Category Archives: Holidays

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I Don’t Have Time for This

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I will admit up front that I am a Christmas procrastinator. However, I do have a couple of not-bad excuses for it. (Of course I have time to make up excuses – I’m not doing much of anything else.)

I have always preferred to do my wrapping all at once. I’m one of those people who has twenty-five different rolls of paper because I love to have all the different colors under the tree. I probably got the idea from TV in the days before I realized those people don’t actually wrap their own stuff. I should look into getting “people” to do it for me. I make a huge mess. Besides, I have to make sure all my daughter’s presents aren’t wrapped in the same paper, don’t I?

I’m also one of those people who likes to see lots of presents under the tree. So I have been known to wrap a stack of books in several different packages. And I like ribbons and bows. And ribbons really do look better if you get the skinny kind and make some of your bows by hand. But that’s a lot of work, so I can’t do it at the same time as I wrap because I would be too tired to care what things look like at the end and get crabby. And my husband says I get crabby enough as it is.

At one point, I was organized enough to get my shopping done by the end of November. Then I got married, got a real job, had kids, and got medicine for being bipolar. (I spend a lot less money, but around the holidays really miss those days when I could get twice as many things done at once.) All of that took up a lot of time. But the final straw came when Rascal moved in.

Rascal was a sweet, lovable cat with one really annoying habit. She never met a ribbon or bow she didn’t want to eat. She also liked opening presents. For years, every bow we had came with teeth marks. Not only that, cats don’t digest ribbon well. So we’d spend a fair amount of time cleaning up cat vomit.

This house has a sun room we can use to store presents. But the first one was really small. It was either wait to wrap the presents or continually repair things with tape. Eventually nothing could be opened without a knife on Christmas morning. Luckily I come from one of those families where the men don’t feel fully dressed unless they have a pocket knife.

I also like to power-bake over a couple of days. Once again, I make a huge mess and would like to limit the clean-up to one major sand-blasting each year. Besides, we want fresh cookies, right? My mother used to make a lot of pressed cookies (the ones that come out of the thing that looks like a lube/grout gun) and Mexican Wedding/Russian Tea Cake cookies. Those cookies start out so dry, no one can tell how old they are (at least hers did). Mine tend more to the chocolate chip/peanut butter variety which don’t hold up so well.

Bottom line? This was my week-end to prepare for Christmas. On Friday, we had a lot of boxes to unload at work. No big deal; I have a brace to wear at night and can barely tell by the next morning. I’d been having a little trouble with my shoulder, but that wasn’t interfering with anything, so I didn’t even consider that. My plan: I’d get up Saturday morning, get to work, and be ready for Christmas Sunday night.

Wrong. Apparently whatever I strained in my shoulder is connected to whatever I hurt in my hand. (Guess the song’s right about the shoulder bone being connected to the elbow, etc.) By 1a Saturday morning, I couldn’t sleep because of the pain. I finally got up about 7a. I could barely move my hand. I wasn’t sure which was worse, the pain or the constant feeling that my arm was ‘waking up’. I tried all those pain relievers (not all at once) that are supposed to allow you ‘to get on with your life’.  I had always made the assumption that they meant with minimal pain. I guess it just means they won’t kill you.

My husband told me I should go to the doctor. It was probably good advice, but unless the doctor was going to do the baking I didn’t really see it as a short-term solution. So I did the logical thing – took a couple of muscle relaxers (from the last time I hurt my shoulder) and slept most of the day. I didn’t get anything done, but I didn’t care.

So, now it is Sunday morning. My arm feels a lot better, but I have a hang-over from the muscle relaxers. I wonder how the family would feel about having all the presents in a giant box. They could guess which present was meant for which person.

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You Got Me That? Why?

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Now that you’ve finished shopping and wrapping, the tree is up, the cards are out, and the baking is under control, there’s one more topic we need to discuss. Why I would never be friends with someone so perfect. Just kidding. I’ve never met anyone who is at that point two weeks before Christmas, so you may be a wonderful human being. Or an alien. Or manic. (I’m bipolar. The one year I got everything done this early was before I started getting proper treatment.)

No, I’m talking about gift etiquette. Kids are not the only ones who open gifts and suffer from “You obviously spent a lot of money. Why on earth would you spend it on this?”

One year when I was in college, my boyfriend got me a large mirror. It was a cat amidst a bunch of houseplants with the title “In the jungle darkness lurks the tiger.” It was really cute, and definitely fit my personality. I had no place whatsoever to put it, but thought it was a great gift. My mother took one look at it and said, “Why did he get you THAT?” Can you tell she didn’t like him?

Of course, she is the one who got a pair of faux Louis XIV lamps from her mother-in-law to go with her Danish modern furniture. And a purple negligee from the same woman (she is neither the purple type nor the negligee type). They didn’t get along. I think she may have been living vicariously through me. She spent years bashing the gifts I got from various boyfriends. Fortunately she got more tactful by the time my husband started giving me gifts (or she liked him better).

While I would never advise my mother’s route of putting hideous lamps in your living room for ten years to show appreciation for the thought, I don’t recommend opening something and telling the giver “but this isn’t the one I wanted!” either. (Another relic of my pre-medicated days. My family is really, really grateful I found a decent doctor.)

I think it’s important to understand the giver. Obviously, anything you get from your child should be accepted with the same heart-felt joy they had in buying it/making it. No matter what it is, they genuinely thought you would like it and have spent a lot of time on it. Needless to say, this advice needs to go by the wayside somewhere over the age of ten.

While some teenagers still care about the recipient, I think some are more casual about the whole thing. “Oh, that’s right, you belong to the NRA. Sorry about the vegan food club membership.” Or, “I ran out of money after I bought gifts for [significant other]. But I’m sure you’ll like this soap from the dollar store. You always told me it’s the thought that counts.” A large percentage won’t care (or notice) if you return it.

Not so much with parents. Assuming they still like you and your spouse, they have put some thought into your gift(s). And they would like to think they know you well enough to know what you would like to have. So, if you receive another gift for your office (zen garden, aquarium, scorpion paperweight), be enthusiastic. They will never know that you returned it for the office basketball hoop with automatic return you really wanted.

It’s a little trickier with a spouse. He will probably notice if you return the sexy negligee for a flannel gown. By the time you are married, it is too late to tell him that it makes you feel like a slut (unless it’s a combination wedding/Christmas gift). We all know the gift is really for him, but there is usually something of a compliment in it. He won’t buy it unless he wants to see you in it. You can wear it one time for him. On the way from the bathroom to the bed. If you look as bad as you think you do, he won’t ask again. If you look as good as he thinks you do, you’ve got a new outfit.

Conversely, she’ll probably know if the boxers with “Gift from Santa” on the front disappear. (If you’re married to the girl above, you’re probably already happy with the gifts and don’t need my advice.) However, in your case, you need to find out whether it’s a joke or her idea of sexy. If they are accompanied by another pair covered in cartoon reindeer, it is probably a joke. If there’s a how-to manual for something you’ve never heard of, there are things you may not know about your wife.

Writing this has reminded me that the only thing that is done around here is the tree. And that is handled by my husband and daughter. You’re on your own with your bosses, friends and neighbors. Keep in mind: the tactfulness should increase based on the amount of damage they can do to your life/career.

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Bring Me a Figgy Pudding

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Pudding – [UK] a sweet and usually hot dish made with pastry, flour, bread,or rice, and often fruit: a stick toffee/treacle pudding  › [US] a sweet, soft food made from milk, sugar, eggs and flavouring, eaten cold: chocolate/vanilla/butterscotch pudding (Cambridge Dictionaries Online)

When I was little, I heard about plum pudding at Christmas. It sounded like a strange flavor, but grown-ups eat strange things sometimes. Imagine my surprise, while watching A Christmas Carol with my dad, to find Mrs. Cratchitt using a towel not to burn herself while serving the plum pudding. It looked like a brown lump of bread with raisins in it. I was close.

I found a recipe for it. The ingredients include whole wheat flour, fresh bread crumbs, shredded suet, eggs, carrot, apple, dark brown sugar, blanched almonds, preserved stem ginger in syrup, ground almonds, walnuts, candied cherries, raisins, dried currants, golden raisins, candied mixed fruit peel, plums, lemon, mixed spice, baking powder, and ale. Wow! This sounded a lot like my mother’s fruit cake recipe with suet added! Yum! Not only that, you have to steam them for 5 to 10 hours to set them, baste them in brandy or rum regularly, and steam them for 2-3 hours to reheat them.

I don’t care how much rum or brandy to add to it, that pudding is not coming to my table much less to my recipe collection. I wondered how the people who created the language had attached such an attractive name to such an, um, interesting set of ingredients. Of course, my mother’s family (from Cornwall) made tons of fruitcake every year. They liked to brag that they only used enough batter to hold the fruit together. I’m not sure it should be allowed to be called fruit once they petrify it like that.

With this background, I dreaded the thought of what figgy pudding might be. As near as they can tell, “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” originated in England sometime in the sixteenth century. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that figgy pudding really does sound like a dessert. It’s a kind of souffle made with figs and walnuts. They say it tastes a little like spice cake. You will have to either take their word for it or try it yourself. Sticky brown lumps do not made a tasty base for any food as far as I’m concerned. However the serving suggestions include topping it with whipped cream or ice cream, which speaks well for it.

Thinking I was on a roll, I decided that I would look into one more “English dessert”, mincemeat pie. Silly me. I was thinking pumpkin pie when I should have been thinking meat pie. My grandparents from Scotland loved meat pies. Based on smell, I had never asked what was actually in the pie. Since all the jars of mincemeat I have seen in markets here have no meat, I figured it was some sort of substitute for people who couldn’t afford real meat. At least I think that’s the idea.

The Victorian recipe I looked at has the following ingredients: lemons, tart apples, raisins, dried currants, citron, candied orange peel, beef kidney suet, nutmeg, mace, ginger, salt, brandy, beef (optional). You mix it all together and let it set a couple of days for the flavors to mingle. More time with no beef. I am not a huge fan of beef, but in this case I think it would be a positive addition. My first image when I read the recipe was fruitcake mixed with suet (kidney suet at that). I now understand why the American supermarket version emphasizes that it is made with raisins and walnuts. I think the brandy manufacturers had a role in developing these recipes; I’m sure the more brandy you use, the better they taste.

For as long as I can remember, our desserts on Christmas have been hot-fudge sundaes and home-made cookies. A couple of times, I got really motivated and made a buche de noel. I was pondering the idea of making a more traditional dessert to go with the roast and Yorkshire pudding (yikes – I never made the name connection). Upon further thought, those molasses cookies are sounding pretty good.

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Silent Night, Where are You?

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Or silent day? Or anytime, for that matter. Tis the season of Christmas at the store. I am grateful that we are not quite at 24/7 Christmas music. (We also heard Green Day, The Mamas and the Papas, and Bruno Mars once today.) However, we are close enough to bring out my inner Grinch.

I did not always dislike Christmas music. In fact, as a regular church-goer, I still love the Christmas carols we sing there (very traditional). I watched all the cartoons when I was little and still know the words to “Holly Jolly Christmas” and “Island of Unwanted Toys.” I love listening to carolers and choirs singing live.

But store music is to carols as Velveeta is to fine Cheddar from Somerset – a reminder that as things become more popular, the more likely they are to move toward the lowest common denominator (for the non-math people, this is not a good thing outside of math). Not to say that all was perfect in the past. My brother needed to listen to music when he was little to get to sleep. My parents had a record of Fred Waring’s orchestra playing Christmas songs. Eartha Kitt did a version of “Jingle Bells” that still makes me feel creepy. But nothing really gets under my skin that I only have to hear a few times each year.

However…

I no longer care that Michael Jackson saw his mommy kissing Santa Claus. Or that his brothers don’t believe him. Or that he’s going to tell his daddy. If he’d stayed in bed where he’d belonged, I wouldn’t have to listen to it three or four times each eight-hour shift. I don’t even want to think about the John Mellencamp version. The man had to be close to forty when he recorded it. That is just disturbing.

Then there’s the song that starts, “Last Christmas, I gave you my heart. The very next day, you gave it away.” I don’t know what it’s called or who sings it. (There are both male and female versions.) Why did he give her his heart? It sounds like one of those Mayan  religious rituals or that lady on “Once Upon a Time” who has an unfortunate tendency to reach into people’s chests and grab the heart. Who would she give it to? No one is going to want a heart that she apparently abused. Why is he still talking to her a year later?

Brenda Lee did a fine version of “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” and after all these years, her version is still popular and recognizable. Why would anyone cover that song in the same version? (Not sure, but that might be Miley Cyrus.) Whoever it is, sounds enough like Brenda to remind me of the original but then misses a few of the later notes. Note to singers: If you’re going to cover a standard, make it your own.

If Grandma was drunk enough to get run over by a reindeer, why didn’t someone walk her home? For that matter, what’s wrong with her son walking her home anyway? It’s dark. It’s a holiday. It seems like the least he could do.

I think the kid who wants her two front teeth for Christmas needs them because someone knocked her over running away from her horrible singing. I have only heard the song once in recent memory, but it continues to set my teeth on edge when I think about it. Don’t think about it, you say? Easier said than done when you listen to robo-music all day.

Finally, will someone please destroy all the copies of “Santa Baby” in existence? (Maybe I just don’t like Eartha Kitt Christmas music.) Yes, I know it was written by a woman (one of the few successful Christmas songs by a woman). And I know it’s supposed to be a joke. But the idea of seeing Santa in any sort of sexual role just gives the kid in me nightmares. And it should also come as no surprise that the Material Girl also had a hit with it.

I had a CD with baroque harpsichord Christmas music. I still think my family destroyed it. But if I can find it, I’m going to put it on the sound system and get my revenge.

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Give the Gift of Love…Give Bacon

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I love looking at catalogs, particularly the ones that come at Christmas. Some of them are beautiful, like the ones that come from art museums. But those ones aren’t any fun; I might actually buy that stuff for someone. The better ones are the catalogs with items whose recipients I can only imagine. What’s a little scary is that several of those catalogs have the same items. Are there really that many people out there who want Poop Soap? (rhetorical question, I don’t want to know.)

Every year, there are a couple of trends in these catalogs. Squirrels, cows, and rabbits have each had their time. But if you want to give a cutting edge gift this year, it seems you will have to go to the pig. The deceased, cut-up, and smoked pig. Everywhere I looked, there was bacon. Not the low-fat, low-salt semi-healthy type. We are celebrating the artery-clogging, fat-laden real thing you may remember from years past.

We can start with Bacon Strips Adhesive Bandages. They are advertised, “These bandages look like real bacon strips.” It comes with 15 bandages and “a prize to help take your mind off your boo-boo.” Nothing screams sterility and healing like bacon fat on your finger.

If your loved one is a fashion follower, he’s sure to want a bacon Sticky Tie. “Peel, stick, wear and re-wear these outrageous sticky ties.” They are promised not to tear, being fabric rather than paper. Just the thing for the next big presentation. You can also get ties that look like duct tape and beer. (No price break for a set.)

Tie not a bold enough statement? Get your loved one a bacon t-shirt. “Printed using a sublimated (?) ink process, resulting in crisp detail and vivid colors that look good enough to eat.” Actually, it is pretty realistic. There seems to be an emphasis on the fat in a slice of bacon and the grease will remind you of why it is healthier to put the bacon on the outside of your body.

Still looking? How about a bacon scarf? “A delish fashion accent for guys or gals, with everyone’s favorite rich marbled pork product knit in soft 100% acrylic.” Guess Spam isn’t considered marbled pork. Living in Michigan, I know it’s not going to be of any use in the cold weather coming up. I’d recommend it for someone who want’s to dress down that overly formal outfit they plan to wear on New Year’s Eve.

Even less formal? An “I’d Wrap that in Bacon” t-shirt. The write-up pretty much says it all: “You could fry it in butter. or smother it with gravy. But if you really want to go all nine yards, there’s only one thing for it. Bacon.” In other words, we know it’s unhealthy. We know it could kill you. But let’s celebrate it because we really, really like it. (Note to catalog editor: the phrase is ‘the whole nine yards.”. An early sign of too much bacon fat in the brain?)

Loved one more of the artsy type than fashionista? How about a couple of bacon ornaments for the tree? They are made of hand-blown glass, so don’t hold them after indulging in your favorite snack. The catalog says that it “makes a great gift for fellow members of the “Brotherhood of the Bacon”. There’s a great “fat” joke in there, but I can’t find it; insert your own.

This next gift could be used as a sign that you want to take your relationship to the next level. Nothing says I want to be close to you more than a matching bacon throw and pillow. “There’s nothing a little salt-cured pork can’t cure. And that includes the trauma of having a dull, drab, un-bacon-ified living space.” How the recipient responds will give you a good indicator whether you want to be on any level with this person.

Finally, for the purists among you, there is hand-dipped Marini’s Chocolate Bacon. “Premium thick-cut bacon is oven-baked until golden and crispy, then expertly hand dipped in Marini’s 34% cocoa Dutch milk chocolate or 54% French vanilla semisweet dark chocolate, creating a sweet, savory taste sensation unlike any other.” They say dark chocolate is good for you, so you can brag about the healthy gift you gave if you go with the French vanilla semisweet dark chocolate. (I wonder if being semisweet takes away the healthy. Maybe you should skip the healthy and go with the extravagance of the gift.)

I know you want to get on with your shopping. So, to do comparison shopping, you can find these items in the catalogs from Spilsbury, The Lighter Side, Wireless, and Hammacher Schlemmer (guess which one came from there?) There is also a huge selection on Amazon (you can even get a set of bacon and eggs for you and your bed-mate).

And if you find yourself on Christmas Eve with no present, just go down to the corner market and get a pound of bacon. If you really love them, get hickory smoked.

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Elves to Strike for Living Wage?

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As Monty Python used to say, “And now for something completely different.”

Grimm Report's avatarThe Grimm Report

A Special Report By Grimm Report Chief Polar Affairs Correspondent, Cathy Behnke
https://cat9984.wordpress.com

This morning there was a brief item in the North Pole Register (NPR) saying that Santa’s Elves are considering going on strike this month to force Christmastime Enterprises (CE) into paying them enough to support their families. More details would be provided as they became available.

Having lived up here for awhile, I decided to see if I could get my Elf sources to give me some more information. First I tried my closest friend, Herbie. But since he had been out of the toy-making guild for awhile, he referred me to a reliable source. This source refused to speak on the record. He insisted we speak Elvish for security reasons, so I hope I got everything straight.

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Peeps are Not Christmas Candy

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I blame red “licorice”. At one time, licorice was black. It was made from licorice extract (a legume).  They added extra flavoring, beeswax for a shiny surface, and molasses to make it black. Some licorice candy was flavored with anise oil instead of or in combination with licorice root extract. Note that it contained molasses to make it black (and add sweetness). Then someone decided that the licorice extract wasn’t necessary and started making it in raspberry, cherry, strawberry, and cinnamon. Now you can even get it in apple, mango, black currant, and watermelon. Pretty much all I can find are Red Vines and  Red Twizzlers. But I digress.

In the Dark Ages when I was young (don’t you hate things that start like that), we had sugar plums and marzipan. Just kidding. But candy canes were peppermint, and came with red and white stripes. If you added a green stripe, it signified spearmint.

I went to the dollar store with my daughter this afternoon (I love the dollar store). While she was shopping for supplies to send to a child overseas she adopted for the holidays (you’d swear the holiday had something to do with love and charity), I looked around. The only full-size candy canes I found were blueberry and cherry. I’ve also seen sour candy canes (seems like an oxymoron), Jolly Rancher candy canes, and lime candy canes. They are candy, and they are cane-shaped. But it just doesn’t seem right.

I have also noticed that a lot of candy bars now come in Christmas versions. A Christmas Snickers bar is a regular Snickers bar with a special wrapper. If I dress a dog as a sheep for Halloween, it does not become a sheep. The only difference I can see is that the manufacturer needs to throw away all the candy that didn’t sell because it won’t last til the next holiday season (it probably would, but it would be embarrassing if they got caught changing the wrappers to pastel for Easter). You can buy Christmas Butterfingers, Almond Joy, Kit Kat, etc.

I won’t talk about chocolate except to say that some of what is masquerading as chocolate candy better make sure no one ever asks for its family tree. You can get chocolate-flavored and vanilla-flavored stuff for covering your Christmas goodies, like dipping your Rice Krispie treat in fake vanilla candy coating

All of this was traumatizing enough. Then I saw the Peeps boxes. You know what Peeps are – those bright yellow, pink, and blue (?) pseudo-marshmallow candies they sell at Easter in the shape of bunnies and chicks (peeps – get it?). Well now you can get brown peeps in the shape of Christmas trees. They are chocolate-mint flavored. There are probably others out there but I don’t have the heart to go over to the display. It was bad enough when they were stealing good candy ideas. Now we can get bad seasonal candy at all holidays.

So if you’re a traditionalist, you’ll want to look into the real barley candy at the Vermont Country Store. Of course, you’ll have to buy it on-line. There is no actual store.

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Everyone’s Confused; It Must be the Holidays

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Something strange happens every year about this time. It’s the migration of the once-a-year shopper. Either that or the beginning of cold weather affects our brains more than scientists have admitted to us. All of a sudden I start getting a lot more questions about where to find things in the store. Way more than could be accounted for by the increased number of shoppers.

For example, a woman is looking at a display of cheese, “Where are the spices to use in a crock pot?” I explain to her that she needs to be looking in the spice aisle. She looks a little relieved and says thank you. I’m not sure why she thought she would find spices at the end of an aisle that says cheese.

“Where are the frozen vegetables?” I assume they want to know which aisle. I start out with, “They’re with the frozen foods, in…” As I fumble for the aisle number, she says, “Oh, that makes sense! Thank you.” I’m left to wonder whether she really didn’t understand that frozen vegetables would be with frozen food.

“Do you sell red hots? They come in a jar.” I look puzzled. The only red hots I know are hot dogs at the ball park and cinnamon candy. He says, “They come in a jar. They sell them at other stores.” I ask him whether they are meat, vaguely remembering something rather odd looking in a jar in the meat department. “Yes, that’s them.” So I send him to the meat department. Hopefully I hadn’t been looking at pickled eel or something.

“Where are the drain covers? For a kitchen sink.” I’m holding a box of cheese. I go across the aisle to look at kitchen implements, pretty sure it’s not the right spot. I said that I thought he would need to go to plumbing (the other side of the store). He asked if I could call someone who knew. So I called the manager who said they were in the plumbing aisle. And I took him to the same place we had been headed five minutes earlier.

“Where are the large slices of cheese? They used to hang on this wall.” She’s on one side of me while I kneel, stocking. I point to my other side. “Oh that’s right! I knew they were here somewhere.”

“Where are the large packages of processed cheddar cheese?” I tell her that we only sell the one size. “No you don’t. They go right here.” She points at a spot at the bottom of the cooler. I tell her that we don’t have cheddar cheese in those spots, just American cheese. “Then you just got rid of it. You always had it there.” I don’t know what to say. It hasn’t been there for the past two years I’ve been in the department.

“Where’s the gravy?” I tell her which aisle it’s in; two aisles past where we’re talking. “I’ve looked everywhere. It’s in a jar.” (What’s with the jars – do people think we keep them all together?) So I get up, and see a manager at the end of the that aisle. I walk toward him, and she follows. About halfway down the aisle. “Oh, here it is! Thank you!”

“Where’s the canned pumpkin? I’ve looked in fresh vegetables and fresh fruit and can’t find it. Do you have it on an end-cap?” I take her to the pie fillings and she gets what she wants. If she had told me that she had searched canned vegetables and couldn’t find it, I probably would have been a little less surprised by the question.

It’s not just the customers. A cashier wanted to know if she could give a rain check to a woman who wanted cheese slices that were out-of-stock. Her manager explained that since the item was not on sale, there was no need for a rain check. The woman could come back at any time and get it for that price. At least it was a new cashier.

I got the Thanksgiving shipment of cream cheese today. Two pallets of it. Due to space considerations, I put it on two (very heavy) carts which an extremely strong person from the grocery section helped me get into the cooler. These carts are intended to be used as storage so we can take out cases as we need them (not move the entire cart). I placed signs on each one saying that they should not be moved unless there were two people doing it. A while later, a guy from the deli comes up and asks if I can help him clean up the cream cheese in the cooler. “I needed to move it to get the chickens out. I barely moved it and it all fell over.” There was no way for one person to move it without jerking the cart to get it to move.

I asked him whether he had read the sign.

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Mice: They’re Not Just for Snacking

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This morning my husband comes downstairs, says good morning followed by “Kommando has another mouse.”

When we moved to exurbia awhile back, I understood that in return for the extra space there would be some adjustments. At the time, the house had LP heating (at better than $400/month to heat the house), a well, and a septic tank. We still have the well and septic tank, but fortunately a natural gas line was put through. The neighbor on one side is close enough that we could hear when he played really awful music really loud. But the other three sides are pretty much open. But what we don’t have in humans, we make up for in critters.

Most of the critters are pretty cute. Although it is almost impossible to have a garden, I like looking out and seeing the deer and rabbits. The raccoons and woodchucks are cute, if somewhat destructive. Every once in awhile, there’s a possum, skunk, or coyote. We have some small, harmless snakes. And then we have the rodents. I realize that the more scientific of you will disagree, but I count the mice and bats as rodents. Why bats? Both my grandmother and husband have tried to get me to like them by telling me that they are just mice with wings. I don’t like having mice in my house and I don’t like having bats there either.

Looking back, I do feel a little bad about making my husband get the bat off our son’s ceiling the same day he had shoulder surgery. But a few years later, while he was on a fishing trip another bat got in, and I had to call a neighbor to remove it. Both of those were pretty embarrassing, but the worst came a couple of years later. I had the house to myself, with everyone else out of town.

One night, I heard scratching at the baseboard in my bedroom, but couldn’t see anything. I turned out the light and went to sleep. My head itched, and when I scratched there was something in it. I screamed and tossed it on the bed. Turned on the light and couldn’t find anything. In the morning, there was the bat. So don’t let anyone tell you that bats won’t come near you. That one was trying to cuddle with me. Needless to say, he quickly joined his friends outside.

From the day we moved in, there was scratching in the walls. My husband said it was natural, we had moved into an old farmhouse. Lovely. I figured as long as they stayed in the walls, we could coexist. The day before Thanksgiving the first year, I was alone cleaning when I saw the first one. He was sitting in the living room looking at me. I do not like mice, and I particularly don’t like mice who look at me rather than running. Our two “city” cats were nowhere to be found.

Eventually Rascal discovered that mice were great fun to play with and made excellent gifts when dead. She became a skilled hunter, extremely patient and quick to pounce. The other cat, Critter, became more skilled as well. The highlight was the night she brought one of her “toys” to bed and started to play with it. Needless to say, that was a one-time event. Critter was also the one who pounced on the bat in the hallway. Apparently she thought they were just mice with wings too.

Unfortunately, like the rest of us, the cats aged. Eventually they both lost their hearing. Until the end, Rascal would sit in the pantry, watching for mice. For awhile, the mice held the upper hand.

Last summer, we got another set of cats. SuperSnoops (she put her nose into everything when we brought her into the house) aka Snoops came from the shelter. Kommando Kitty was left as a kitten. A repairman found her in the window well. He got her out, and she proceeded to try to leap across the window well again to get in the window. Sweet cat; a little impulsive. Unfortunately neither cat showed any mousing skill. I could hear snickering behind the walls.

As you may know, fall and spring are moving seasons for mice. They go to and from their winter homes. Ours had gotten a little too complacent. Snoops discovered that they like to come out at the basesboards. Every evening she goes on “mouse patrol”. This week she was finally rewarded. Three one day, two the next, and so on. Kommando has no patience, but is learning from a master.

I’ve never been a fan of those “circle of life” wildlife programs. It’s a little disconcerting to see it in your own house. Particularly since our cats have the instinct to catch the prey, play with it, and kill it, but absolutely no inclination whatsoever to eat it (they seem to find the idea somewhat revolting). Sometimes, we don’t even get to the kill part. Kommando in particular, subscribes to the catch and release school of mousing.

Before you start to think of our house as akin to a Roman arena, I would like to clarify that the mice brought this on themselves. Once we had put all of our pantry foods in plastic tubs and other containers, I thought we had sent them a clear message. However, they also like dry cat food – a lot.

So the cats are simply protecting their food. And my food. And my furniture. And my sanity (such as it is).

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The Return of Roka Blue

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If I can get raspberries in February in Michigan, why can’t I get Kraft Roka Blue Cheese spread? Or pumpkin-flavored cream cheese spread? Or eggnog? If everybody hates fruitcake, why do we still sell all of that candied fruit? If there are still people out there who like it, why are they only allowed to like it at the end of the year?

A true indicator of the holiday season at Ralph’s is the arrival of the Roka Blue spread. It comes in one of those little 7 oz. glass jars that are so small in diameter that getting out anything past the first inch is a major accomplishment. I usually give those projects to my husband who has much more patience at it than I do. Don’t suggest that I just break the jar. I have dropped it from various heights at work, and the jar is indestructible. It’s easier to break a cream-cheese tub. Trust me.

Anyway, I digress. These spreads come in three flavors: Pimento, Old English, and Roka Blue (oddly, I couldn’t find pimento on the Kraft site). The Pimento and Old English are available year-round. We carry the Roka Blue for about four months around the holidays. Why the difference? Because people like to make blue cheese balls for the holidays. Huh? They also like to make cheddar balls for the holidays, but that doesn’t mean we only carry that part of the year. I can’t remember the last time someone offered me something with pimento as the main ingredient (but I think I was still in grade school). Pimento sells more poorly than either of the other two flavors. The Kraft website carries 20 recipes for Roka Blue and only 8 for Old English. I figure there must be a conspiracy against the blue cheese, keeping it off the shelf. Or parochialism. The “real” bleu cheese gets to stay all year.

The customers who are upset about the absence of blue cheese spread in the summer have kindred spirits with the people who like pumpkin cream cheese. It is an eagerly anticipated October arrival each year. I don’t really understand the attraction. But I don’t understand the attraction of vegetable cream cheese either. If I’m going to eat something as decadent as cream cheese, I don’t want it to taste healthy. It isn’t like the pumpkin industry isn’t doing it’s part to keep it on the shelves. There are recipes for pumpkin pancakes, soups, chili, and lasagne. Canned pumpkin is available all year. But pumpkin can’t seem to break out of the “seasonal food” category.

The one food that appears this time of year to the most fanfare is eggnog. You can’t go anywhere social without someone offering a glass of it. There are recipes for pancakes, cookies, cakes, and other treats. However, if there was ever a product that is associated with Christmas, it’s eggnog. Probably some leftover tradition from the days when people could only afford something that extravagant once a year (back when they actually used eggs and cream to make it – the alcohol continues to be authentic). You never see anyone being kissed under mistletoe in July either. Or having a cup of wassail.

We can’t have chestnuts roasting on an open fire anymore. Most of us don’t have open fires. And most of the chestnut trees were killed by a fungus at the beginning of the 20th century. But that’s OK with me. When I was little, my mother bought some roasted chestnuts from a street vendor. I don’t know whether it was the vendor or the chestnuts, but they were soggy and bitter.

I think marzipan has suffered a similar decline in popularity. My mother’s mother and aunts used to make mountains of marzipan oranges, strawberries, and other fruits. They were absolutely gorgeous. And tasted like bitter almonds. I do not have the time or patience to make something I don’t want to eat. Besides, who would want to eat something that looked like a fur-ball (which is as close as I’d get to making an orange)?

As I’ve been writing this, I realized that I don’t like most of these foods. I love bleu cheese, but think that cheese spread is mutant. I have tried eating various treats over the years and always gagged at the taste of pumpkin even when it wasn’t identified (a major surprise since I love squash and am addicted to sweets). Eggnog contains two of my least favorite food (eggs and milk/cream). I love almonds as a nut, but find them overwhelming in a lot of recipes.

So I’m wondering. Is there a way to make horseradish seasonal and get it out of my coleslaw (where it makes my tongue swell)? How about arugula? Of all the greens in the world, who decided that bitter was needed in salads for diversity? Maybe chocolate-tasting (not chocolate) foods?