Twelfth Night

When I was a young child, we had neighbors who adopted me. They had no children, and I became the child Auntie E. and Uncle Jack never had. He was a great jokester but a true gentleman, always walking me home after visits to their house--where I felt as at home as I did in my own house. Auntie E. was a "lady"--I don't know how to explain that except she was always patrician, regal, all those things, though I suspect she came from rural roots--her sister, who I came to know well, was nothing like that.
Auntie E. instituted a custom that has continued in my family until this day, though I have no idea where she got it. She and Uncle Jack were devout Catholics, but I don't think this came from their church. But on January 6th, the night the three wise men are supposed to have arrived at the manger in Bethlehem with their gifts, Auntie E.always had us gather and each throw a sprig of evergreen on the fire, making a wish, which we could tell no one.
Tonight, sixty or more years later, we followed that ritual in my home. My children grew up with it, though I expect Jordan is the only one who folllows it to this day. Jordan, Christian, Jacob, and my neighbor Susan came for supper--Susan was essential because she had the only live greens, in a wreath that had been given them. I fixed a scalloped potato, ham and cheese casserole, and then we burned our greens. Jacob, who had been really a spoiled rotten brat when he got here, got in the spirit of things and told me he wanted to help me burn my sprig. It was all great fun, and, of course, I can't tellyou my wish--then it would never come true. Fun to think about what a three-year-old might wish. In sum, it was a night of ritual and fellowship and good times.
The arctic freeze that has hit most of the country is due here tonight, and the media have scared us witless with predictions of extreme cold, possible precipitation, etc. I can stand cold but not ice. I had three meetings scheduled for tomorrow and have re-scheduled all of them, partly out of concern for my dog Scooby. I can't leave him out in that cold but can't leave him in without me. Besides, it will be nice to sleep late and get going slowly. I've had to rush every morning this week--how un-retirement is that? I've manuscripts and books to read, email to answer, etc.--and a bit of leftover scalloped potatoe for dinner. I'll be a happy camper.

Food thoughts

My mind still seems to be on food, though I've managed to work my way through the delicious leftovers I had--the ham salad is gone (but not the ham), the chocolate chip bars are all gone but scraps, and I ate the last of the hoppin' John tonight--you know how hot things sometimes get hotter as they sit? The hoppin' John did because it burned my mouth tonight. Those Rotel tomatoes.
I made scalloped potatoes tonight for dinner tomorrow night--Jordan, Christian, Jacob and Susan are coming for Twelfth Night. I put ham and cheese and onions in between the layers of potatoes, followed a recipe carefully (from my mom's old, old, old copy of the Good Housekeeping cookbook--so old it has no spine, half the index pages are missing and so is the front cover but it's still a great reliable guide for basics and I consult it often). Well, even with the recipe it didn't work--when supposedly done, my potatoes were soupy. I turned the oven low and let them bake (and evaporate) another half hour. They seemed lots better but tomorrow, when they're the only dish plus salad, will tell the trick. And there's still a good bit of ham left. I could make more ham salad (I really like it) and a good split pea soup, but no one would eat the latter with me. I love it, my kids all hate it. We'll see.
Meanwhile I have discovered that thin-sliced deli turkey wrapped around a bit of cream cheese makes a delicious low-calorie snack, so I fixed that about 8:30 tonight, with a half glass of wine. Tripped over a rug, spilt the wine everywhere, and went to get paper towels to wipe it up. When I came back Scooby was just finishing the last of my turkey snack and was not at all impressed by the fit I threw. He looked at me as if to say, "You left it here. What's a dog supposed to do?" So now I've refilled the spilled wine glass and fixed another snack and am a bit happier.
Through all this holiday food saga I've been registering Weight Watchers points. Last week when I weighed I'd lost quite a bit and was elated, but Jay reminded me you always lose weight at altitude. In the intervening week, I've gone over points but I've earned enough activity points to balance that--I'm never quite sure how that works. I don't weigh again until Thursday morning, so meanwhile suspense.
Along that line, I had a gyro sandwich in Breckenridge--ate it without the bread--and wanted more. So Jean and I went to Chadra, the local Lebanaese/Italian place, and had Greek wraps and tomato basil soup for lunch. The soup was maybe the best I've ever had, and the gyro was much more generous than the one in Breckenridge. Again, I didn't eat the pita, just the meat, tomato and feta out of the middle. But when I looked gyro up in Weight Watchers, I nearly fainted. I guess my taste for that is squelched for a long time.
Food is on my mind also because I'm proofreading Grace & Gumption: The Cookbook--found out belatedly that proofing wasn't my responsibility, just indexing the recipes (I had thought I had to proof, index names,and index recipes). I proofed anyway because I found lots of things of concern, prime among them amounts that came through as ?. By checking I've found most of them were meant to be 1/2. I've decided also to make a list of cookbooks consulted, because there are some wonderful cookbooks mentioned--many those produced by local women's groups and probably only accessible now in the library. Cookbooks provide a wonderful record of a community, and I'm hoping that's what the G&G Cookbook will do.
Happy cooking! Wish I could find an outlet for some regular food writing. I have always said I travel on my stomach, wondering what wonderful restaurants I can eat in (though that was not true in Breckenridge).Now I'm afraid I live, not exactly for my stomach, but for my taste buds, for the delightful invention of foods I enjoy.