So last week, we were given the good news we hold onto every four months.
The cancer doctor said "Mr. Dixon- there is nothing of note in your head", meaning, of course, that the cancer has not returned, and we are dismissed for another few months. The cancer doctor thinks the "nothing of note in your head" comment is wildly hilarious, as do we, so it's all good.
As an added bonus, he said we may stay away for six months now, since the cancer has been gone for almost four years. We are breathing a little easier, sleeping a little better, daring to feel a little more fortunate than we did before.
Luck is a funny thing.
Because shit just happens. It's easier, neater, more comforting to imagine and believe that Everything Happens for a Reason, but I'm thinking that most of the time it doesn't. Most of the time Shit Really Does Just Happen.
Good people get slammed with alot of crap.
Bad people win the lottery.
There's no ulterior cosmic motive to it- no behind the scenes god knows all souls and rewards/punishes accordingly. This is Life. It's messy, beautiful, tragic, hilarious and almost completely random.
And it's OK.
When we were seeing the pain doctor last week he asked Ward's medical record number- at MD Anderson you can forget your name, address, birthdate, social security number- you are known by your medical record number and better have that baby memorized.
Ward's is very easy- a combination of only 2 numbers in a nicely arranged pattern.
So for almost four years, clerical and medical staff have all said the same thing-
"Wow. That's an easy number- how lucky for YOU".
And for almost four years, I've replied the same way-
"Yes. How lucky we are to have an easy to remember number at the CANCER HOSPITAL".
The reaction is generally nervous self-concious laughter on the part of the staff.
The pain doctor, however, looked at me, then at Ward, and said "Wow. She goes straight for the jugular, doesn't she?"
Ward smiled and said "Yep. She's a mean 'un".
Pain doctor- "And I think she hit the carotid too..."
I just smiled sweetly and said "Well, as long as I was already there- I like to be efficient".
And we all laughed.
photo
photo by Sheri Dixon
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
"There May Be a Small Disruption of Service"
*We're moved*.
They came and took all our big heavy furniture and set it up in the new house- in and around the electrician still hanging fixtures and the contractors still putting up walls. It looks terrific- just like the house was custom designed for the furniture and people who live here, which of course, it was.
Now, the other house- the house we just moved out of- is a different story. When we moved into that house 15 years ago, we meant to never leave it. So we put down roots- big deep cluttered roots, that worsened as our lives got consumed by being transformed from "normal family" to "cancer family". In the last 8 years by the time I tended to my family, tried to do enough at work to justify my further employment, and care for the farm-largely-put-on-hold, there was precious little time for housekeeping- even my brand of rudimentary cleaning.
Combine that with 3 people who are pack rats and "pile-makers" and you get a house that looks every bit as full without furniture, as with furniture. Except where the furniture used to be are piles of dust bunnies, dead bugs, and other unidentifiable stuff.
It's horrifying.
So we've got till the first to clear out and clean up the old house.
It looks forlorn, but not as sad as I thought it would. I've spent alot of the clean-up time there by myself and I've been talking to the house (Yes. Don't judge me.)
And we're both ready to let go and move on. That house sheltered us and nurtured us, because that's what it does. For over 100 years it's cared for its families. And its new family needs it and will love it as much as we do.
So I'm surprisingly more OK with letting go than I thought possible.
And after all the work, planning, hoping, blood, sweat, tears, delays, frustrations and heartbreak, the new house is not everything I'd hoped it would be.
It's a thousand times more.
Except for the pesky details of having to rework the water/electric service to the barn, running out of fence-funding, and the obvious delay of moving the animals because of that (to be remedied...somehow...before the 1st), the phone company having to run the cable to our house to get us internet service (supposedly to be completed by February 5th), the stove needing to be adjusted from natural gas to propane so it doesn't spew out 2ft high flames when I turn the oven on, the shower floors having to be re-done because the adhesive doesn't like the grout, and Alec's 50 year old vintage toilet having...issues...everything has gone frighteningly smoothly and turned out even better than my mind's eye envisioned when I was drawing it out on graph paper.
The friends and family who've been out to the new place have said it looks like us... and that they've never seen anything like it (does that mean we're weird?).
People HAVE to touch the logs- the logs with the bark still on them. There is something compelling, powerful, comforting about the honesty of their non-conformist widths, shapes, colors and flaws and people feel the need to absorb some of that through their fingertips.
The naturally knotted and variegated wood on the ceilings and walls provide a never-ending exercise in visual interest, the rock fireplace (even though still a work in progress) with its free-form shape begs to be patted like a huge sturdy protective dragon. Even the cement floor has shaded swirls and patterns- and all we did was seal it.
We all three of us wander around almost gingerly- as if at any moment it could disappear like Cinderella's pumpkin carriage.
But every morning we wake up and our house is still around us.
Our family is still together and our house is still around us.
And we'll never, ever take either one of those seemingly simple occurrences for granted.
They came and took all our big heavy furniture and set it up in the new house- in and around the electrician still hanging fixtures and the contractors still putting up walls. It looks terrific- just like the house was custom designed for the furniture and people who live here, which of course, it was.
Now, the other house- the house we just moved out of- is a different story. When we moved into that house 15 years ago, we meant to never leave it. So we put down roots- big deep cluttered roots, that worsened as our lives got consumed by being transformed from "normal family" to "cancer family". In the last 8 years by the time I tended to my family, tried to do enough at work to justify my further employment, and care for the farm-largely-put-on-hold, there was precious little time for housekeeping- even my brand of rudimentary cleaning.
Combine that with 3 people who are pack rats and "pile-makers" and you get a house that looks every bit as full without furniture, as with furniture. Except where the furniture used to be are piles of dust bunnies, dead bugs, and other unidentifiable stuff.
It's horrifying.
So we've got till the first to clear out and clean up the old house.
It looks forlorn, but not as sad as I thought it would. I've spent alot of the clean-up time there by myself and I've been talking to the house (Yes. Don't judge me.)
And we're both ready to let go and move on. That house sheltered us and nurtured us, because that's what it does. For over 100 years it's cared for its families. And its new family needs it and will love it as much as we do.
So I'm surprisingly more OK with letting go than I thought possible.
And after all the work, planning, hoping, blood, sweat, tears, delays, frustrations and heartbreak, the new house is not everything I'd hoped it would be.
It's a thousand times more.
Except for the pesky details of having to rework the water/electric service to the barn, running out of fence-funding, and the obvious delay of moving the animals because of that (to be remedied...somehow...before the 1st), the phone company having to run the cable to our house to get us internet service (supposedly to be completed by February 5th), the stove needing to be adjusted from natural gas to propane so it doesn't spew out 2ft high flames when I turn the oven on, the shower floors having to be re-done because the adhesive doesn't like the grout, and Alec's 50 year old vintage toilet having...issues...everything has gone frighteningly smoothly and turned out even better than my mind's eye envisioned when I was drawing it out on graph paper.
The friends and family who've been out to the new place have said it looks like us... and that they've never seen anything like it (does that mean we're weird?).
People HAVE to touch the logs- the logs with the bark still on them. There is something compelling, powerful, comforting about the honesty of their non-conformist widths, shapes, colors and flaws and people feel the need to absorb some of that through their fingertips.
The naturally knotted and variegated wood on the ceilings and walls provide a never-ending exercise in visual interest, the rock fireplace (even though still a work in progress) with its free-form shape begs to be patted like a huge sturdy protective dragon. Even the cement floor has shaded swirls and patterns- and all we did was seal it.
We all three of us wander around almost gingerly- as if at any moment it could disappear like Cinderella's pumpkin carriage.
But every morning we wake up and our house is still around us.
Our family is still together and our house is still around us.
And we'll never, ever take either one of those seemingly simple occurrences for granted.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
One Last Time
Kind of strange to start a new year with a month or so of endings.
Just over 15 years ago, on December 29, 1995 I signed papers and became the owner of this house.
The moving truck comes for all our large/heavy/bulky furniture on Tuesday at 8am. So we've got 2 nights left here. After that we'll be sleeping in the new house, which is a really weird feeling.
Sometime Tuesday the phone company will turn off our land line/internet, and (so they say) they'll come to the new house and run new line to hook us up there on Wednesday, so this is (probably) my last post from this spot- crammed between the bookcase and the bed, and the next one will be (hopefully) from my new dedicated office which is a really weird feeling.
A week from today, we're having a house warming party, something I mentioned not a few times to Ward yesterday as we mopped the floor of the still-empty and unfinished house in preparation for today's sealing of the floor. And that's a really weird feeling, bordering on panic-inducing anxiety.
I'd love to say "And that will be that", or "And they all lived happily ever after, cue the sunset", or "Boy, will I be happy when next week is over because then I can relax" but that's not the case.
This house will still contain 15 year's worth of stuff, memorabilia, tokens, symbols, crap and dust bunnies- and I'll have to be careful to steel myself and my family as we go through it all making very emperor-like decisions "thumbs up/thumbs down" as to what travels to a new spot in the new house, what stays in this house for the big estate/rummage sale and what gets unceremoniously stuffed into empty feed sacks and set at the curb.
It's going to be very difficult as treasures long forgotten get unearthed. Very difficult to say "WOW- I remember when we got that/where we got that/who we got that from!" think on it warmly and fuzzily and then set it aside and turn our backs on it. For absolute ever this time.
To avoid sensory overload (and because we'll still have our normal-everyday stuff to attend to)the "plan" is to go through room by room- hopefully getting one room a day completed. Twelve. There are twelve rooms in this house. Plus the shed. Plus the other shed. Plus the yard.
Oh yeah. And once the fences are done and the electric/water run, we'll still have to move the critters- coming here twice a day to feed till then.
AND we've got two trips to Houston in January.
Regardless of all the above, we're turning over the keys on February 1st to the house's new family, so there is a deadline, but it's all the way next month (insert hysterical laughter).
Whether or not the Long Slow Goodbye will be easier on us than a Quick Like a Bandaid severing of our ties to this place remains to be seen, and is really a moot point, because this is the way we're going about it.
Today's "Post Music" is one of my favorite songs- always has been- and the only thing I can sing without making dogs howl and run for cover. Alec told me "Mom- you sing that better than she does". Of course, he still depends on me for food and shelter...
So, for the last time gazing through 100+ year old blown glass windows (that are, I admit, letting in every bit of the 28 degree air outside), through the chinaberry and redbud trees and across the gravel drive to Pa's field as I try to think of words that make a damn bit of sense to attach to each other and then send out over the interwebs, this is Queen of the Universe- Over and Out.
See ya'll on the other side.
Just over 15 years ago, on December 29, 1995 I signed papers and became the owner of this house.
The moving truck comes for all our large/heavy/bulky furniture on Tuesday at 8am. So we've got 2 nights left here. After that we'll be sleeping in the new house, which is a really weird feeling.
Sometime Tuesday the phone company will turn off our land line/internet, and (so they say) they'll come to the new house and run new line to hook us up there on Wednesday, so this is (probably) my last post from this spot- crammed between the bookcase and the bed, and the next one will be (hopefully) from my new dedicated office which is a really weird feeling.
A week from today, we're having a house warming party, something I mentioned not a few times to Ward yesterday as we mopped the floor of the still-empty and unfinished house in preparation for today's sealing of the floor. And that's a really weird feeling, bordering on panic-inducing anxiety.
I'd love to say "And that will be that", or "And they all lived happily ever after, cue the sunset", or "Boy, will I be happy when next week is over because then I can relax" but that's not the case.
This house will still contain 15 year's worth of stuff, memorabilia, tokens, symbols, crap and dust bunnies- and I'll have to be careful to steel myself and my family as we go through it all making very emperor-like decisions "thumbs up/thumbs down" as to what travels to a new spot in the new house, what stays in this house for the big estate/rummage sale and what gets unceremoniously stuffed into empty feed sacks and set at the curb.
It's going to be very difficult as treasures long forgotten get unearthed. Very difficult to say "WOW- I remember when we got that/where we got that/who we got that from!" think on it warmly and fuzzily and then set it aside and turn our backs on it. For absolute ever this time.
To avoid sensory overload (and because we'll still have our normal-everyday stuff to attend to)the "plan" is to go through room by room- hopefully getting one room a day completed. Twelve. There are twelve rooms in this house. Plus the shed. Plus the other shed. Plus the yard.
Oh yeah. And once the fences are done and the electric/water run, we'll still have to move the critters- coming here twice a day to feed till then.
AND we've got two trips to Houston in January.
Regardless of all the above, we're turning over the keys on February 1st to the house's new family, so there is a deadline, but it's all the way next month (insert hysterical laughter).
Whether or not the Long Slow Goodbye will be easier on us than a Quick Like a Bandaid severing of our ties to this place remains to be seen, and is really a moot point, because this is the way we're going about it.
Today's "Post Music" is one of my favorite songs- always has been- and the only thing I can sing without making dogs howl and run for cover. Alec told me "Mom- you sing that better than she does". Of course, he still depends on me for food and shelter...
So, for the last time gazing through 100+ year old blown glass windows (that are, I admit, letting in every bit of the 28 degree air outside), through the chinaberry and redbud trees and across the gravel drive to Pa's field as I try to think of words that make a damn bit of sense to attach to each other and then send out over the interwebs, this is Queen of the Universe- Over and Out.
See ya'll on the other side.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Happy New Year 2011
In with the old
Out with the new
This year's plumb wore out
And I am too
From great to horrific
And all things between
This was the most noteworthy year
We've ever seen
Perhaps "noteworthy" isn't
The word I am seeking...
But my goal is to write this
Sans cursing or shrieking
To all of our family both chosen and born
I wish you peace and joy starting off New Year's morn
May your troubles be few and be easily conquered
Now I'm rhyme-stymied cornered so I guess I'll just
Out with the new
This year's plumb wore out
And I am too
From great to horrific
And all things between
This was the most noteworthy year
We've ever seen
Perhaps "noteworthy" isn't
The word I am seeking...
But my goal is to write this
Sans cursing or shrieking
To all of our family both chosen and born
I wish you peace and joy starting off New Year's morn
May your troubles be few and be easily conquered
Now I'm rhyme-stymied cornered so I guess I'll just
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
One Week and Counting
In theory, one week from right now, thanks to the efforts of a burly moving crew employed to be here at 8am Tuesday next, we'll be sitting in our new house with our furniture surrounding us.
In theory, we will also have bathroom facilities, running water, lights, and heat even though none of that is a reality as of this writing.
Oh, the animals will still be here at the old house till the fences are complete, and 99% of our clothing, dishes, knick knacks and books will move room by room, box by box, absolute favorites first and working our way down till the new house looks finished- then that's it. No more may pass.
We probably won't have TV or internet hookups yet and we're leaving Joe here to guard all our debris.
I have high hopes of going through it all and dividing the chosen from the left-behinds, holding some sort of True Rummage sale (no sorting or pricing- just root through the mess and ask me "Hey- what do you want for THIS?"), donating/dumpstering the remains and doing a general hose-down of the place well before our turnover date of February 1st.
And that'll be that.
This grand old house will pass from our care to someone elses'- and we won't be coming Home to Here anymore- Home will be There.
After 15 years, the road Home will be different. Familiar, similar, but different.
For 15 years, these walls, this roof, embraced first me as a single woman, then myself and Ward as a new couple, saw the birth of Alec right here, was our refuge in sickness and health, in good times and bad.
Built in 1890, our occupancy only amounts to 13% of its age so far- so much history before us, so much more to come.
I'm not whining, and I'm not complaining. This move, this new place, this transition, is something we've worked very hard for and waited a long time for, and we're all excited about it- the new Home will be a perfect fit for us...forever.
I just hope our old house knows how much we love it and how very grateful we are for its shelter and protection, for its lessons on how a structure should be built for climate control using natural ventilation, taking advantage of natural lighting via window placement, but most of all for its very real sense of Home.
In theory, we will also have bathroom facilities, running water, lights, and heat even though none of that is a reality as of this writing.
Oh, the animals will still be here at the old house till the fences are complete, and 99% of our clothing, dishes, knick knacks and books will move room by room, box by box, absolute favorites first and working our way down till the new house looks finished- then that's it. No more may pass.
We probably won't have TV or internet hookups yet and we're leaving Joe here to guard all our debris.
I have high hopes of going through it all and dividing the chosen from the left-behinds, holding some sort of True Rummage sale (no sorting or pricing- just root through the mess and ask me "Hey- what do you want for THIS?"), donating/dumpstering the remains and doing a general hose-down of the place well before our turnover date of February 1st.
And that'll be that.
This grand old house will pass from our care to someone elses'- and we won't be coming Home to Here anymore- Home will be There.
After 15 years, the road Home will be different. Familiar, similar, but different.
For 15 years, these walls, this roof, embraced first me as a single woman, then myself and Ward as a new couple, saw the birth of Alec right here, was our refuge in sickness and health, in good times and bad.
Built in 1890, our occupancy only amounts to 13% of its age so far- so much history before us, so much more to come.
I'm not whining, and I'm not complaining. This move, this new place, this transition, is something we've worked very hard for and waited a long time for, and we're all excited about it- the new Home will be a perfect fit for us...forever.
I just hope our old house knows how much we love it and how very grateful we are for its shelter and protection, for its lessons on how a structure should be built for climate control using natural ventilation, taking advantage of natural lighting via window placement, but most of all for its very real sense of Home.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Caffeine + Christmas Cookies = Breakfast of Champions
People love my Christmas Cookies. Not because they're beautiful, because they're not- they're round (using a juice glass for a cutter) and frosted with uncolored frosting and all the sprinkles a young boy can fit on them.
They're loved because they are absolutely the best melt in yer mouth sugar cookies ever devised and baked by the human hand.
The recipe came from my friend Lynn, who I've unfortunately lost track of over the years.
Lynn and I were Jaycettes way back in the dark ages when being a Jaycette meant you had to be married to a Jaycee. Jaycees/Jaycettes were basically community service organizations that raised money for good causes. That those fundraisers took on the cloak of being big ol' excuses to drink beer, eat good food and play cards didn't matter- we did honest good while having a riotously good time. (Back then, the organizations were also limited to folks between the ages of 18-35, ensuring that no party got sullied by some old farts trying to run things).
The Jaycettes in Racine Wisconsin circa 1980- 1990 were a tight group. We bowled two mornings a week- leaving the kids in the nursery and noshing on sweet rolls and coffee while making a half-assed attempt at keeping track of who was "up". We were a disgrace to the "serious bowlers". The only time we gave a damn was if our trophy for last place was endangered- then we just tried harder...errr...less...whatever.
We lived for the KaffeeKlatch- most of us were stay at home moms, or had part time employment, and we took to heart the importance of socializing our youngsters. (At least I think they were socializing, we sort of lost track after we tossed snacks and toys into a bedroom, waited till they all scurried in there, then shut and blockaded the door so they wouldn't interrupt our conversations- in the summertime we did the same thing, except in the backyard).
The afternoon Lynn had us all over for strawberry daiquiris went down in Jaycette history as an epic example of "Wow. Those taste great and go down SO easy. Why is the floor spinning?" It was the only time the husbands had to be called to drive all the wives/kids home, but it was totally worth it.
Eventually, of course, "progress" reared its ugly head, and some idiots took the Jaycee/Jaycette organizations to court as being unconstitutional- some unmarried chicks wanted in but didn't want to go to the trouble of marrying to gain admittance.
Like there weren't other, non-marital-status related community and/or beer drinking organizations to join? Puh-leeze.
The day we were told "There will be no more segregation- everyone is now just Jaycees" was the day we all quit.
I mean, what the hell? It was supposed to be a "leadership training" organization for young adults. When they opened it up to both sexes, guess what happened? All the hard, onerous jobs? Yep. The men immediately backed off and 'let' the women do them.
Besides, our Jaycette meetings were OUR night AWAY from the guys- seriously. If you've ever spent 30 minutes with a man under the age of 35 (especially with a beer or four in 'em)you know it's like having one more kid around to watch. "Don't lick that". "Stop making that noise". "Dude. Basic hygiene and personal space".
We were together through thick and thin- literally as we all grew tummies and gave birth to children, celebrated good times and bad with our families.
So every time I make these cookies, I think of Lynn- who besides blending up Killer Strawberry Daiquiris, was an excellent baker. And all my other Jaycette Sisters-
Lynn and her husband went bankrupt and moved to Chicago, Cheryl's little boy survived cancer, Karen's husband hung himself in their basement, hopefully Donna got some help for her wild dark mood swings, Barb, Sandy and Jill just sort of drifted out of my radar after I moved to Texas, and Cathy and Chris remain in my very best friend circle- even after 30+ years.
Hope your Christmas was Merry- but just because it's the 26th of December doesn't mean you can't make more Christmas cookies.
And stop licking that.
Lynn's Sugar Cookies and Vanilla Butter Frosting
Cookies-
1 1/2c powdered sugar
1c butter
1 egg
1 tsp vanilla
1/2 tsp almond extract
2 1/2c baking mix
Cream sugar and butter. Add egg and vanilla/almond extract. Stir in baking mix and refrigerate for about 2 hours.
Divide dough in half and roll out. Cut into shapes, place on a lightly greased cookie sheet and bake for about 10 minutes at 350. Cool and frost with
Vanilla Butter Frosting
1/3c soft butter
3c powdered sugar
1 1/2 tsp vanilla
about 2 tbsp milk
Cream butter and sugar. Stir in vanilla and enough milk to make frosting.
Color frosting if you like, decorate with sprinkles as desired
They're loved because they are absolutely the best melt in yer mouth sugar cookies ever devised and baked by the human hand.
The recipe came from my friend Lynn, who I've unfortunately lost track of over the years.
Lynn and I were Jaycettes way back in the dark ages when being a Jaycette meant you had to be married to a Jaycee. Jaycees/Jaycettes were basically community service organizations that raised money for good causes. That those fundraisers took on the cloak of being big ol' excuses to drink beer, eat good food and play cards didn't matter- we did honest good while having a riotously good time. (Back then, the organizations were also limited to folks between the ages of 18-35, ensuring that no party got sullied by some old farts trying to run things).
The Jaycettes in Racine Wisconsin circa 1980- 1990 were a tight group. We bowled two mornings a week- leaving the kids in the nursery and noshing on sweet rolls and coffee while making a half-assed attempt at keeping track of who was "up". We were a disgrace to the "serious bowlers". The only time we gave a damn was if our trophy for last place was endangered- then we just tried harder...errr...less...whatever.
We lived for the KaffeeKlatch- most of us were stay at home moms, or had part time employment, and we took to heart the importance of socializing our youngsters. (At least I think they were socializing, we sort of lost track after we tossed snacks and toys into a bedroom, waited till they all scurried in there, then shut and blockaded the door so they wouldn't interrupt our conversations- in the summertime we did the same thing, except in the backyard).
The afternoon Lynn had us all over for strawberry daiquiris went down in Jaycette history as an epic example of "Wow. Those taste great and go down SO easy. Why is the floor spinning?" It was the only time the husbands had to be called to drive all the wives/kids home, but it was totally worth it.
Eventually, of course, "progress" reared its ugly head, and some idiots took the Jaycee/Jaycette organizations to court as being unconstitutional- some unmarried chicks wanted in but didn't want to go to the trouble of marrying to gain admittance.
Like there weren't other, non-marital-status related community and/or beer drinking organizations to join? Puh-leeze.
The day we were told "There will be no more segregation- everyone is now just Jaycees" was the day we all quit.
I mean, what the hell? It was supposed to be a "leadership training" organization for young adults. When they opened it up to both sexes, guess what happened? All the hard, onerous jobs? Yep. The men immediately backed off and 'let' the women do them.
Besides, our Jaycette meetings were OUR night AWAY from the guys- seriously. If you've ever spent 30 minutes with a man under the age of 35 (especially with a beer or four in 'em)you know it's like having one more kid around to watch. "Don't lick that". "Stop making that noise". "Dude. Basic hygiene and personal space".
We were together through thick and thin- literally as we all grew tummies and gave birth to children, celebrated good times and bad with our families.
So every time I make these cookies, I think of Lynn- who besides blending up Killer Strawberry Daiquiris, was an excellent baker. And all my other Jaycette Sisters-
Lynn and her husband went bankrupt and moved to Chicago, Cheryl's little boy survived cancer, Karen's husband hung himself in their basement, hopefully Donna got some help for her wild dark mood swings, Barb, Sandy and Jill just sort of drifted out of my radar after I moved to Texas, and Cathy and Chris remain in my very best friend circle- even after 30+ years.
Hope your Christmas was Merry- but just because it's the 26th of December doesn't mean you can't make more Christmas cookies.
And stop licking that.
Lynn's Sugar Cookies and Vanilla Butter Frosting
Cookies-
1 1/2c powdered sugar
1c butter
1 egg
1 tsp vanilla
1/2 tsp almond extract
2 1/2c baking mix
Cream sugar and butter. Add egg and vanilla/almond extract. Stir in baking mix and refrigerate for about 2 hours.
Divide dough in half and roll out. Cut into shapes, place on a lightly greased cookie sheet and bake for about 10 minutes at 350. Cool and frost with
Vanilla Butter Frosting
1/3c soft butter
3c powdered sugar
1 1/2 tsp vanilla
about 2 tbsp milk
Cream butter and sugar. Stir in vanilla and enough milk to make frosting.
Color frosting if you like, decorate with sprinkles as desired
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Christmas in the Twilight Zone
So we're building this house. What a happy day it will be for everyone around me when I can say "So we BUILT this house"- I know ya'll are getting plumb wore out from hearing about it.
But lets talk about ME.
More specifically, lets talk about the mess our current house is in, the lack of amenities in our new house, and how that all relates to and affects the Christmas Spirit in our family this year.
Because we're supposed to be moving (first promised "in by Thanksgiving" then "in by Christmas" then "probably in by the housewarming we've already sent invitations out for")I was loathe to haul out the boxes and decorate this house. Why do that when we'd have to take it all down right in the middle of the season?
Of course, there's nothing to hang a decoration on over yonder yet.
The one thing Alec requested that we retrieve from the holiday boxes was Christmouse.
Christmouse is a little stuffed rodent who hops (with the help of Alec, and his brother and sister before him) from one numbered pouch to the next from December first through the 24th.
So we lugged the boxes out of the attic and scrounged around till we found Christmouse, then pushed aside samples of stain and sealer, made a weak attempt at eliminating cobwebs from his spot on the wall, and- thanks to a loose nail- hung him crookedly in place.
Ta Daa. Oooooooh. Festive.
The tree is up- it's always up. It is also, however, somewhere behind a gabazillion boxes awaiting packing and still decorated with September's decorations, which are fall leaves and sunflowers.
Fa la la la la
La la.
La.
La.
How to describe our house?
In the best of times, I'm a very casual housekeeper. If there is a game trail from one room to the next, and the bathroom fixtures aren't actually talking back to us, we're good.
Oh, I've got my 'pet things' that have to be done for me to feel like we're living in a house and not any ol' landfill- the dishes must be done, the bed must be made, and the laundry clean if not folded and put away.
With all the time spent at the new place, and the lack of energy and basic give-a-shit-ness after working all day at the new place, the house is...startling. And not in a good way.
Pack rats all, our stuff has taken on new configurations and astoundingly, the more we haul out, go through and throw away, the less neat the house is. It's even spreading from the bedrooms (main repositories of clutter) to the hallway to the living room to yea verily the kitchen counters that have somehow shrunk from 2 ft wide to about an inch and a half wide.
I took a deep breath and with a dramatic sweeping gesture I made enough room on the kitchen counter to bake a single solitary batch of sugar cookies, which we will frost and sprinkle tonight.
My family is terrific.
They're right there beside me, behind me, doing all things asked and unasked in an amazing constant never ending show of love and devotion that humbles me and makes me want to do more for them.
More Christmas.
More decorations.
More cookies.
More patience.
More time.
More.
We'll be working at the new house tomorrow- Christmas Eve.
After waking and opening presents Christmas morning, we'll be back out there.
Working.
Making our home a reality.
Together.
And I realize that we don't need More.
Because what we're doing together is enough.
After a hellishly difficult year, we're together.
And that's enough.
But lets talk about ME.
More specifically, lets talk about the mess our current house is in, the lack of amenities in our new house, and how that all relates to and affects the Christmas Spirit in our family this year.
Because we're supposed to be moving (first promised "in by Thanksgiving" then "in by Christmas" then "probably in by the housewarming we've already sent invitations out for")I was loathe to haul out the boxes and decorate this house. Why do that when we'd have to take it all down right in the middle of the season?
Of course, there's nothing to hang a decoration on over yonder yet.
The one thing Alec requested that we retrieve from the holiday boxes was Christmouse.
Christmouse is a little stuffed rodent who hops (with the help of Alec, and his brother and sister before him) from one numbered pouch to the next from December first through the 24th.
So we lugged the boxes out of the attic and scrounged around till we found Christmouse, then pushed aside samples of stain and sealer, made a weak attempt at eliminating cobwebs from his spot on the wall, and- thanks to a loose nail- hung him crookedly in place.
Ta Daa. Oooooooh. Festive.
The tree is up- it's always up. It is also, however, somewhere behind a gabazillion boxes awaiting packing and still decorated with September's decorations, which are fall leaves and sunflowers.
Fa la la la la
La la.
La.
La.
How to describe our house?
In the best of times, I'm a very casual housekeeper. If there is a game trail from one room to the next, and the bathroom fixtures aren't actually talking back to us, we're good.
Oh, I've got my 'pet things' that have to be done for me to feel like we're living in a house and not any ol' landfill- the dishes must be done, the bed must be made, and the laundry clean if not folded and put away.
With all the time spent at the new place, and the lack of energy and basic give-a-shit-ness after working all day at the new place, the house is...startling. And not in a good way.
Pack rats all, our stuff has taken on new configurations and astoundingly, the more we haul out, go through and throw away, the less neat the house is. It's even spreading from the bedrooms (main repositories of clutter) to the hallway to the living room to yea verily the kitchen counters that have somehow shrunk from 2 ft wide to about an inch and a half wide.
I took a deep breath and with a dramatic sweeping gesture I made enough room on the kitchen counter to bake a single solitary batch of sugar cookies, which we will frost and sprinkle tonight.
My family is terrific.
They're right there beside me, behind me, doing all things asked and unasked in an amazing constant never ending show of love and devotion that humbles me and makes me want to do more for them.
More Christmas.
More decorations.
More cookies.
More patience.
More time.
More.
We'll be working at the new house tomorrow- Christmas Eve.
After waking and opening presents Christmas morning, we'll be back out there.
Working.
Making our home a reality.
Together.
And I realize that we don't need More.
Because what we're doing together is enough.
After a hellishly difficult year, we're together.
And that's enough.
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