1. Still waiting for the Most Epic Rain Since, like, way back in 2005 to hit. All the radar images and projections sure look impressive, but, so far, have yielded less than a third of an inch of rain locally over the last 20 hours. They claim it is raining elsewhere, but why would anyone trust them? If we don’t get at least 3 inches by Monday, I may have to write a rather sternly-worded letter to, ah, well, someone who can Do Something about this!
Something like this:
“Advan-ced” kills me every time. (Also, this tune always brings to mind Chesterton’s quip: ‘Ten thousand women marched through the streets shouting, ‘We will not be dictated to,’ and went off and became stenographers.’)
2. Saw a tweet hoping to muster support for efforts to ban fracking in Sherwood Forest. Eyebrows shot upwards with bracing alacrity. Don’t we know the Forest is for the enjoyment of right-thinking Normans, who will punish with death any impoverished Saxons who dare try to use it for their ends? Some things never change.
3. Christmas: the 12 days during which we are sore tempted to become yet more incarnate, in the sense of adding more carne, as it were. A hazard I bravely endure is sharing a house with a gaggle of good to great cooks. We were having, for example, scones and fresh lemon curd, or waffles, maple syrup and whipped cream for breakfast, and fresh baked pitas, fresh hummus & falafals and all the fixings, and fresh made pasta in a onion garlic cream sauce with fresh-baked bread for dinner. And that’s when we were eating at home – it was worse at family events, where we (by which I mean my wife and daughters) provide the desserts.
I’m sure many of you would bravely step in to relieve me of my fate, but my doom is my own. Sorry about that.
Then there’s fruitcake. I should mention that I do not share the general disdain for fruitcake, because I think of the fruitcake my mom used to make which, like everything she made, was outstanding. What passes for fruitcake in these degenerate times is a mockery!
Well, my beloved wife, bless her, has her own recipe for what is called a Christmas pudding, but one would be hard pressed to tell it from a fruitcake of the species my mom used to make. See below:
Unfortunately, I messed up my attempts at pictures of the flaming part – yes, one warms up a little brandy, pours it over the top and sets it aflame – it burns a lovely blue. The smell of brandy is appropriate, as that topping you see is brandy butter whipped smooth.
The Calorific Vision.
Monday, I tell you, back on the wagon! Assuming I don’t explode first.
4. Kids heading back to school/work. Elder Daughter left last Sunday, packed off Middle Son today – put him on the train rather than make the 11 hour round trip on Interstate 5 because its supposed to be raining in an epic manner. Younger Daughter will be heading off to Rome (she chose Thomas More College largely to do the semester in Rome, it would seem) weekend after next. It’s sad to have all the kids home and them have them leave again, but it is sure good to see them.
After that, back to what passes for normal around here.
5. Still working on the Novel That Shall Not, For The Time Being, Be Named. Mostly background stuff and high-level descriptions. But still keeping it up. As Bullwinkle often said: This time, for sure!