feisty woman with her own mind, which means we did our job raising the young 'un.

Made eclairs today. It was the only viable alternative to raking and moaning about it. With no January Nascar testing in Daytona allowed this year, I'm complaining to beat the band about that AND the leaves. Guess that means I have to write harder to keep my mind off the no-Nascar horror of these months with no racing.

Or eat eclairs. Hmmm...