Kitchen edition continued

If you read the last blog, you'll know about my kitchen remodel. I've been educated in the finer points of the remodeling gigs. It's not fun.

Some of my friends are laughing at me. Most of them know me well enough to understand I'm just not into the perfect house, perfect decorating, perfect, perfect thing. I don't see the point. If the house is comfortable, clean (at least mostly clean), doesn't have springs poking out from the couch or chairs, has a place to put my tea cup and an ottoman, I'm happy.

I've said before, I would be more than happy to tell someone what color palette I like (that's another one of the those Home & Garden buzz words) I'd be more than pleased to go away for a month and return to everything completed. I just don't care that much...at least that's what I say. However, truth be told, I am pretty fussy with some of this stuff. I sure know what I hate.

I went out the other morning with a mission. I told myself I would not return to my house until I had certain items needed for the completion of this remodel in my hand our on it's way. I gave myself 6 hours to complete the task.

Can I tell you how many distractions and delays I had? It was incredible. I HAD to get coffee in order to function (I forgot to add that to the equation), so a stop at DD's for coffee. Standing in line I thought I'd better get something to eat, since my plan was to do all this with no other food breaks. I bought something light and yummy. I turned around to find two of my friends excitedly calling me over to their table. I tried (honest to God) to tell them I was on a mission, and couldn't be deterred from it, but it didn't work...I sat down.

One and one half hours later I was on my way again. Oops, I forgot I promised Larry I would stop at the bank before completing my mission. At the bank, I was approached by a long time client of mine asking for some help on one of their missions for that day (I had a fleeting thought that perhaps I could pretend I was my twin (I don't have one, but I could lie) and try to flee. You know I couldn't do that.....

One hour later, after helping the poor guy with his stuff, I was on my way again. You understand , I had yet to accomplish one thing of my mission for the day.

Finally after a complete morning of ADD, (not my ADD but all the other folks who brought me into THEIR ADD) (attention deficit disorder-in case you don't know what ADD is...although in this day and age of acronyms you must be living under rocks or something), I arrived at my first destination.

The faucet place... I walked in, told the nice man my dilemma about the super expensive faucets I had seen and was not going down that road. The guy was very nice about my ranting, smiling and nodding(I know he's been down this road before with other women. He knew enough to let me rant). Finally, when I needed to take a breath, he took a chance and said, " I know what you're looking for and I'm going to show you...". I stopped him in his tracks and said, "Does the faucet have all the features I've asked about? Is it the finish I want? Does it cost a reasonable amount of money? Do you have it in stock so I can take it with me?" He looked at me and said, " Wow, you're really gun shy, huh?" By that point in the conversation all I needed to do was to nod in agreement. He said, "Affirmative! to all the questions". I said, "I don't need to see it. Wrap it up!". He did, I paid, I left. One thing done.

Next stop, tile store. I walked in, found a sales rep, said, "This is what I want. Do you have it?". Showing him my sample (this sample was another story for another time...believe me...). He looked at me and said, "I have others like this...do you". "Stop! don't say another thing. I can't look at any other tile. I need to know if you have this one", as I held up the tile I wanted. He said, "Yes, we have that but....". "No", I interjected, "you just have to let me know you have this in stock and you have enough to do my job. Honest, that's all I want to know". He said, "Gun shy, huh?" "Yeah, yeah, I am. Now please, do you have the tile or not?" "Yes" Thank God, an affirmative answer. I said, "OK wrap it up". He did, I paid and on to the next place I went...

Floor store was the next place. Have you any idea how many floors you can buy out there in "floorland"? We shouldn't have so many choices in this country, it makes us crazy, at least it makes me crazy.

to be continued

Cooking Disasters 101

Look, I'm a pretty good cook, but I have a tendency to "experiment" at times. Most of the times my experiments are good, well, at least mostly they're edible and you won't die. Sometimes though, the experiment goes bad...A lot like the experiment with Frankenstein... I should explain.

I love farmers markets. I love to buy all the fresh new vegetables and sometimes there are some vegetables I don't know much about so I buy them to try. This doesn't happen often because there are not many I haven't tried and most of them I like...with exception of okra...I can't seem to find a way that tastes palatable to me. It seems slimy and slippery. It's a consistency thing with me. I'm sure there are ways to cook the stuff that would pass muster, but I haven't experienced it yet. I'm just not a fan.

This week was the first week the farmers were outside with their wares. I walked around the vendors looking at what they had to offer. Most of the stuff was green leafy stuff and I bought some of it, but there was one thing I knew about but I hadn't experimented with it before, so I had to buy it.

The stuff is called "Ramps", or spring onion, wild leeks and a number of other names. It can be found in the Northeast and in the mountains of Appalachia. They have Ramp festivals, why? I don't know but they do. It grows in wet lands. Ramps are a cross between onion and garlic. They're definitely more pungent than leeks. In fact some folks think they smell like a combination of garlic, onions and goat sweat... Believe me that's not too far off the mark. Normal people would read that description and shy away from buying it, but I'm the adventurous foodie, not quite as far out as Andrew Zimmer of Bazaar Foods, but I'll try things.

The farmer I bought the ramps from made sure they were meticulously clean. They grow in wet muddy ground so they're usually coated with mud. Cleaning them can be tedious. They looked beautiful. It's great to see the first veggies of Spring. You have to get these things out of the ground quickly because they turn nasty if left in the ground too long...That should also have given me a clue about the little green leafed devils...

I chopped one up and put it into a salad, one mind you, not a bunch, one. The salad was on the counter when Larry came into the kitchen and asked me if I had forgotten to shower that morning. (This was the second clue...). I laughed and said it was probably the onions in the salad he smelled. I wanted to belt him, but I've become kinder in my old age. That, and it hurts to punch someone.

We ate the salad, along with some other food and we lived. I figured I'd find some other recipes online for the green devils for the next night.It sounded like a rational thought.

Ah...potato, ramp soup, sounded pretty good. The base was chicken stock, so how bad could it be? Well, I'll tell you, it looked like normal soup, but the smell was...aromatic? noxious? putrid? I honestly don't know what to call it. It wasn't something that normal people should have to smell.

Larry had been downstairs, he came up and said, "Oh my God, what is that smell, and can we find it to kill it?' I didn't think it was that bad, but then I hadn't left the room for a while so I was used to the smell.

I served the soup along with crusty bread and a small salad. It looked pretty good. As I brought the soup spoon up to my lips, I got a whiff of the smell. Honest to God, it sort of smelled like paint thinner. Stupidly, I ate the soup. I ate half of the soup, to be honest. The first mouthful almost didn't go down. You know how that is, you put something in your mouth and something about the substance isn't right. Your brain is saying to you, "listen, numb nuts, you better not ingest that, cause I'm going to rebel". Did I listen? No, I didn't. (when will I learn?). Larry, good sport that he is, really tried to eat it, then I think God took mercy on him and caused him to drop the bowl and spill it all over himself. He got three spoonfuls into his body before the reprieve.

We both thought better of eating more of it. The toilet ate it. I thought we were going to be OK, until an hour later. All Hell let loose, as well as my bowels. My brain rebelled and told my bowels to expel the offending stuff from my body ASAP. My insides must really be scared of my brain because they listened to the brain and nearly exploded before I got to the bathroom...

Larry is still in hysterics, laughing his head off. The house smells like goats have been working out with weights and treadmills in an over heated gym, and haven't seen hide nor hair of any deodorant or showers for days. I'm hoping it's warmer tomorrow so I can air out the house.

"Ramps" that's what they're called, stay away from them. This has been a public service announcement!

Remodeling, your space? your head?

I think the Home and Garden network is out to get the American public. I have friends who now speak the, "H&G language". You know what I mean; "designing on a dime", "staging" their house, "bang for your buck","curb appeal",generation renovation". You get the picture.

It seems as though every sentence pops with a buzz word from the H & G channel. Most of my friends are far better "designers" than I am, and I'm intrigued by the lingo they use, so I figured, what the heck, I'm getting ready to remodel my kitchen, I'll sit and watch some of these shows to get some ideas.

There's no doubt some of the shows have some great ideas, if you're living in California, have an unlimited budget, or you're under 35. Since I am none of those, I find the programs a bit off putting. I thought the program that touted being able to design something new and different without selling your first born, would be the show for me. Unfortunately, I guess I don't fit the demographic they're trying to lure. I have a hard time trying to convince Larry that sprayed aluminum pie plates are the next artistic wave of the future. The folks who were doing the spraying on TV must have been in an enclosed room too long with the spray paint if they thought their "work" looked good. It didn't. My friends who watched the same program thought it was bit of a stretch as well, so I'm not that far off the mark with my comments.

I did watch a program with a host who showed how to redecorate a home in California. As I watched the show it had potential, I thought. The couple were not much younger than me, so I assumed they would have similar thoughts on decorating. I didn't think we'd be seeing spray painted pie plates on this show. I was correct.

This couple had moved quite recently from the confines of their apartment in New York City. They needed "space, to spread themselves, to understand who and what they were". (puke) They were moving lock, stock and barrel to the west. California was the place for them. Yep, they traded one coast for the other coast. Far enough, I thought, a need to change their lives. What I didn't know until after the break for commercials, was these folks were over the top wealthy. They didn't seem to think they were, but trust me they had big bucks.

I kept watching the show to see what they were going to do with this perfectly good home to make it, "more theirs". The house was 5000 square feet, of palatial interior, not to mention a gorgeous landscaped yard. Their furnishings gushed wealth. The biggest problem they faced was how to position their grand piano and the enormous vases they purchased in the bazaar in..Zanzibar? Morocco? South Africa? Who knew, who cared? I was trying to figure out where they had those things in their apartment in NYC. Then I realized, their idea of an apartment and my idea were obviously two very different concepts......

After watching the host, and the team she had helping, the furnishings were "staged" ( damn it, the lingo is catching), so the living room (the size of my whole house I might add-actually bigger than my house), was completed. I looked at the before and after shots they were showing and decided there was never going to be a time when I would have anything that looked remotely like these folks' house, so why was I watching this stupid show. I turned the TV off and decided to get real.

I do need to remodel my kitchen. I'm doing that right now. My kitchen is old and worn. It needs a big face lift. I sat down, pen in hand and wrote all the things that needed to be done. The list was pretty daunting, and I knew for sure this project was going to take experts to complete, not Larry and I. I needed help, and needed it before I started to buy things.

My friend is a designer. Her husband works with a contractor. They're honest, sometimes brutally, but that's what I needed. They agreed to help out. I had no idea what I was in for in this "little" project.

People tell you when you want to do something in your home you should go to houses and see what others do. They tell you to look in magazines, watch the H &G network (yeah, right....after I win the Lottery) and ask around. So I did all of that and came up with what I thought was a pretty good idea of what I wanted, how much I planned on spending and how I was going to finance this venture.

I didn't know how much stress and aggravation I was getting myself into. I wasn't totally naive, I knew there were going to be things that would blow my mind, I haven't lived under a rock these last years, so I had a pretty good idea of what I was facing. I thought. I have been educated this last couple of weeks. I knew NOTHING...nothing I tell you, to prepare me for the onslaught of what I was about to learn.

Are you aware you can buy kitchen faucets for $3500.00? and that's not the most expensive. $3500.00, that's what I paid for my first brand new car, for crying out loud. What makes a freaking faucet cost $3500.00? It's a piece of bent pipe, with a spout, a handle with a valve to turn the water on and off (probably made with some other kind of not so showy metal and plastic- you know it's plastic, and you know it's made in China -and they're not getting $3500.00 for making the damned thing!). How can it be worth $3500.00? That was my first eye opener. There were many more to come.

After the shock of the faucets, I went on the the cabinets...The ones the contractor picked out were OK, but they were very similar to the ones that came with my house 40 years ago. I felt I could spring for something a bit more eye catching. My first foray into the world of cabinetry was like Alice going into Wonderland.

The cabinet salesman (and he was a man-a man I have decided was a savior in jeans) led me by the hand to the books of cabinet listings. He then asked me a bunch of questions about what I wanted from the cabinets (this was more like an interview for a job-or marriage). I was having a hard time understanding the cabinets and I had to be a good fit in order to be happy. Where was I, on some far off planet? This certainly wasn't what I expected from Lowe's. He explained all the variations of cabinetry, the whys and wherefores of options (who knew?), what the cabinet could do for me, and what I could expect from the cabinet. I was clearly out of my depth. I needed my designer friend. I was in the glazing over of the eyes stage. I just about jumped up to run screaming from the store. I felt the old anxiety attacks creeping into my body. I bent my head down, taking deep cleansing breaths, as I said I would be back to continue at another time when I could control my emotions.

I stayed in the parking lot a few minutes to collect my thoughts. At one point I thought my kitchen didn't need to be remodeled. It was fine with the torn wallpaper, the cabinets that were shimmed to level, and the sagging base cabinets. Who cared if the door of the corner cabinet fell off if you grabbed it wrong? Yes, I could live another bunch of years without the dreaded remodel.

I drove home, happy with the thought I would live another day, and be happy with my worn, but loved kitchen. I felt I could rest easy in that knowledge, until, I walked into the house and looked at the kitchen. The door askew from the casing, the wallpaper looking torn and scotch taped, the floor with cuts in it as though some neighborhood toughs were using it for a knife contest. I had to pull myself up and look at my reality called, the kitchen.

I awakened the next day filled with anticipation and hope. I knew I could do this, I would do this, I would be the conqueror. I am woman hear me roar!

My designer friend, Mary, sat with me as a repeated everything I learned from the Lowe's savior in jeans... She listened intently as my inadequacies poured from my lips. She patted my hand, held my hand when she thought I needed it, and spoke gently and quietly telling me it was going to be all right. We'd get through this together.

We walked into Lowe's as though puffy white clouds were showing us the path. The sky was blue, the air crisp and clear. We were on a mission and by God we would prevail. The savior in jeans was at our side in an instant with his books, his knowledge and his ever present smile...

With Mary's help, the savior in jeans and my own common sense, we ordered cabinets. Then on to the flooring, the tile back splash and the dreaded faucets.......I thought I was in the clear. I could do this. I was well equipped to conquer this remodel. I WAS woman. Then I found out I had to purchase all the cabinetry hardware. Who knew it was a separate purchase? I thought you had to pick from two or three choices and it came with the cabinets. WRONG!

So...I'm now going through websites and books to see what kind of cabinet pulls and handles are available. You thought faucets were expensive? Ha! I think I'm going to climb into bed and pull over the covers...

to be continued....

If I'm going to work, I'm getting paid!

A couple of years ago my boss decided to retire. It was no surprise, we had talked about it. Although, with his retirement I had to make a decision: 1. Retire completely or 2. Create a new position. I opted to create a new position. The question was, how in the Hell to do it...

I had a degree (along with a zillion other people looking for new and different things to do with their lives). I was older (older than dirt). I knew I needed to keep my mind active and I also knew I had to be out of the house part of the day or else be charged, eventually, with murder or at least the manslaughter of my significant other who is fully retired. I was well aware that living joined at the hip with him was not the best thing for either of us.

I had time to make the decision during the month after my boss retired. That was a month I worked for the "Home Office"... shudder. As I worked for them I observed how other offices performed their tasks. I made notes and came up with a plan of action. As soon as my sentence was over (working with the Home Office group) I put the plan in motion.

I wrote to all the other owners of similar businesses and proposed an idea to give them an opportunity to hire me as a "floater" of sorts, to fill in when they needed help, or to train new folks. I had experience in all aspects of the business and could, run their offices for them, for a fair price. I waited for my first call. My significant other thought I was nuts. No one had done what I was proposing exactly before, so I was in virgin territory. I was sure this could be a very good opportunity for both me and the owners. I waited with no calls coming in.

After a month my first call came and I went to the office to help out. I had a blast. I was able to say, I would work when I wanted, for as long as I wanted. If that was OK then I worked, if it wasn't...oh well, too bad, their loss.

The problem I didn't anticipate was the number of calls I received looking for my help. I thought it was a good idea, I didn't realize it was a great idea. I became known as "The Buzzard". I sort of hovered over the businesses waiting to swoop down and work when needed. I kept myself up to date with all the new programs and software so I wasn't overwhelmed when I went to offices after a couple of week away. It's been pretty good so far.

I thought by doing this kind of work I'd have all kinds of extra time to volunteer or at least to learn something new, or join some public service organizations. What I didn't realize was some organizations take up more time than others. I also didn't know how some organizations can almost draw the life blood out of you if you allow it. Sometimes you don't know it's happening until it's too late. I got out in time.

I gave myself a year to see if I could do the work with the volunteer organization. The folks I worked with were very passionate about what they were doing. I was not. I was more concerned about the completion of projects then get on to the next project. They were more interested in tweaking and rewriting the same things over and over again. I felt as though I was trying to run through jello when I was part of groups trying to conquer the unconquerable.

I started to observe the folks in the groups and decided it was me, not them who was in the wrong place. I didn't fit in. I am very direct, blunt and sometimes a bit rude, especially if I think my time is being wasted. I figure I'm real old, I don't have a whole lot of time to waste, so get on with it... This was not the group for me.

I also observed only a core group of folks do all the work. I know that's the way it is in volunteer organizations, but I like to be paid. I was doing work and my payment was not in the form I desire. I want hard cash. I understand when you do volunteer work, the work should be payment enough. But I'm honest, it wasn't enough for me!

Control seems to permeate throughout the volunteer organizations I've observed. Someone always has to be the controller. There is usually a main controlling personality (and there's a need for someone in that position-for a limited time period). Then there are sub-controllers. They're the ones who head committees ( again, you need someone to avert chaos-to a point) Every one of the groups have folks who get drunk with power. It's really pretty funny to watch. I did like my position of observer, for a brief moment I thought I'd stick it out just to stay as, "the observer".

As I watched from my perch, I created names for those in controlling positions. I tried not to be catty, but I didn't win. I became so damned catty I was ashamed of myself. I didn't stop though I just kept it to myself. One I called Captain Hook, involved in everything and sometimes made others ineffective in his quest for the unattainable. Another I called, "Ms. I've been doing this so long, there's nothing new for me here". One of the many I really liked was named (in my head), "Ms. I'll do anything to avoid confrontation". That person was probably the one I will miss the most. Luckily that person will continue to be a valuable asset to the organization and keep it on the up and up.

During my time of observation, I found I was not doing things I like to do, like write. I found I was too tired, too frustrated or just too... to sit down for an hour or two to put words on paper. It took me several days to understand my participation in the volunteer organization was beginning to suck out energy and life from my soul. It sounds drastic and weird, I know, but it was giving me adgida and a big headache.

So, the bottom line...I don't work unless I get paid. I don't have the patience, nor the passion to work in a position that doesn't say "Cha ching!" at the end of the week...At least I'm honest.

God's Waiting Room

I'm not being disrespectful, honest, but the place I'm in right now (the physical place not the emotional/psychological place) is truly God's Waiting Room. It's cold in Northern New York (freakin freezing) so Larry and I head South to Florida to relax in the warmth and sun of Punta Gorda Florida.

Punta Gorda is on the Southwest coast of Florida, between Sarasota and Fort Meyers ( I know, what do you care where in Hell it is. If you're reading this then look outside to see snow and ice you really don't give a damn about where I am at the moment-but somebody might want to know, so I'm telling them).

Punta Gorda was slammed by hurricane Charlie several years ago and you can still see signs of the hurricane all over the place. Where there were buildings, there are holes, like someone who has missing teeth when they smile. Last year we saw many buildings in the state of repair, but most of the other buildings didn't survive the hurricane so they've had to rebuild, a lot. We are witnessing a rebirth of sorts here.

Most of the folks who come down here, and the ones who live here are old. I mean O-L-D. I don't think I've ever seen so many scooters (not the kind you ride for pleasure, the kind that gets you in and out of shops and down the aisles in markets running over those of us on two feet-without even a "sorry") or other wheeled conveyances in my life. The ones in the conveyances are the good ones. They can get around. Most of them have big huge vans with little hydraulic platforms on the back of the van for their little scooters, so they can move about freely. They're the ones with the handicapped hangers on the rear view mirrors...(They can't see when their vision is not obscured but yet they put those hangy things on the mirror to further mess up their vision-nuts).

Honest to God, I think some of these folks are the living dead...This is an observation here, not disrespect. The worst part of all is the driving. You must be a defensive driver here at all times.

The men are really bad. I think they feel driving is one thing they have control over, so watch out world here they come. They take the most ridiculous chances when pulling out of parking spots, or worse yet pulling onto a major 70 mph highway. I'm beginning to think this is a new form of attempted suicide for some....or maybe a game of chicken I'm not old enough to know about...I know one thing, I watch out for these nut cases.

The women are nicer about their lack of driving skill. I watched one lady on the same 70 mph highway, hunched over her steering wheel, head pushed forward, squinting...yes, I said SQUINTING as she kept her old Buick at a consistent 45 mph. She smiled as everyone went by her giving her one finger salutes as they passed.

We've gone to some events here. A Banjo band (all the songs sounded the same, they were all 75+, but they were having a ball....), a Robert Burns night (actually I met some folks who knew my family in Scotland...that was a mind blower), A Celtic Festival, and assortment of other smaller events. Everything here starts early in the morning and finishes early in the afternoon. Now, I know what you're thinking, "Things start early to get away from the heat of the day". Yes, that's what I thought too, but that's only part of the reason. The real reason is everyone takes naps in the afternoon so they can stay up until 8:00PM. Then go to bed for the night, to wake early the next morning to be the first at events.

Garage Sales start at 7:30 am down here....and you better get there at 7:15 to get a good spot or else someone in a scooter will run you over in their zest to get at the nick knacks. By 8:00 the frenzy starts to subside, the true garage sale folks have gone on to other venues and the normal folks start to arrive to look over the leavings.

I have to give the old folks credit ( of which I am official one this year, since this is the year I can start to collect Social Security- and you bet your sweet bippy I'm signing up for it ASAP) for their ability to do anything. As I said before many of them look like the living dead. They are not well but down here their life is easier than where they came from. It's a good thing they can be down here in the sun and take advantage of the weather. I just wish some of them would hire drivers.....

Clootie Dumpling, or The "pudding" that attacked the world...

Some of you don't know that I'm a Brit. Or more correctly, I'm a Scot. I was born in Scotland eons ago and came over here with my parents when I was a kid. It's kind of cool having dual citizenship, I am a dual citizen since I never gave up my British citizenship. It doesn't mean a whole lot, but I do get to have some extra privileges when I go to the UK. I get to go through the customs as a UK citizen, while my husband stands in line with all the US born folk waiting to go through... I stand and smile at him...OK, truth be told, I gloat at him. He hates standing in line, and on more than one occasion he's said, "I stood in line for four years in the Navy, I wouldn't stand in line anymore, even if it was to see Jesus Christ on the cross". That may be a bit of a stretch but then again, I wasn't the one standing in chow lines in the Navy, so maybe there's a bit of truth in the statement.

OK so here's the deal. At the holidays I try to resurrect (no pun intended, after the above comments about Jesus) some of the old holiday traditions I learned from my Mom and her sisters. Christmas was always a big deal in our house. We didn't have any relatives over her in the Colonies so we "picked" our relatives. Our friends were the relatives we lacked. My Mom would have our house filled with friends, and friends of friends, over the week between Christmas and New Year. When I think back to those days, I think she was trying to compensate for the lack of family for me.

She would make all kinds of foods. Some of the food she made was pretty ethnic...You know what that is? Innards and all the things most folks over here wouldn't touch with a 10' pole. But if they didn't know what it was....you get the picture. My Mom was a great cook. She learned all about cooking from her Father, who was a professional cook, amongst other things... Someday I'll go into that....

My Mom taught me all the things she learned from her Dad, and I in turn have taught my kids. Consequently, there is no sauce that I can't recreate after tasting it, nor are there many dishes I can't recreate. I seem to have inherited the "tasting" gene (it helps me when I go to wine tastings...hmm...maybe I should think about a new career change...no, I'd just get drunk).

One of the biggest things (literally) at celebration times was the creation of the "Clootie Dumpling". A "Cloot" is a cloth. A big cloth, usually made from linen, or something that can hold a huge pile of flour, raisins and all the other ingredients.

The recipe is an ancient one, and most families have given up the tradition to make the dumpling to serve on the holidays. I decided this year, since the family party was falling on December 21st, Winter Solstice, we should really do it up and have all the traditional food stuffs, including "THE CLOOTIE DUMPLING".

I found the old recipe, all stained and yellowed. I matched it up with a couple of others I had come across when looking for the "real" recipe. The ingredients were available. At least I could buy them, I didn't have to sacrifice a cow, drain blood and chop innards...Most of the stuff was at my local grocery store.

This thing takes a lot of ingredients and it's messy. The assembled ingredients were all over the kitchen and the dining room. I had the needed water boiling in a vat on the stove (a big vat). I had the cloth ready. I was ready.

I had to dip the "clootie" into the vat of boiling water, pull it out, let it drip a bit, then wring it out. (Does anyone know how to wring out a big cloth when it's been soaked in boiling water, and NOT burn the Hell out of your hands??I sure don't...I had at least 2nd degree burns on my fingers...and the pain....Hell...it was worst than the first kid coming out....). I finally got the cloth out, then I had to spread it over the table and put flour on the wet cloth, spread the flour to the ends of the cloth...(Got it? So now you have a big wet slimy cloth dripping water and what appears to be library paste all over it).

You let the cloth "set" or "rest" while you make the dumpling. Now, as I stated, I had all the ingredients out and ready to hit the decks running, so I figured I'd be golden. I found the largest bowl I own and started putting the first group of ingredients into the bowl. So far so good, I had the flour ( all 6 cups of it) the 9 teaspoons of baking powder, two cups of breadcrumbs, cinnamon, ginger, salt, allspice and the shredded beef suet (1/4 pound of the artery packing cholesterol stuff) in the bowl. There was only one way to mix this...in went the hands, up to the elbows in the mix... I had to make sure the suet was rubbed into the dry ingredients and the warmth from my hands helped to melt the suet into the blob that was forming. I added the eggs, molasses, and milk and continued to massage the blob. I added the raisins and the currants. Last, but not least, I added all the trinkets that make the "pudding" into the celebratory thing that it is. The trinkets are wrapped in tin foil and poked into the mass. A heart for love, coins for wealth, something for good health, strength, and whatever else you want to put in for fortunes for the New Year. Finally I could see this thing was forming into something, I wasn't quite sure what to call it, but it looked familiar...(kind of like the gross stuff you might see at the dog park...)

Now the fun began in earnest. I had to navigate the "blob" over to the "Clootie" roll it on to the "clootie" (the freaking thing was so heavy I needed help getting it to the table where the "clootie" lay in wait). When the "blob" was in the middle of the "Clootie" I had to bring all the ends together and tie with a string...tight...got that? "tight". BUT I had to leave a bit of room for expansion. (Who knew?)

The whole "clootie" now filled with it's science experiment was then placed, carefully into the vat of boiling water. I needed Larry, my husband, who is looking at me askance as I do this recipe, to help lift the "blob" into the vat. The whole time he's lifting he's saying to me, "Tell me again, why are we doing this?" Straining my biceps and standing on my toes to get the "blob" into the pot without burning the rest of my body with burning water, I yell "BECAUSE IT'S TRADITION AND IT"S THE SOLSTICE!!!THAT"S WHY!!!" He forgets the Gods need to be appeased by human sacrifice....I'm just doing my part for the Gods, dammit.

The "thing" finally settles into the vat of boiling water...and I gotta tell you, I think water gets hotter when you add stuff to it immediately, 'cause this vat was bubbling up a storm and water was flying out of the pot running away to get cool. It was a sight to behold.

The vat was set to a high simmer. The "thing" in the vat had to boil for 3 1/2 hours...Yep, that's right 3 1/2 hours...I had to top off the vat on occasion to be sure the water stayed over the top of the "thing". The "thing" by this time was starting to expand in the "clootie". It was a good thing I left room on the top for the expansion........

The hours went by, I peeked in on the "thing". I told Larry, "Don't leave the house before this is done, I'm afraid of it." I had visions of all those old horror movies about the "things" that came from outer space to kill all the humans, or something like that. I wondered at one time, if this truly was some sort of science experiment that may have turned into some kind of radioactive growth....

Finally the 3+ hours was over and I had to remove the "thing" from the vat of water...boiling water. I could not lift the vat off the stove. I'll bet that sucker weighed in at 50 pounds. The objective was to grab the "clootie" haul it up and place it into a colander to drain. Now, I ask you, who in their right mind owns a colander that will hold a "blob" that has to weigh 30 pounds? I sure don't.

I enlisted in the help of my poor husband again. He looked at the vat, looked inside, looked at me and said, "No way", and promptly started to walk away. I looked at him and said, "By all that's holy...if you walk away from me in my hour of need, you may as well grab the butcher knife and cut out my heart...you chicken.....". I guess my words got to him because I noticed he came back with a smirky smile on his face as he grabbed a towel and we, together, lifted the vat and the "thing" on to the counter. The problem was, you see, you had to get the "thing" out of the water while the water was still boiling. You can't let the "thing" sit in tepid water.

We both hauled the "clootie" out of the pot, put it into the cleaned out sink, in the biggest colander I owned, which was no where near big enough to hold this great mass. It sort of moshed over the colandar and rested on the bottom of the sink. We carefully cut the string holding the "clootie" together and surveyed the "blob". It honestly was the worst looking food type of thing I've ever set my eyes on. The outside was slimy and kind of grayish, when you touched it, it sort of jiggled. I knew I had to dry it but this thing almost didn't get the drying it needed. It was bad. Larry took a good look at it and said, "You're not going to try to get my family to eat this thing, are you?" The gauntlet was thrown down... I said, "You bet your sweet bippy, I'm going to serve them this, AND they're going to like it too..." I wasn't quite sure how I would pull the last part off, but I was determined to try.

The original recipe states after draining the "thing" you place it on a tray and put it next to the fire to dry out for a few hours. (These old recipes are a riot, they never give you exact times or measurements, it's just sort of known...guess what? I don't have a clue). I decided I would put the "thing" into the oven and keep a watchful eye on it. After all, I didn't want to destroy it....

After about 45 minutes of drying it looked like something some homeless hungry folks wouldn't object to eating. As a matter of fact, it starting looking and smelling pretty damned good. Larry came in as I was looking into the oven and he said, "You know that looks really good, and it smells great". Hmm...maybe it wasn't going to be the disaster I anticipated.


I trimmed up some of the sides of the "thing" and placed it on a decorative plate. I poked a sprig of holly into the top and wrapped it for the next day...

The comments from the family were...guarded, but they were all game to try the "thing". I think they were more excited to see what their piece of the dumpling studded with the trinkets would give to them. Everyone of the family in attendance to my impromptu "Winter Solstice-Scottish traditional Clootie Dumpling" unveiling ate (and lived to tell about it) and seemed to enjoy the "Thing" called a "Clootie Dumpling".

Now you ask..."Will you make it again?" My answer to that is, "WHEN FREAKING PIGS FLY!!". I'm still dressing the burns on my hand.

Sacrifice? Does anyone do it anymore? Not around here.

With all the headlines spouting financial ruin, I decided to observe how people were sacrificing and what they were doing to tighten their belts to protect themselves. It was Wednesday night, the night before the garbage man comes to pick up all the garbage in this suburb.

I walked around the neighborhood, nodding hello (no one really speaks to each other around here, it's just a nod and maybe a slight smile, but usually the nod is the extent of the acknowledgement). Every house had at least one huge garbage can in front of it, some had multiples. We recycle around here, so this was true garbage, no paper or cans.

OK, now you think I'm nuts, but this was a pseudo-scientific study I was doing. One of the neighbors has a dog that gets loose on occasion, usually on garbage night (must be the yummy smells emanating from the containers), so I was able to look at some of the garbage as I walked by.

I saw some perfectly good food stuffs in that debris (no, I didn't take it...I'm not that cheap) as well as some other things I consider "specialty" food stuffs I only have during the holidays (OK, so maybe I am cheap....). The point is, in that can of garbage were the remains of non-essential foods and junk. No sacrifice in that household. At least none evident in their garbage.

The farther I walked, I thought about sacrifice and what it meant to me, in comparison to other people. I've lived the majority of my life in this great country and learned, culturally, what it means to live in this country. We all love this country and some of us think that folks living outside of this great country are envious of our lot in life. I don't think so.

I see this United States as a country of great potential, not only because of our resources and wealth (which may not be as great as it was a few months ago, but I digress..) but for the human resources and culture, if we choose to accept a few sacrifices.

We need to embrace the concept of: neighbors, family, ecology, environment and frugality, instead of materialism, isolationism and greed. I don't think many of us would disagree with that statement. The difficulty, as I see it is, we have to be happy with less. You know the old idea of "Less is more"? We have too much stuff, and the stuff needs stuff to survive. The damned stuff has a life of its own and we're all too stupid, or too entrenched in our quest for "more, more, more" to realize what's happened here. We don't know what sacrifice is. I know what you're thinking, "Isn't it great that we don't know what sacrifice is? That means we have more than we need and have had it that way all our lives".

I used to think it was great to have everything and anything at my finger tips, but it doesn't give me much pride to know that I have so much and so many others in this world have little. What really ticks me off is, I think they're happier than so many of the folks that live here. Wealth and stuff doesn't bring happiness, that's for sure.

The price of gas has caused a reduction in the use of our cars. I see buses traveling the roads with more frequency. The buses have LED signs that light up as they pass by saying, "take the bus-save gas". People are taking the bus more frequently, I see them at the bus stop (who even knew there was a bus stop on my street? I didn't, and I've lived here for 40+ years) as I drive to work. If there was a bus to my work, I think I'd be on it.

I've made a commitment to myself. I'm going to cut back on spending, eating and waste. I'm going to attempt to de-clutter my environment and maybe, just maybe, if I have less stuff I will understand the concept of "Less is More", because I need to understand that, and I'm betting anyone reading this needs to understand that as well.

Willing to give it a try? I don't think it'll be tough...