It's no secret that I love to have apples with pork.  Every time I make pork chops, cutlets, or a roast, I always make fresh applesauce to go along with it, or I serve some of my home canned applesauce in a pinch.  But when I heard someone on TV making apple cider gravy, the wheels started to turn. 

Apple cider is a part of my heritage.  Actually, it's funny that growing up I didn't like apple cider that much.  We'd have it all the time in the fall and I'd get sick of it.  The same was true of maple syrup: when we were making it in March, I didn't like it.  Now, I really enjoy both cider and syrup, and when I have them, it reminds me of my childhood.  My brothers and I were very little when we started helping my dad make apple cider (and tap trees, too).  I remember how loud the machines were.  We'd take big bins of apples and were always proud to say there were no "drops" (apples that fell off the tree onto the ground) in our cider.  First, the apples would be pressed to remove the juice, then my dad would take the pumice (the skins, seeds, and other pulp leftover) and either dump it in the woods or give it to my uncle to feed his cows.  It was our job to help bottle the cider.  We'd put a clean, new bottle under the spout and fill it, then remove it, put the cap on, and put it in a big wooden bin.  By the end of the day, we were all sticky with cider, bees were everywhere, and we'd help to hose off all the bottles.  When they dried, my dad would drive the forklift down the hill to the farm market and we'd stock the shelves of the cooler with the fresh cider.  Back then, our cider was always unpasteurized.  However, about 10 years ago, there were a few scares when people got E. coli from unpasteurized cider, but not from our farm.  Since we didn't use apples that fell on the ground, they weren't exposed to the animal waste on the ground that carries E. coli.  None the less, our customers got scared of unpasteurized cider, and we bought a big machine to pasteurize it.  While pasteurized cider will keep longer, it just doesn't taste the same to me and to many other folks who are used to the traditional raw cider.  Now, it's been years since I helped make cider, but every time I drink it I think of noisy machines, being sticky, and bees.

Garlic Pork Tenderloin

• 1 pork tenderloin
• 1 clove garlic, sliced into slivers
• 1 tsp olive oil
• salt and pepper to taste

Make tiny cuts all over the pork tenderloin and push the garlic slivers into them.  Rub the oil onto the tenderloin and then sprinkle with salt and pepper.  Bake at 400°F for 30 minutes or until cooked through.  Cover with foil and let rest for about 5 minutes before slicing.  Top with the apple cider gravy.

Apple Cider Gravy

• 2 Tbsp butter or roast drippings
• 3 Tbsp flour
• 1 cup apple cider
• 1/2 cup chicken stock
• salt and pepper to taste

In a small saucepan, melt the butter and then mix in the flour.  Stir in the cider and chicken stock and simmer until thickened.  Season with salt and pepper to taste.

Twice-Baked Butternut Squash

• 1 butternut squash
• 1 cup breadcrumbs
• 1 cup shredded cheddar cheese
• salt and pepper to taste

Split a butternut squash in half, scoop out the seeds and bake cut side down on a baking sheet for 1 hour at 350°F.  Scoop out the pulp, combine with bread crumbs, cheese, and season to taste.  Put the filling back in the shell and bake for 20 minutes until the filling is lightly browned.

I don't remember the names of the people I met.
I don't remember your dress or what we ate.
What the band played escapes me.
Was there a toast and speeches?
I don't even remember you saying 'I do'.

But I remember your smile. The way it warmed the room.
I remember your perfume. Intoxicating as we danced.
What you whispered in my ear and how you looked into my eyes.
I remember you held my hand. And I remember your soft kiss.
It was familiar like a friend and intimate like a lover.

And I remember my sadness. Sadness at the reality of this moment.
The finality of it all. My heart pounded and I felt faint.
I embraced my friend and said goodbye. I wanted to resent him.
But without him I'd never have known you. He mistook my tears for joy.
I closed my eyes for a moment. Then you were gone.
The room and my heart were suddenly empty.

The weekend I did not get much done on any of my projects, my main achievement was getting the dishes done. I was not in a very productive mood.

On Saturday morning, my maternal Grandmother passed away.

We have known it was coming for a while now. She had been dealing with lung cancer over the last two years. At Christmas last year they found out it had spread to her spine and decided to try a round of Chemo. The first few chemo sessions in the spring seemed to help so they tried a few more, but they didn't do anything and she decided to refuse treatment.  They gave her about 3 months. She passed on at home in bed with my Grandfather and a number of her 9 children around her, knowing she was loved and will be missed.

Even though it is something we have all known was going to happen and we are glad she is no longer suffering, it is not easy to think that she won't be there anymore.  This on top of the death of my paternal Grandfather just weeks after my grandmother was re-diagnosed in January has made it a sad year for us.

Perhaps tonight I will pick up the needles, now that I am a bit calmer and can focus the distraction of yarn and stitches will be welcome.

My partner lives in an apartment above her pottery studio. Bed and computer on one end, counter, stove, and refrigerator on the other, a one-room apartment with no secrets because you can see the whole space and everything in it from wherever you happen to be. I went up to get something (I forget what) and came back down so we could go for a walk. “Do you like the sunflowers?” she asked. “What sunflowers?” “In the vase on the counter.” I’d walked within six inches of them and never saw them. Not once but twice.

Like dying crows and crashing airplanes, consciousness can present us with figments. Too, like mustard jars and sunflowers, it can hide objects in clear view. These effects are often transitory, dependent on storylines offered as snap judgments, on expectations, on the level of attention, or what else is on our minds at the time. It’s as if consciousness had a mind of its own and sometimes played tricks on us just for fun. But of course there aren’t two minds in our heads. In the examples I have given, I am really playing tricks on myself. Consciousness and what I call my mind are really one and the same. Consciousness is my mind. There’s no tiny projection room in my head where I screen my latest takes on reality.

The point is that consciousness should not be taken at face value. It requires periodic checking and verification. In fact, it is wise to doubt every phenomenon that rises in the mind from any source because impostors and rip-offs—like hackers and con-men—are always with us. Even autobiographical memory is suspect. I was shocked to hear my younger brother claim that he was the one who liked Brussels sprouts when we were kids, not me. Did the good old days play as we remember them? Probably not. There’s no warrantee on childhood memories. I have a vivid recollection from when I was eighteen months old of playing with a dog under the dining room table , of climbing on a chair, then onto the table, and being held to look into a white bassinette to see my baby brother just home from the hospital. Did that really happen? If so, it would be my earliest memory. I tell the story, but I have no way of knowing if it is true.

Even dreams seem to be true at the time, and they can be pretty preposterous. I am always wandering around in dreamland subway stations trying to get somewhere or other. Often I don’t have change to put in the turnstile, so I go through endless doors and down endless stairs trying to get to the trains. The only reality check is to wake up, which I always do gratefully. Illusions, delusions, hallucinations, apparitions—we’re always glad to see them go. Unless they’re built into our belief system, in which case we defend them to the death.

These days I picture the U.S. economy as a kind of sandbox where grownups play at making a living without having to work. This kind of self-deception is more common than we like to think. Not my self-deception this time, the traders’, bankers’, and lenders’. They may claim now to have seen the collapse looming, but they stuck to their posts to make the last possible dime. Their consciousness made them do it. The phenomena dancing in their heads, driving them on to a richer life. Which now appears not to have been real. The whole show was a delusion all along.

The problem is a general failure to doubt the horsepower aspirations of our souped-up economy. And beyond that, to question the wisdom of so many people trying to live so high on the hog off the markets of our one little Earth. The truth is out: only ecosystems and the environment are real; the rest is sham and pretense. Evolution has geared consciousness to survival issues facing Paleolithic hunter-gatherers. It hasn’t caught up with the life situations of the twenty-first century. And won’t catch up till consciousness evolves to a yet higher stage. Which, at the rate mutations get spread around, will take millions of years, not the few decades we may have available.

Reality checking on a grand scale is the kind of regulation we must insist on if we are going to stretch those decades into any sort of livable future. It will have to apply to all of us, all the time. And checkers will have to check on the checkers in an endless loop. That way we can tug on our own bootstraps and not have to wait for evolution to do the dirty work for us. ¦

I barely got a picture before Cliff started priming above the border with white paint and tearing off the border.  He did the blue sponge treatment which looks blurry but really is not.

I am trying to decide whether to put tile on the floor or leave the tiny black and white tile squares which are retro now.  We also got a pedestal sink a long time ago when we had more money and it has been sitting in the garage waiting on us.   I have also been deciding between a pretty shade of taupe paint or a blue/gray and the blue won I think.  We are getting ready to go to Lowe's to get the gallon of paint.  Our one and only bathroom is small.

I used to have a Paddington Bear when I was little. He was about 15 centimetres high with a red hat and a blue duffle coat that could be fastened with real wooden toggles. He was brilliant. I knitted him a scarf once. I was about 6 or 7 and someone had bought me a kids knitting set for Christmas (with red plastic needles). It was probably my Grandma - she was always into knitting. I got some bright pink wool to go with it so I decided I was going to knit a scarf. I had only knitted a tiny, miniscule scarf (maybe 10 centimetres long) when i got bored of it, so I announced that it was going to be a scarf for Paddington, as if that had been my intention all along. And so it became Paddington's scarf. Not too long after that both Paddington and scarf went missing - I suspect it happened during our move from Northern Ireland back to England. Lots of stuff went missing during our various moves. I was quite upset about losing Paddington. After all, I had loved him enough to knit him his very own scarf.

Now I have a new Paddington. I spotted him at Heathrow airport the week before last and told Jan, who doesn't know the Paddington bear books, the story of how I knitted my Paddington a scarf and lost him. I must have sounded pretty nostalgic because Jan promptly counted out the last of his English money to go towards buying me a new Paddington. Naturally I chose one with a red hat and blue duffle coat - some had them the other way round but in my memory Paddington's coat was blue! My new bear is holding a briefcase and has a label round his neck - "Please look after this bear". His toggles aren't real, but that's ok. I still love him, and I love my boyfriend for spontaneously deciding to buy him for me.

Happy Birthday Paddington Bear! May you continue to eat marmelade sandwiches for another 50 years.

So here they are. They're off the cuff and quick.

1.

The sun warms my soul.

The wind caresses my heart

The King loves me so

2.

Fire burns in His eyes

It pierces my dark coldness

The wall is melting

]]> http://daddysoutnumbered.com/?p=239 Mon, 13 Oct 2008 19:05:30 +0000 collegeknowledge http://daddysoutnumbered.com/2008/10/13/dreams/ Last night our oldest daughter fell asleep on the couch next to my husband and I.  We commented on what a sweet face she has and how peaceful she looked.  Jimmy commented that he really wanted her to take piano lessons and of course the cello lessons that I had mentioned I'd like her to take.  Then there's the dance lessons - ballet and tap, acting lessons, t-ball, gymnastics, art lessons, Spanish and French lessons - I could go on and on.  We've talked about all of these opportunities for our girls.  As she lay there sleeping, I thought, 'she has no idea what we're hoping and dreaming up for her.'  Of course there's no point in telling her all of this now.  She'd just stare at us wide eyed and say something like, 'can I have a juice box?'  On each of my daughter's birthday I write them a letter and tell them how they've grown in the past year and what I hope for them in the future.  I want to make sure they know that we want the best for them, but we don't want to pressure them.  We totally realize that our dreams may not be their dreams.  They can choose to be who they are comfortable being.  We just want them to be kind, good people first and foremost. 

I remember one time my mom told me that she and my dad had a similar conversation.  My mom said she told my dad that I was going to be Miss America and my dad said I was going to be a weather girl.  Hmmmm,  sorry to disappoint.  My mom told me that when I was young, maybe high school or even younger.  It stuck with me though.  Our parents expectations, dreams or hopes for us have a lasting affect I guess. 

Someday, when Dylan can understand, I'll tell her that even at the tender age of three I see a little girl who cares if she hurts someone's feelings, who asks how people are feeling when they are sick or hurt, who protects her little sister, who loves to tell people about her little sister, who loves to be creative and loves to read stories.  She's sweet and loving to her teachers and friends and everyone is her friend.  She's strong willed and someday that will be a great thing.  I'm already so proud of who she is becoming. 

Ava is still very young at only 20 months.  Already I see a happy little girl who knows how to go with the flow.  I guess that comes from being the second child.  She's very laid back, but when she wants something, she knows how to get it.  She's also very loving and she loves to play with her big sister.  She loves our two dogs.  Maybe she'll be a veterinarian!  She loves to stomp on the toy piano.  Maybe she'll be a professional musician!  She is pretty reserved, but quickly coming into her own and making herself heard.  She just told me the other day, 'I pee pee'.  Maybe she'll be an urologist! 

What hopes and dreams do you have for your children?

new orleans brings to mind so many things but corruption seems to be the most appropriate fit to tie them together.  my last visit to NOLA was the jazzfest before katrina.  i was deeply affected by the situation in new orleans.  it was with pieces of hesitation that i planned my first trip back.  i think katrina hit me harder than 9/11.  i was devastated by the images of all that suffering drudging on for so long.  maybe because NOLA feels like it's in my backyard and hurricanes are so palpable.  for a while i honestly never thought i'd go back to NOLA.  but i was thrilled by the opportunity to go back for this wedding.  as we got closer to leaving, i started to wonder how the spiritual undertones would feel in NOLA.  would there be darkness or magic or something utterly new and different?  all truth be told, i didn't feel much of a change from the quarter.  it was vegas on crack, as it has always been.  the music, the food, the hurricanes followed closely by 9 a.m. bloody marys to-go, were all fantastic.  the party has gone on.  i didn't seek out images of the destruction.

something did stir for me, though.  as we strolled down bourbon street and decatur, i was flooded with memories of good times shared in NOLA.  these memories all touched by a bit o hurricane hazy which made them almost dream like.  what surprised me was the Sailor.  a number of times saturday while walking around town, i would turn the corner and find his presence there.  yes, this is kooky; and no, i was not drinking when this was happening.  i would have this bizarre skip through time where for a half second i believed he was standing there.  i just knew it was him, my heart skipped a beat at the sight of it!  in this ever so brief fantasy he was there to accompany me to the wedding that evening.  i promise, these hallucinations were not induced by drugs of any kind.  then i would return to consciousness and laugh at myself, knowing full well the Sailor was not in NOLA and he was certainly not my date to the wedding.  this lapse of reality struck me at least 5 times during our walk that day.   

***SIGH*** the Sailor.  there is unfinished business to be had with this man (and believe it or not, i don't at all mean sex).  i thought about calling him on my way home yesterday.  i want to know how he is.  i see him once every couple of weeks at the office and it makes me happy... our eyes lock and we share in a connection, bird's chirp, little mice in dresses start to sing, etc etc.  he stops by my office on occasion.  we talk about this or that amiable work chat, who really knows when we are lost in each other.  i do not imagine it.  but that is it since his return.  there was a recent dangle of lunch that we never went for.  it's impossible to deny that something between us even if he is not coming for it before i leave.  of course, he still does not know that i'm about to leave because i let go of that vodka induced determination to tell him.  i honestly wish for it but don't think i'll ever have-it, have-it with him.  but even so, the look in his eyes when they meet with mine is something i believe in...  after chatting with my gf this morning, i've decided that i will call and see if he will join me for dinner some night.  i'm nearly certain he will accept.  rationally, i know i've got nothing to lose here, but at the same time it's unnerving how vulnerable i feel.

Now winter smells completely different.  You can feel the air getting crisper as it passes through your nose all the way down to your throat.  You start to smell the amazing smell of fresh pine trees, homemade cookies, and the frigid scent of snow on the way.  Christmas music has got to be my favorite thing about the season.  It makes me feel all giddy and excited like it used to be when I was little.

Christmas has changed over the years, which depresses me a bit.  When I was little, I used to get so excited I could never fall asleep.  I was too busy keeping an ear out for Santa's reindeer, making sure I had left Santa his milk, cookies, and a notepad (so he could leave me a note) and going over all the toys I had asked for.  Once Christmas morning would come, my sisters and I would run into my parents room at 4 or 5AM!!! They were never too pleased, but I have that to look forward to with my own kids.  My dad would make us sit at the top of the stairs (which would kill us with anticipation) squirming with every movement he made downstairs.  He, of course, had to turn on all the lights, play some Christmas Nat King Cole, Bing Crosby, or (our fav) GRP Christmas.  After we would open all our presents, we would jump up and scream "WE FORGOT, OUR STOCKINGS"!  Clothes were always the worst presents to get when you were little, but now that's all I ask for.  I miss all of that excitement and enthusiasm that seems to escape you when you're grown up.  I can't wait to see it again in my children.

I'm looking forward to this fall and winter, and can't wait to experience all of those childhood memories with my own some day.  Right now, fall is smelling divine!

xoxo

rachmadee♥

qn: 你的情人被一種奇怪魔咒纏身，每天都淚流不止，可是，只要你親吻他，他就可以脫離魔法的詛咒，你覺得親吻哪裡可以讓他獲救呢？

1.鼻子

2.臉頰

3.頭髮

4.嘴唇

測驗分析

1.鼻子

你很重視情人，對於情人的要求百依百順，相較之下，你對朋友可就沒有這麼的貼心了。

你把朋友當成救火隊或心情垃圾筒，當你在愛情上發生問題，想要找人傾訴的時候，才會想到朋友的可貴。

2.臉頰

你覺得情人不一定可靠，莫名其妙變心的人比比皆是，還不如把自己的真心誠意投資在朋友身上，在你的心中，朋友是一個人一生之中最大的資產，無論發生什麼事，都會以朋友為重。

3.頭髮

你是一個愛情重於友情的人，當你有了情人，見色忘友的機率沒有百分之百，一定也有百分之九十。

愛情是你生命中的空氣和水，沒有愛情的日子，你是會活不下去的，當你的朋友，必需接受你這樣的個性。

4.嘴唇

你很聰明，可以在愛情與友情之中，找到一個皆大歡喜的平衡點，平時除了和情人約會之外，也不忘和朋友保持連絡，尤其當朋友需要你的幫忙時，你甚至會先把情人放在一邊，以友情為先。

== ~ |我选的是鼻子| ~ ==

^^ 也许我会對於情人的要求百依百順， 但是我也会非常重视我心理的要好朋友。那是一定要得。=） ^^

At around 1am last night, Junan and I were playing this public dota match. We were handicapped 3v5 and I was using Bloodseeker as usual LOL.

It was what.... early-mid stage of the game. Then SOMEBODY COULDN'T SLEEP O_O Haha. I called her up to try and lull her into sleeping.

I used ways to make her fall asleep. And I SUCCEEDED :D

Anyway, throughout the course of the phone call, I was subconsciously monitoring my BS. As soon as I saw an opportunity to kill, I will rush in with thirst, then ks poor junan with Rup. Happy Ja. Got like 4 kills this way. Lol I think I pissed Junan off =P But he understands~

The whole phone call lasted for over 30 minutes I think o_O, even after the game ended with the entire room being disconnected. Haha it feels damn good to finally overcome my phobia of singing to another person. (lullabies work on people suffering from insomnia)

And my singing is nt bad wor  Though you can wait long long if you want me to sing to you. Must have the mood ((:

But obviously that wouldn't have been possible if I wasn't high on chocolate and 2am in the night lar.

Also called Junan up and we just sang px's blog song into the wee hours of the morning. Crazy post exam high.

=P Damn shuang to sing with somebody else you know you can trust fully.

--------------------------

TODAY.

Chinese lessons wth.

Chinese Chinese Chinese. Sian like hell. But must persevere. At this stage...

It's all up to the individual to decide his own fate.

I want my fate for Chinese O's to be that of an A1 for Chinese. Tough target, but definitely possible if I start working hard and mugging hard.

And we had the JC talk on subjects over in the college. Quite interesting................? -.-

Most of the stuff I already knew.

Presented with prospects such as KI, CLL, ELS all these. I want sia. It's like... at the start of Sec 4 I had already set myself a target to aim for.

I achieved it... miraculously. My ability totally cmi. Must have been luck that I got my subject combi.

During consortium assembly...

Normal sia.

TanKK showed us some weird Pixar vids that were quite cute. :D Total waste of time but still.. appreciate the amount of effort put into animating the toys bah.

And we got to skip a little bit of chinese.

HAHA FUN PART.

------------------

MAD FIRST TRAINING WOOOOO!

Love the people there.

HEHE :D

Jia hong convinced me to join the Modern training today to get a feel of the atmosphere.

AND I DINT REGRET IT HAHA.

Okay let's talk about TWO main problems that I faced.

EVERYBODY INSIDE THE DANCE STUDIO WAS AT LEAST ONE YEAR OLDER THAN ME O_O But this one no problem bah, I got quite imba social skills. I can like talk damn openly to those guy seniors le (:

Secondly.... I was lagging. Cause they train damn lot luh. Haha. Esp seeing all the girls do those imba splits... you 難免 will zibei -.-

It was DAMN SHUANG!!! Super fun. Totally enjoyed myself dancing away, monkey seeing and monkey doing.

The exposure is like damn cool.

Even though there were so many people I didn't know at the start like around me.
Even though they were more skilled than me.
Even though they were more experienced.
Even though I was a noob.

I ENJOYED MYSELF THOROUGHLY! :D

It's like... I felt super at home... even though the place was foreign to me. It's that special feeling when ur dancing you heck care everything around you and just pia with your fellow performers. Then the songs were imba nice. So I ended up relaxing like siao. Dancing can really take away ur burdens and simply make you go high.

I loved that invigouration. The swee feeling.

Fly.

It's like damn addictive. Definitely will go and join the other two divisions for their training.

So 爽!!! 爽!!! 爽!!! 爽!!!!!!

It's like indescribable with words.

And I really can't thank Jiahong more.

----------------------

MAD is really a nice place to meet nice people (:

... That's why I'm all for it.

GOGO! :D

Dance is really <3

Going MAD over MAD is no joke. I think I might just be like that. (:

Dahwei.

This picture of Emma reminded me of one that my mom had taken of me when I was 15 months old...they both make me laugh.

"The devil makes work for idle hands" was one of her favorites. There was always some chore to save me from the devil. As the only girl in a family of boys my chores were mostly indoors but the hen yard was included in Mama's territory.

One of my earliest memories was being rescued by my older brother from the mean old rooster who spurred me and pinned me wailing to the hen house wall with my bucket of eggs. How we laughed when Mama chopped his head off with an ax on the wooden block and dropped him to run around with his head cut off before being plucked and cleaned for dinner. "What goes around comes around" and tough old birds make good chicken and dumplings.

"Waste not, want not" meant leftovers for supper or patching and mending Daddy and the boys work clothes. I hated darning, or unpicking sweaters so the wool could be rolled into balls and reknit into a "new" garment.

I doubt anyone would do that today.

i need to love a lot more, expect a lot less, and be kinder to others and myself. i can't help but feel sorry for those around me sometimes, because i can be such a frustration. sometimes, i don't know why i think and feel the way i do, and so i seek with all my heart for God to change me. Sometimes there's this side of me, which erupts out of nowhere; the devil's temptation within me to unlease that demon. i find myself thinking the most horrible things and the most unkind things, extreme and completely unaccceptable to most. if i were to say i had this syndrome to my friends, they'd probably laugh their butts off, presuming i was joking or pulling their leg again. But Thank God, he controlled all those unwanted emotions and thoughts. He cleansed my soul and made it whole and clean as snow again. i may walk through the valley of the shadow of death, but with my Lord behind me, what shall i fear? i shall continue walking in his gentle guidings and discipleship, just so that i can have more of Him, and less of me. He is the lamp of light in my soul, positioned at my heart. Without him i am naught.

i may feel drained; i may feel despondent with how things are going, but yet, God always surprises me with the little blessings along the way. Little favours, little gifts, little things that helped me score in my academic arena. He's done so much for me. My eyelids feel heavy. TIll here then. Ciao.

I'm a multisensory type of gal, with taste and smell are strong memory flags. I stepped into Parkleigh http://www.parkleigh.com/ a few years ago, and it smelled just like it used to when I lived in Rochester decades ago. Mirror Lake Inn in Lake Placid used to serve a luscious house smoked shrimp appetizer, served with a raspberry grapefruit sauce, and to this day, that dish remains as a favorite, and one that I would order frequently when it was offered. It was at Gramercy Tavern, under Tom Colicchio, where I had my first sweetbread. In Montreal's Chinatown in the '60s my uncle ordered bird's nest soup. I remember thinking it was just another flowery name that many Chinese restaurants assign to their dishes. It wasn't until after we had consumed it that he told us that it was indeed made from, yes, swiftlet's nests which they build from their salvia. It was a slightly sweet gelatinous soup, actually not too bad, but one I feel no need to ever experience again.

In the late 60s and early 70s, my parents hosted dinner parties for which I was called upon to help cook. Graham Kerr, as the Galloping Gourmet was au courant at that time, and the menus included such things as Beef Wellington and smoked salmon mousse. I remember making the puff pastry, rolling sheets of chilled butter into the dough and searching the grocery stores for smoked salmon. No food processors in those days, and only one neighbor owned a microwave. Desserts were usually some French pastry - choux paste made into profiteroles (cream puffs), or Napoleons made from puff pastry and cream custard. I remember once trying my hand at making a Croquembouche, a tower of cream puffs bound with spun caramelized sugar.

In those days, Mom would often greet us, coming home from school, with a plate of cookies or still warm cinnamon swirled bread. Our standard cookie cookbook at the time was Betty Crocker's Cooky Book, and the recipes for the sugar cookies and snickerdoodles still rank as some of our favorites.

The grapevines behind the house I rented in grad school was overflowing with beautiful Concord grapes the week before my wedding. We travelled to my home town where the wedding was being held, and stayed with family friends. Mrs. F, a home economist, and I made and canned grape jam a few days before the wedding. What a perfect way, IMO, to help alleviate the pre-marital jitters.

sometimes it's better to let go than to hold on.

i think i saw this picture much too late. learnt this the hard way but no regrets, really (: at the end of the day, it's what we have become out of this that's important... FRIENDS ((:

UTS q apikkkk. seneng heppi dehh. anyone care to celebrate with me? :D :D

In the box are the Fly Plaid and Brooch, the jacket and vest, the belt and buckle, the Sporran, the kilt, the Skene and dubh, flashes, and the Ghillie Brogues!!

(click to enlarge and then click on the picture again and 
you can read the instructions-fascinating reading. 
I really thought flashes were something you did wearing the kilt)

Adam, of course, at this point seems thrilled with the idea of wearing this kilt!!!

Well, it is starting to take shape, working with the shapes that are available!!

A pull here and a tug there and maybe we'll have it!!!

Och! That's guid! (Scottish for 'oh, that's good!). Adam seems to be feeling better about the outfit.

Mark, on the other hand, is trying to figure out just what he is supposed to do with this!!!

And, certainly, they both did look dashing and debonair in their outfits and were "Scottish" through and through.

(Pictures from Mark Christy's collection)