via The Remnant
Friday, January 30, 2009
Even Protestants Want to Know
". . .why doesn't the Catholic church, which opposes both contraception and abortion, excommunicate Pelosi and other liberal politicians such as Ted Kennedy and John Kerry for their promotion of these practices? I just don't get it."
--eHomebody Blog: Nancy Pelosi: Contraception will reduce costs to the state and federal government
--eHomebody Blog: Nancy Pelosi: Contraception will reduce costs to the state and federal government
Thursday, January 29, 2009
The Flower Power Lunch at the T-po D-po
Tuesday I ate this lovely flowerpot chicken pie while Emma and seven other girls dined on delicate teaparty fare to celebrate a friend's Sweet Sixteen.
The girls quite enjoyed themselves. Emma and I had a good giggle over the name of the tea room: The Teapot Depot. She could not say it right. She kept rhyming teapot with depot. We're easily entertained.
Cheerfully Pink
I admire this website for taking a subject that no one really wants to deal with and making it attractive. Fun even. The subject? Food storage.
Here in Hurricane Country, we're pretty familiar with the idea, but we tend to put it off until summer. It's really something that needs to be worked on year-round.
I always start with chocolate bars. You can never have too much in stressful situations. Unlike rice and beans, you won't get tired of eating them if your natural disaster doesn't show up. And they make you feel happy.
One of my other favorite food storage items is peanut butter. Luckily, it goes great with chocolate bars. Unluckily, the salmonella threat nixes any plans for stocking up on it right now. In the past, we have roasted raw peanuts and whipped them into peanut butter in the food processor. We may do that again. Of course, almond butter is good, and the Californians could sure use the money.
Thanks to garynorth.com for bringing this site to my attention.
Here in Hurricane Country, we're pretty familiar with the idea, but we tend to put it off until summer. It's really something that needs to be worked on year-round.
I always start with chocolate bars. You can never have too much in stressful situations. Unlike rice and beans, you won't get tired of eating them if your natural disaster doesn't show up. And they make you feel happy.
One of my other favorite food storage items is peanut butter. Luckily, it goes great with chocolate bars. Unluckily, the salmonella threat nixes any plans for stocking up on it right now. In the past, we have roasted raw peanuts and whipped them into peanut butter in the food processor. We may do that again. Of course, almond butter is good, and the Californians could sure use the money.
Thanks to garynorth.com for bringing this site to my attention.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Take Me Away to Monterrey
My Heart Lies South: the Story of My Mexican Marriage, richly depicts a model of what Catholic life can be. Set in 1930s Monterrey, Mexico, where everything is ordered to the Catholic faith, it is a beautiful book written by Elizabeth Borton de Trevino. She was an American reporter on assignment to Mexico for the Boston Herald when she met and was courted by Luis Trevino. They married one year later.
Published in 1953, the story relates how she found true happiness not in being an independent, single, American career woman but in becoming a whole-hearted Mexican wife and mother, daughter-in-law and sister-in-law.
Through her eyes we see the panorama of a vibrant Catholic culture where babies are adored, welcomed, and longed for by everyone; the old and the mentally ill are eagerly and lovingly cared for at home, and the maiden aunts embrace a life of service to the extended family.
Central to the maintenance of this Catholic culture is family life, which is firmly guided by Papacito and Mamacita. They nurture it by living the liturgical calendar, sending the children to Catholic schools, and approving of marriage choices. A complex code of courtship is enforced by the community to prevent playing around with tender hearts and to ensure that only the truly devoted make it to the altar.
The groundwork is laid by sending the girls to school with the nuns. They complete "six years of primary education, plus additional work in sewing, home-making and good manners." At 15, girls are introduced to society at The Baile de los Quince, or the Ball of Fifteen. After this "coming out" party, they are ready to receive suitors.
Young men go to school with the teaching brothers. They are expected to finish high school and then prepare for a profession or commerce. Therefore, they are much older than the girls whom they marry.
The marriage ceremony is especially beautiful and full of meaningful customs. The groom gives the bride gold and silver to indicate that he endows her with all of his worldly goods. She wraps him in her bridal veil to symbolize that she will protect and care for his comfort.
Thus, this little seed of Catholic culture grows and fruits bountifully amid everyday activities:
Often, in the early morning, a vendor has begged me to buy a little something "for the cross." This means that he has as yet made no sale, and it is the custom to consecrate the first sale, that God may watch over him all the day. So, after purchasing twenty cents' worth of aguamiel (cane juice) or a few oranges, I would watch the seller make the sign of the cross over the sale, and say a prayer in all solemnity.
The book is packed with such examples, in grief and in joy, in big things and in small, of how the Monterrey community works in a consistent, logical manner to produce the good fruit of Catholic culture. It is a pleasant and valuable guidebook for those who contemplate the devastation of the American vineyard and wonder where to start to rebuild, because, surely
God's heart lies South, too.
Published in 1953, the story relates how she found true happiness not in being an independent, single, American career woman but in becoming a whole-hearted Mexican wife and mother, daughter-in-law and sister-in-law.
Through her eyes we see the panorama of a vibrant Catholic culture where babies are adored, welcomed, and longed for by everyone; the old and the mentally ill are eagerly and lovingly cared for at home, and the maiden aunts embrace a life of service to the extended family.
Central to the maintenance of this Catholic culture is family life, which is firmly guided by Papacito and Mamacita. They nurture it by living the liturgical calendar, sending the children to Catholic schools, and approving of marriage choices. A complex code of courtship is enforced by the community to prevent playing around with tender hearts and to ensure that only the truly devoted make it to the altar.
The groundwork is laid by sending the girls to school with the nuns. They complete "six years of primary education, plus additional work in sewing, home-making and good manners." At 15, girls are introduced to society at The Baile de los Quince, or the Ball of Fifteen. After this "coming out" party, they are ready to receive suitors.
Young men go to school with the teaching brothers. They are expected to finish high school and then prepare for a profession or commerce. Therefore, they are much older than the girls whom they marry.
The marriage ceremony is especially beautiful and full of meaningful customs. The groom gives the bride gold and silver to indicate that he endows her with all of his worldly goods. She wraps him in her bridal veil to symbolize that she will protect and care for his comfort.
Thus, this little seed of Catholic culture grows and fruits bountifully amid everyday activities:
Often, in the early morning, a vendor has begged me to buy a little something "for the cross." This means that he has as yet made no sale, and it is the custom to consecrate the first sale, that God may watch over him all the day. So, after purchasing twenty cents' worth of aguamiel (cane juice) or a few oranges, I would watch the seller make the sign of the cross over the sale, and say a prayer in all solemnity.
The book is packed with such examples, in grief and in joy, in big things and in small, of how the Monterrey community works in a consistent, logical manner to produce the good fruit of Catholic culture. It is a pleasant and valuable guidebook for those who contemplate the devastation of the American vineyard and wonder where to start to rebuild, because, surely
God's heart lies South, too.
According to my Texas House of Representatives Calendar
The great state of Texas seceded from the Union and joined the Confederacy on this day in 1861.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
From French Cooking to French Music
When I was choosing Christmas carols for my Finetune playlist, I was disappointed that I was not familiar enough with any French carols to be able to choose some. Happily, Nathaniel came home from his first college choir class with the music for Quelle est cette odeur agreable? (Whence is that goodly fragrance flowing?) He is singing bass and really likes the piece but is struggling with pronunciation. This is his first exposure to French.
The Glorious Fish Soup
Nathaniel and Emma were not looking forward to making fish soup at cooking class yesterday. In fact everyone dreaded it, fearing the "fishy" taste. It turned out beautifully, though. They used four different fish: a red snapper, a cod, a basa, and a tilapia. These were removed from the finished soup and served separately. Emma decided that she liked all of them and had seconds. Nathaniel's favorite was the red snapper, I believe.
This finishes the soups that we will cover. Next week we are meeting at our house and have a guest teacher, a baker. (She used to bake for the tea room where Emma is going today for a birthday party.) The students will learn how to make pizza.
Monday, January 26, 2009
The Battle and the SSPX Bishops
The days are dark and darkening, but the enemy of darkness, the Catholic Church, still stands. Sadly, many defensive posts on her walls have been abandoned these last forty years by soldiers who wear the uniform but do not have the faith. The rebels move quickly and forcefully. An endless number mounts the ladders. The Holy Father sees the danger, recognizes that reinforcements must be called. The tepid will not do, though; he must marshal those who are ready to write the Creed with their own blood. They have been fighting, guerrilla style, in the forests and the fields. Now they must come inside the walls to fill the empty posts and to encourage those who still fight the good fight. The Pope signals the reinforcements to draw near. They come, but some from within the walls fire upon them with poisoned arrows, assuming they are the enemy because they have no uniforms. The Blessed Mother will know what to do. She hears the reinforcements praying the Rosary and singing her Magnificat. In the end, her Immaculate Heart will triumph.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Ron Paul on the Economy
Though the news is depressing, more than half the battle is getting at the truth. You won't hear it from anyone else in the government.
Invest in non-hybrid seeds.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Dressing Men
I never had a Ken doll. If I had, I might have given some childhood thought to what men wear. Coming of age in the era of polyester and the Leisure Suit did not help.
All I was concerned about was what looked good on me--how I could save enough money to get it and how I could keep my sisters from borrowing it once I had it. My future role as wife, mother, and men's suit fashion adviser never once blipped on my it's-all-about-me radar screen.
Then I married. I don't think Herb owned a suit, and it was not a problem for him or me. My first inkling that I had a supporting role in my husband's fashion play, a role for which I did not even have a script, was when he began working as an engineering intern for a firm in Atlanta. He asked me to help him pick out a tie to go with a new tweed sportcoat.
I was completely baffled. My instinct told me to get a solid color. Didn't my mama always say, "Better safe than sorry!"? Thankfully, we got some help from a salesman, and a much more interesting choice was made.
Since then, I've gradually gotten more confident in making tie choices simply by paying attention to shirt/tie combinations in catalogs and in the stores. In the last few years, I've been called upon more for advice on the actual cut and fit of the suit. My competence at this level of play is minimal. My main contribution here rests on the simple fact that I can see the suit from the back and tell whether there is a pucker across the shoulders or a gap in the jacket vent. There is so much more to learn.
Recently, the ante has been upped again. My son asked if I thought a high-contrast pinstripe suit would look good on him. How do you choose between pinstripes, plaids, and herringbones? I'm endeavoring to learn. This article helped.
All I was concerned about was what looked good on me--how I could save enough money to get it and how I could keep my sisters from borrowing it once I had it. My future role as wife, mother, and men's suit fashion adviser never once blipped on my it's-all-about-me radar screen.
Then I married. I don't think Herb owned a suit, and it was not a problem for him or me. My first inkling that I had a supporting role in my husband's fashion play, a role for which I did not even have a script, was when he began working as an engineering intern for a firm in Atlanta. He asked me to help him pick out a tie to go with a new tweed sportcoat.
I was completely baffled. My instinct told me to get a solid color. Didn't my mama always say, "Better safe than sorry!"? Thankfully, we got some help from a salesman, and a much more interesting choice was made.
Since then, I've gradually gotten more confident in making tie choices simply by paying attention to shirt/tie combinations in catalogs and in the stores. In the last few years, I've been called upon more for advice on the actual cut and fit of the suit. My competence at this level of play is minimal. My main contribution here rests on the simple fact that I can see the suit from the back and tell whether there is a pucker across the shoulders or a gap in the jacket vent. There is so much more to learn.
Recently, the ante has been upped again. My son asked if I thought a high-contrast pinstripe suit would look good on him. How do you choose between pinstripes, plaids, and herringbones? I'm endeavoring to learn. This article helped.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
I Have a Dream
I heard yet another black citizen claim on national television yesterday that Obama's presidency is going to build unity in this country. I could be somewhat hopeful of such a result if there had not been such resounding applause to Rev. Lowery's Inauguration "benediction":
Lord, in the memory of all the saints who from their labors rest, and in the joy of a new beginning, we ask you to help us work for that day when black will not be asked to get back, when brown can stick around -- (laughter) -- when yellow will be mellow -- (laughter) -- when the red man can get ahead, man -- (laughter) -- and when white will embrace what is right.
Lord, in the memory of all the saints who from their labors rest, and in the joy of a new beginning, we ask you to help us work for that day when black will not be asked to get back, when brown can stick around -- (laughter) -- when yellow will be mellow -- (laughter) -- when the red man can get ahead, man -- (laughter) -- and when white will embrace what is right.
My children reacted with shocked indignation at that remark. They're both white, by the way.
Interestingly, Lowery described the Obama children as "angelic."
Preparing French Onion Soup While Mastering the Art of Rubbing the Puppy With One's Foot
The soup was delicious, just a trifle sweet from the carmelized onions. The most interesting thing we learned was that the flavor of the beef stock can vary widely depending on the meat. We cooked one with "natural" beef bones (no hormones or antibiotics) that Gayle had procured from Whole Foods, I believe. We cooked another batch with grassfed beef soup bones that I got when I bought a side of beef last summer from a family in our homeschool group. Each one of us thought that the store beef tasted like chicken. We were amazed when we tasted the grassfed beef stock. I truly expected it to taste the same as the other. The grassfed beef stock tasted beefy, even before we added any seasonings. Gayle did add part of a roast to her stock. Maybe that diluted the flavor from the bones?
The Chevron Pledge
Have you seen the Chevron billboard with a picture of a lovely young lady and the message, "I will unplug stuff more".
Ugh.
The worst part is that the sponsor seems to expect us to take it seriously, like a pledge. Every time I read it, I get the urge to raise my hand and say, "On my honor, I will try to unplug stuff more, so help me Gaia."
That's when my Guardian Angel boxes my ears and reminds me that I'm a Catholic. Deo Gratias!
Ugh.
The worst part is that the sponsor seems to expect us to take it seriously, like a pledge. Every time I read it, I get the urge to raise my hand and say, "On my honor, I will try to unplug stuff more, so help me Gaia."
That's when my Guardian Angel boxes my ears and reminds me that I'm a Catholic. Deo Gratias!
Monday, January 19, 2009
The Stuff That Girls' Dreams are Made of: It's at High Fashion Fabrics
Saturday morning Herb, Emma, and I took off for the Urban Harvest tree sale at Rice University Stadium in Houston. When we got there, Herb saw the line to get in wrapped around the stadium. He didn't want to wait, so we left.
We didn't want to to waste a trip downtown on a Saturday, though, so I suggested an alternative. Emma and I have been wanting to visit High Fashion Fabrics. One of Emma's sewing teachers had recommended that we acquaint ourselves with its inventory. So Herb, being a good sport, took us there. It's at the intersection of Louisiana and Elgin streets and well worth the visit. We spent about an hour oogling and petting their wares. Herb suggested that we go back another day and visit their home decorator fabrics shop that is located across the street. Emma and I are ready whenever he says, "Let's go."
I think that these mannequins that Emma is visiting are wearing silk. I know that there was an amazing selection of silks hanging on racks in one corner of the store. Sometimes you felt like you were looking at a color palette instead of fabric. Then there were the fabrics that would have looked at home in a jewelry store.
Welcome to the essential feather boa department. Individual ostrich feathers were displayed in vases. I don't think we'll be needing any, but it was awfully interesting.
Planning to make your own wedding dress? Get thee to High Fashion Fabrics.
The crowning touch, a whole selection of tiaras. The store also featured a huge selection of jewelry.
Sheer fabric with embroidery. So lovely, so delicate, so feminine!
There was a sumptuous selection of men's suiting material. Herb found a cashmere for $375/yd. but decided to hold off until it showed up as a suit at a resale shop. I liked the plaid in the middle at the end of the rack.
Herb showed Emma the glove selection. She was overwhelmed until she found out that the adult sizes were one-size-fits all, and they were too big. The largest children's size was too small.
I fell in love with this black lace and had Herb drape it over Emma so I could see how it would look as a veil. It has gold roses and bows attached. The roses didn't photograph well. $150/yd., approximately.
Pink lace is just one of those essential fabrics that every girl should have in her stash.
Emma recognized the sacrifice that Herb cheerfully made for her to visit the store. She gave him a big kiss and told him, "Thank you, Daddy!"
We didn't want to to waste a trip downtown on a Saturday, though, so I suggested an alternative. Emma and I have been wanting to visit High Fashion Fabrics. One of Emma's sewing teachers had recommended that we acquaint ourselves with its inventory. So Herb, being a good sport, took us there. It's at the intersection of Louisiana and Elgin streets and well worth the visit. We spent about an hour oogling and petting their wares. Herb suggested that we go back another day and visit their home decorator fabrics shop that is located across the street. Emma and I are ready whenever he says, "Let's go."
I think that these mannequins that Emma is visiting are wearing silk. I know that there was an amazing selection of silks hanging on racks in one corner of the store. Sometimes you felt like you were looking at a color palette instead of fabric. Then there were the fabrics that would have looked at home in a jewelry store.
Welcome to the essential feather boa department. Individual ostrich feathers were displayed in vases. I don't think we'll be needing any, but it was awfully interesting.
Planning to make your own wedding dress? Get thee to High Fashion Fabrics.
The crowning touch, a whole selection of tiaras. The store also featured a huge selection of jewelry.
Sheer fabric with embroidery. So lovely, so delicate, so feminine!
There was a sumptuous selection of men's suiting material. Herb found a cashmere for $375/yd. but decided to hold off until it showed up as a suit at a resale shop. I liked the plaid in the middle at the end of the rack.
Herb showed Emma the glove selection. She was overwhelmed until she found out that the adult sizes were one-size-fits all, and they were too big. The largest children's size was too small.
I fell in love with this black lace and had Herb drape it over Emma so I could see how it would look as a veil. It has gold roses and bows attached. The roses didn't photograph well. $150/yd., approximately.
Pink lace is just one of those essential fabrics that every girl should have in her stash.
Emma recognized the sacrifice that Herb cheerfully made for her to visit the store. She gave him a big kiss and told him, "Thank you, Daddy!"
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Stash and Dash
The day that we dropped in at the May Community Center to tell the watercolor teacher that Emma would join the class, we stumbled upon two cartloads of fabric that they were giving away. I think most of it had been used for decorating tables, etc.
Emma was ready to wheel the carts to our car and unload them, but I restrained her. I let her select an armload and then cut her off. She crossed her arms over her new stash, clutching it fast to her heart, and jogged out the door and all the way to the car. "Emma," I called after her. "They're not going to chase you down and take it away from you. They WANT to get rid of it."
It didn't matter. She didn't relax until she had it all tucked away safe in the car. She has spent many happy moments since then dreaming of future projects.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
The Left, The Right, The Emotion
This article on the role emotion plays in partisan politics proved interesting, though not surprising. Emotion is so much easier than logic.
Happiness is French Cooking Class
As I reported yesterday, Nathaniel did not want to go to the French cooking class Monday afternoon, but his teacher, Gayle, was so good she won him over in the first few minutes.
It didn't hurt that she had a really cute puppy underfoot. Every few minutes Nathaniel would give me the eye and nod toward the puppy. "Get one for Dad," he would mouth silently. Even if I couldn't have read his lips, I would have known what he was trying to tell me.Gayle's daughter, Anna, is in the class, too. Happily, next week a male friend of hers will be joining. That will max out Gayle's kitchen, so I will probably not attend any more classes.
Gayle involved all of her students' senses in the cooking experience, having them shake the produce and smell the aroma, then giving them leaves of cilantro and parsley to chew and asking for their opinion of the flavors.
She showed them how to hold a knife properly, chop an onion, and debone a chicken breast. She talked to them about the properties of different herbs--like the ability of bay leaf to aid in food preservation--while they were chopping vegetables for their soup.
She had them sampling the soup pot regularly and giving their suggestions. This process was used again when they made the salad dressing.
They set the table. Then Nathaniel filled the soup bowls and garnished them with a stylistic flick of his wrist, clearly enjoying himself.
We all sat down together and enjoyed a lovely meal punctuated with happy talk.
After the cleanup, Nathaniel and Emma both thanked Gayle profusely. I recognized that Nathaniel was ready to give her a hug, but she was distracted and didn't give him the opportunity.
Nathaniel and Emma can't wait to go back next Monday. They'll be making a French onion soup and a fish soup--and lovin' on that cute, lil ol' dawg every chance they get. Bless their pea-pickin' hearts!
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Cooking and Gardening and Spiritual Reading, Oh My!
Before Herb left for work on Monday morning, he and I had a parenting conference about our boy, who seemed to be in need of "reeling in".Consequently, when Nathaniel got up, I communicated the results to him--basically that he would be adjusting his priorities away from entertainment and toward choosing good things like spiritual reading.
I also assigned him and Emma each five raised bed garden boxes to cultivate.
"But I have to go golfing this afternoon," said he.
"No, you can't go golfing this afternoon because you have cooking class. You have to get your schoolwork done this morning," I replied.
"Cooking!" he said in disgust. "I don't want to cook!"
"You told me you did, and I made the arrangements," I said. "Now you are going."
Schoolwork began under a thick cloud of tension. Finally, it was lunchtime. Nathaniel wandered into the kitchen and picked up a silly greeting card that I had bought on a whim.
The front of the card is an old black-and-white photo of two women in hunting outfits, complete with shotguns. The message is:
God grant us the patience
to change the men we can,
the aim to shoot the men we can't,
and the wisdom to know the difference.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!," Nathaniel screamed, dropping the card and running from the kitchen as if his hair and clothes were on fire.
Alarmed, I caught up with him at the back door. "What's the matter? I asked.
"That's just what you're doing to me!" he shouted with a hurt look in his baby blue eyes. "COOKING and GARDENING and SPIRITUAL READING!" he said, emphasizing each word with a grimace and a deep knee bend.
Then he fled out the back door, which was a really good thing because I could not have kept a straight face a moment longer.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Just a Southern Thing? More on King Cakes
Emily G wrote the following comment:
I've heard of the tradition of a king cake but I have never seen or eaten one. They are not sold around here. I wonder if it was never a widespread tradition, or if only certain areas of the US ever observed it. Maybe it's just a southern thing. I live in Ohio.
I guess in the United States that answer is "yes". They are especially a New Orleans tradition and are popular wherever Mardis Gras is celebrated, generally along the Gulf coast from Mobile, AL to Galveston, TX. However, Germany has their version: Dreikoenigskuchen. Spain and Mexico have Rosca de Reyes. The New Orleans version comes from the French tradition of Gateau des Rois. According to Rao's Bakery's History of the King Cake:
The New Orleans tradition of celebrating the feast of the three Magi with a special cake is rooted in several European cultures. As far back as the first half of the sixteenth century, France commemorated King’s Day, which falls twelve days after Christmas, with a Twelfth Night cake. In the seventeenth century, Louis XIV took part in at least one Twelfth Night festival where a bean or ceramic figure was hidden in the cake, also known as a gateau des Rois (King's Cake).
The Twelfth Night cake custom is still widely observed in France, where families and friends gather around one of the different cakes served at King cake soirees. In some regions the couronne, made from brioche dough topped with a fruit-festooned sugar glaze, is favored. In Paris and other major cities, a fancier galette filled with frangipane (almond cream paste), prevail.
"In most areas of France, a tiny plastic king or queen is baked into the galette des Rois, but in some rural towns you can still find the little ceramic toys and animals that have been inserted in the cake's for hundreds of years." Jean-Luc Albian, a French pastry chef who bakes the French-style cakes in his suburban New Orleans shop, Maurice French Pastries. "When we have a King cake party in France, we refer to the galette de Rois tradition as pulling the king or queen," he continues. "The guest who receives a serving with the trinket hidden inside picks a consort. Then the pair, who will host the next King’s Day Party, are crowned with the gold and silver paper diadems that adorn the cake. In France, King’s Day celebrations end on January 31."
Here's a link to a video that shows New Orleans style King Cakes being made at Randazzo's Bakery in Slidell, Louisiana. Slidell is separated from New Orleans by Lake Pontchartrain.
In most traditions, the one who finds the baby or bean gets to be King or Queen for a day, but, appropriately, there is usually a corresponding responsibility.
From what I've read about Rosca de Reyes, it seems the tradition is to only eat it on Epiphany. Whoever gets the baby must prepare a dinner party of tamales and hot chocolate on Candlemas Day (Feast of the Presentation) for the other members of the Epiphany party. The Nativity scene will be put away, and some traditions require that the host dress a doll representing the infant Jesus in christening clothes and present him at the parish church.
The Spanish/Mexican and original French versions of the celebration seem to be more in line with the spirit of the traditional Catholic calendar. The French end their King Cake season on Jan. 31; the Spanish/Mexicans complete the King Cake festivities on Candlemas, Feb. 2.
The traditional liturgical calendar begins counting down the days before Easter by naming the three Sundays before Lent: Seventy days before Easter is Septuagesima Sunday (3 Sundays before Lent), 60 days before Easter is Sexagesima Sunday (2 Sundays before Lent), and 50 days before Easter is Quinquagesima Sunday (1 Sunday before Lent). It is the Church's way of gradually sobering us and preparing us for the Lenten season.
Partying and eating King Cakes right up to Ash Wednesday appears to me to be where the secular New Orleans-based Carnival season takes over.
However, the true King Cake tradition is beautiful and a great way to promote the celebration of the Christmas season.
Emma and her Louisiana friends Kyrie, Julia, and Mary Catherine made their own version of the King Cake on Saturday. They actually made two--one for us to eat and one to take to the contra dance that night.
Mary Catherine was the foods photographer for the girls' King Cake Project.
Here's the recipe they used:
2 (8-oz.) cans crescent rolls
1 (8-oz.) package softened cream cheese
1/2 cup powdered sugar
1/2 tsp. vanilla extract
1 cup pie filling (your choice)
Glaze:
1/4 cup powdered sugar
1 Tablespoon milk or juice
Purple, yellow, green colored sugar
Instead of sugar, you may tint the glaze with food coloring.
Preheat oven to 350. Lightly spray a pizza pan or baking dish with cooking spray. Blend together the softened cheese, sugar, and vanilla. Divide the rolls into individual pieces and lay them around the pan with the wide edge on the outside and the point toward the center, overlapping the edges slightly. Spread the cheese mixture on the crescents. Spread the pie filling over the cheese. Fold the crescents over the filling and bake for 25-30 minutes. Cool for 5 minutes. Insert the baby or bean representing the Christ Child. Prepare glaze. Blend powdered sugar and liquid until smooth. Drizzle over warm cake. Sprinkle colored sugars over the glaze. Serve warm.
I've heard of the tradition of a king cake but I have never seen or eaten one. They are not sold around here. I wonder if it was never a widespread tradition, or if only certain areas of the US ever observed it. Maybe it's just a southern thing. I live in Ohio.
I guess in the United States that answer is "yes". They are especially a New Orleans tradition and are popular wherever Mardis Gras is celebrated, generally along the Gulf coast from Mobile, AL to Galveston, TX. However, Germany has their version: Dreikoenigskuchen. Spain and Mexico have Rosca de Reyes. The New Orleans version comes from the French tradition of Gateau des Rois. According to Rao's Bakery's History of the King Cake:
The New Orleans tradition of celebrating the feast of the three Magi with a special cake is rooted in several European cultures. As far back as the first half of the sixteenth century, France commemorated King’s Day, which falls twelve days after Christmas, with a Twelfth Night cake. In the seventeenth century, Louis XIV took part in at least one Twelfth Night festival where a bean or ceramic figure was hidden in the cake, also known as a gateau des Rois (King's Cake).
The Twelfth Night cake custom is still widely observed in France, where families and friends gather around one of the different cakes served at King cake soirees. In some regions the couronne, made from brioche dough topped with a fruit-festooned sugar glaze, is favored. In Paris and other major cities, a fancier galette filled with frangipane (almond cream paste), prevail.
"In most areas of France, a tiny plastic king or queen is baked into the galette des Rois, but in some rural towns you can still find the little ceramic toys and animals that have been inserted in the cake's for hundreds of years." Jean-Luc Albian, a French pastry chef who bakes the French-style cakes in his suburban New Orleans shop, Maurice French Pastries. "When we have a King cake party in France, we refer to the galette de Rois tradition as pulling the king or queen," he continues. "The guest who receives a serving with the trinket hidden inside picks a consort. Then the pair, who will host the next King’s Day Party, are crowned with the gold and silver paper diadems that adorn the cake. In France, King’s Day celebrations end on January 31."
Here's a link to a video that shows New Orleans style King Cakes being made at Randazzo's Bakery in Slidell, Louisiana. Slidell is separated from New Orleans by Lake Pontchartrain.
In most traditions, the one who finds the baby or bean gets to be King or Queen for a day, but, appropriately, there is usually a corresponding responsibility.
From what I've read about Rosca de Reyes, it seems the tradition is to only eat it on Epiphany. Whoever gets the baby must prepare a dinner party of tamales and hot chocolate on Candlemas Day (Feast of the Presentation) for the other members of the Epiphany party. The Nativity scene will be put away, and some traditions require that the host dress a doll representing the infant Jesus in christening clothes and present him at the parish church.
The Spanish/Mexican and original French versions of the celebration seem to be more in line with the spirit of the traditional Catholic calendar. The French end their King Cake season on Jan. 31; the Spanish/Mexicans complete the King Cake festivities on Candlemas, Feb. 2.
The traditional liturgical calendar begins counting down the days before Easter by naming the three Sundays before Lent: Seventy days before Easter is Septuagesima Sunday (3 Sundays before Lent), 60 days before Easter is Sexagesima Sunday (2 Sundays before Lent), and 50 days before Easter is Quinquagesima Sunday (1 Sunday before Lent). It is the Church's way of gradually sobering us and preparing us for the Lenten season.
Partying and eating King Cakes right up to Ash Wednesday appears to me to be where the secular New Orleans-based Carnival season takes over.
However, the true King Cake tradition is beautiful and a great way to promote the celebration of the Christmas season.
Emma and her Louisiana friends Kyrie, Julia, and Mary Catherine made their own version of the King Cake on Saturday. They actually made two--one for us to eat and one to take to the contra dance that night.
Mary Catherine was the foods photographer for the girls' King Cake Project.Here's the recipe they used:
2 (8-oz.) cans crescent rolls
1 (8-oz.) package softened cream cheese
1/2 cup powdered sugar
1/2 tsp. vanilla extract
1 cup pie filling (your choice)
Glaze:
1/4 cup powdered sugar
1 Tablespoon milk or juice
Purple, yellow, green colored sugar
Instead of sugar, you may tint the glaze with food coloring.
Preheat oven to 350. Lightly spray a pizza pan or baking dish with cooking spray. Blend together the softened cheese, sugar, and vanilla. Divide the rolls into individual pieces and lay them around the pan with the wide edge on the outside and the point toward the center, overlapping the edges slightly. Spread the cheese mixture on the crescents. Spread the pie filling over the cheese. Fold the crescents over the filling and bake for 25-30 minutes. Cool for 5 minutes. Insert the baby or bean representing the Christ Child. Prepare glaze. Blend powdered sugar and liquid until smooth. Drizzle over warm cake. Sprinkle colored sugars over the glaze. Serve warm.
Friday, January 9, 2009
The Good Stuff: Cramming It All In
Our spring semester is really getting packed with homeschool supplementals. Nathaniel is registered for four classes at the community college following a Monday, Wednesday, Friday schedule. He will take a class on the US and Texas Constitutions, Music Literature, College Choir, and Weight Lifting. Then there is the French cooking class on Monday afternoon and plane building each evening.
Emma will have the cooking class and ballet on Monday, sewing with our next door neighbor on Wednesdays, ballet and pointe on Thursday, and watercolor class at the May Community Center on Friday mornings. She is also set to observe an intermediate tap dancing class next week. If she likes it, she will go there after sewing each week.
Yesterday, Emma's friends, Marissa and Carina, spent the afternoon in our kitchen baking cream scones. Then they adjourned to Emma's bower with the scones and the tea kettle. While they were there they planned a series of get-togethers. I have been informed that they will alternate between afternoons of sewing, baking, and dramatic performance. Carina and Marissa are also taking the watercolor class on Friday mornings. Maybe they can come here Friday afternoons. The girls took this picture of themselves:
Emma will have the cooking class and ballet on Monday, sewing with our next door neighbor on Wednesdays, ballet and pointe on Thursday, and watercolor class at the May Community Center on Friday mornings. She is also set to observe an intermediate tap dancing class next week. If she likes it, she will go there after sewing each week.
Yesterday, Emma's friends, Marissa and Carina, spent the afternoon in our kitchen baking cream scones. Then they adjourned to Emma's bower with the scones and the tea kettle. While they were there they planned a series of get-togethers. I have been informed that they will alternate between afternoons of sewing, baking, and dramatic performance. Carina and Marissa are also taking the watercolor class on Friday mornings. Maybe they can come here Friday afternoons. The girls took this picture of themselves:
Cookin'
Out of the blue last November, Gayle, a friend of mine who is a wonderful cook, herb expert, and general "foodie", volunteered to teach my children and her 15-year-old daughter to cook using the book I had chosen, Mastering the Art of French Cooking.
She and I met at Starbucks earlier this week to work out our plan. We start class on Monday at her house. I'll bring the ingredients. The students will cook from 3 to 5. Then they'll eat what they have prepared and clean up. Gayle also is planning field trips to some of the best Houston produce markets to teach them how to shop for fresh fruits and vegetables. The best part of all of this is that she is really excited about doing it.
She and I met at Starbucks earlier this week to work out our plan. We start class on Monday at her house. I'll bring the ingredients. The students will cook from 3 to 5. Then they'll eat what they have prepared and clean up. Gayle also is planning field trips to some of the best Houston produce markets to teach them how to shop for fresh fruits and vegetables. The best part of all of this is that she is really excited about doing it.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
They Made a Liar Out of Me
The store I went to last night did not have the Mexican King Cakes, so I bought another of the French ones. When I opened the box, I discovered that the baby was actually already hidden. Boy, did I feel silly after all that I wrote on Epiphany about bakeries not hiding the baby anymore and taking the fun out of eating King Cake.
I did feel a little better when I cut the cake and realized that they had lied about the filling. It was not cream cheese like the box said. It was cinnamon. I just had another piece with my coffee. It's still cinnamon. Very good cinnamon.
I did feel a little better when I cut the cake and realized that they had lied about the filling. It was not cream cheese like the box said. It was cinnamon. I just had another piece with my coffee. It's still cinnamon. Very good cinnamon.
A Funny Surprise
I went to Amazon.com to look for a book that has been on my "want to read" list for a long time. It's about a career woman who enters a convent. It's called In This House of Brede.
When I entered the title in the search box, I accidentally typed "Breed" instead of "Brede". It was OK because the first two results were the paperback and hardback editions of the book I wanted. The third one had this picture:
When I entered the title in the search box, I accidentally typed "Breed" instead of "Brede". It was OK because the first two results were the paperback and hardback editions of the book I wanted. The third one had this picture:
What I Hate About My Blog
I hate looking back and reading about projects that were actually underway and realizing that they were never completed. Ugh!
On the top of my ugh! list is the beehive. Emma was almost finished with it when she ran out of the little finishing nails. She asked her dad to get her some more. Every time he tried, the bin at the hardware store would be empty. He tried several stores. None. Then she went to camp; we had a couple of hurricanes, and we all just kind of forgot about the beehive.
The other day I remembered it and asked Herb to check again for the nails. The bin was still empty, but he looked in the picture-hanging supplies and found a package of the precious nails. Yippee! We'll be back in the beehive saddle again.
On the top of my ugh! list is the beehive. Emma was almost finished with it when she ran out of the little finishing nails. She asked her dad to get her some more. Every time he tried, the bin at the hardware store would be empty. He tried several stores. None. Then she went to camp; we had a couple of hurricanes, and we all just kind of forgot about the beehive.
The other day I remembered it and asked Herb to check again for the nails. The bin was still empty, but he looked in the picture-hanging supplies and found a package of the precious nails. Yippee! We'll be back in the beehive saddle again.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
A Place of Enchantment
Author Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings said that everybody needs a place of enchantment. I knew just exactly what she meant, because I had one and still go there--in my memory.
Miss Rawlings was talking about her Florida farm at Cross Creek. I did not grow up on a farm, but for most of my childhood, our house was the last one in a line of waterfront homes. The Florida woods adjoined it, a magical wilderness to me and my two sisters.
In the summers I would pack a lunch, a fishing pole, my cat, and a book and spend the day adventuring in our rowboat. I made stops at my favorite tree, a giant Magnolia that overhung the water and had the most lovely branches for reading benches. My cat liked it up there, too. A wicked girl, I enjoyed pelting unsuspecting skiers with the seed pods, which were the size of my palm.
Sometimes I followed a trail from the tree to an old abandoned homestead, the Crowder place. I dug up many treasures there. I remember particularly the small glass milk bottles. I took one to school for a craft project, and it sits now in our hall bathroom, a strange artifact encrusted with fragments of gold-painted egg shell. Better than the archaeological digs, though, were the rusting hulks of ancient vehicles that dotted the yard. I sat on the springy seats, gripped the huge steering wheels and drove, often pretending to be a delivery man.
Back in the boat, I rowed toward Gap Creek, stopping to frolic on the sandbar that guarded the entrance under the bridge. The water from the creek was clear and cold, the Florida sun bold and bright. I can close my eyes now and feel the minnows "nipping" at my ankles, see the tiny hermit crab trails in the sand alongside my feet. Reeded islands concealed duck nests. I was in another world here, but I could still see our house across the water. That changed as I rowed under the bridge.
The creek was narrow and winding; the trees blocked the sun, and it was often a struggle just to maneuver the boat, often forcing me to pull in the oars, making an "x" across my torso. There were houses along the creek, but I hardly ever saw anyone. Better still, the houses were individualistic, some dilapidated, and I often had the delicious sense of being right on the edge of an unknown danger. Once, upon rounding a curve, I came face to face with a decaying duck that was hanging from a tree by a fishing line, the hook in its throat. Looking at it, I could feel the barbs in my own throat, feel the slow agony of dying suspended above the water. Though I was hot, goosebumps pricked my arms.
Faced with this horror, I turned the boat, exited the creek, and pushed my oars deep into the open water, reveling in my strength as I pulled back and the boat shot forward. Home. I was headed home--to the safety of my own shore, my own backyard, my own family.
Home was the real place of enchantment.
Miss Rawlings was talking about her Florida farm at Cross Creek. I did not grow up on a farm, but for most of my childhood, our house was the last one in a line of waterfront homes. The Florida woods adjoined it, a magical wilderness to me and my two sisters.
In the summers I would pack a lunch, a fishing pole, my cat, and a book and spend the day adventuring in our rowboat. I made stops at my favorite tree, a giant Magnolia that overhung the water and had the most lovely branches for reading benches. My cat liked it up there, too. A wicked girl, I enjoyed pelting unsuspecting skiers with the seed pods, which were the size of my palm.
Sometimes I followed a trail from the tree to an old abandoned homestead, the Crowder place. I dug up many treasures there. I remember particularly the small glass milk bottles. I took one to school for a craft project, and it sits now in our hall bathroom, a strange artifact encrusted with fragments of gold-painted egg shell. Better than the archaeological digs, though, were the rusting hulks of ancient vehicles that dotted the yard. I sat on the springy seats, gripped the huge steering wheels and drove, often pretending to be a delivery man.
Back in the boat, I rowed toward Gap Creek, stopping to frolic on the sandbar that guarded the entrance under the bridge. The water from the creek was clear and cold, the Florida sun bold and bright. I can close my eyes now and feel the minnows "nipping" at my ankles, see the tiny hermit crab trails in the sand alongside my feet. Reeded islands concealed duck nests. I was in another world here, but I could still see our house across the water. That changed as I rowed under the bridge.
The creek was narrow and winding; the trees blocked the sun, and it was often a struggle just to maneuver the boat, often forcing me to pull in the oars, making an "x" across my torso. There were houses along the creek, but I hardly ever saw anyone. Better still, the houses were individualistic, some dilapidated, and I often had the delicious sense of being right on the edge of an unknown danger. Once, upon rounding a curve, I came face to face with a decaying duck that was hanging from a tree by a fishing line, the hook in its throat. Looking at it, I could feel the barbs in my own throat, feel the slow agony of dying suspended above the water. Though I was hot, goosebumps pricked my arms.
Faced with this horror, I turned the boat, exited the creek, and pushed my oars deep into the open water, reveling in my strength as I pulled back and the boat shot forward. Home. I was headed home--to the safety of my own shore, my own backyard, my own family.
Home was the real place of enchantment.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Twelfth Night: Serve up the King Cake
This Christmas season I have fallen in love with a carol called The Snow Lay on the Ground, particularly the line that says:
And thus that manger poor became a throne.
Tonight we gathered in the living room for our Epiphany celebration. We sang We Three Kings, and when we got to Melchior's verse about gold:
Born a King on Bethlehem's plain
Gold I bring to crown Him again
King forever, ceasing never
Over us all to reign
I remembered the "manger poor" that became a throne for the King of Kings on Christmas.
Nathaniel and Emma opened their Epiphany presents. Then Emma served the King Cake. Herb got the baby.
I didn't quite know what to think about this King Cake; it was solid instead of a ring. The strangest thing was that the plastic baby that represents the Christ Child was affixed to a flat plastic crown. He wouldn't come off, and I couldn't push him, crown and all, into the cake, though I did try. Luckily, we have extra babies that we have saved for when we bake the King Cake ourselves. So I got one and tucked him in. Then I took a jeweled crown ornament and put it in the center of the cake, arranging the plastic crown with attached baby in front of it. It looked really pretty, especially by candlelight.
I first ate King Cake in Baton Rouge when I worked for LSU Press. We got huge, scrumptious ones fresh from local bakeries like Gambino's. Whoever got the baby had to buy the next one. We gorged ourselves on King Cakes--strawberry, cream cheese, apple, bavarian cream-- from Epiphany to Mardis Gras. As far as I remember, the baby was already hidden when we got the cake. Somewhere along the way I guess the bakeries got worried about being sued over the potential "choking hazard" the plastic babies presented. They began providing a baby that you had to install yourself. It took a large chunk of the fun out of it.
The other odd thing I noticed today was Mexican King Cakes. I've never seen them before, but at the grocery store this morning they were stacked up right next to the traditional French ones. The Mexican ones don't have all the white icing and colored sugar. They are decorated with dried fruit and look somber and dignified, almost Puritanical, compared to the garish French ones that we love. I'm going to get a Mexican one next. We can doctor it up if necessary.
The Wise Men Have Arrived
The Feast of the Epiphany always gives me a special satisfaction. There is that sense of musical resolution. Our Wise Men have been advancing along the mantel toward the Babe in the manger since Christmas. Now the dear Bethlehem scene is finally complete.
We have a "Three Kings" ornament on our Christmas tree with a banner at the bottom that says, "Wise Men Still Seek Him".
It's true.
We have a "Three Kings" ornament on our Christmas tree with a banner at the bottom that says, "Wise Men Still Seek Him".
It's true.
Monday, January 5, 2009
The Perfect Gesture
Men don't generally help each other get ready for dress-up events the way that women do. Women help each other with hair, makeup, and accessories. The only acceptable help that men can give one another is to help tie the necktie. Even then, it is generally a familial gesture between a father and a son.
But last November it was different. Last November, my brother-in-law, John, passed away. My husband, shedding tears, took the tie that John would wear into eternity, put it around his own neck and tied it loosely. Then he slipped it off and put it on the shirt that John would wear so that John's widow and daughters could see how it looked with his suit.
Watching, my heart and lungs seemed to freeze in place. It was the most heart-wrenching scene of our marriage but also the most tender, the most memorable. It was the perfect gesture, the last help that Herb could give his little brother in this world. And I am grateful, so grateful that he was given the opportunity to do it
But last November it was different. Last November, my brother-in-law, John, passed away. My husband, shedding tears, took the tie that John would wear into eternity, put it around his own neck and tied it loosely. Then he slipped it off and put it on the shirt that John would wear so that John's widow and daughters could see how it looked with his suit.
Watching, my heart and lungs seemed to freeze in place. It was the most heart-wrenching scene of our marriage but also the most tender, the most memorable. It was the perfect gesture, the last help that Herb could give his little brother in this world. And I am grateful, so grateful that he was given the opportunity to do it
Saturday, January 3, 2009
She Said the Big No-no
Nathaniel and Emma and I met a bunch of new people at a dance last night.
Emma was wearing a pretty linen shirtdress, a cameo necklace, and pumps. She had a ribbon in her hair. You could tell she was weird just by looking at her. Then during the small talk after the initial introductions, a lady asked Emma what degree she would pursue after home school.
"I want to get married," Emma said quietly but without hesitation.
Except for the sharp intake of air from our interlocutors, there was a stunned silence, followed by:
"oh," and some shifty eye movements.
Do I need to mention that it was awkward?
I realized that I needed to have a little talk with Emma. On the way home I told her that she needed to practice fielding these questions about her future.
"I know, Mom," Emma said earnestly. "I've already thought about it. From now on I'm going to tell them that I am studying to be a ballerina."
I stifled the urge to laugh. "Emma, you need to come up with an answer that is truthful but non-controversial such as, "I'm interested in historical costume design."
Today, I'm wondering why I didn't jump into the awkward silence at the dance and say, "Isn't that wonderful? I'm so proud of my daughter. She not only wants to marry, she wants to stay home and raise a big family for the greater glory of God."
Emma doesn't need to practice fielding questions about her future. I do.
Emma was wearing a pretty linen shirtdress, a cameo necklace, and pumps. She had a ribbon in her hair. You could tell she was weird just by looking at her. Then during the small talk after the initial introductions, a lady asked Emma what degree she would pursue after home school.
"I want to get married," Emma said quietly but without hesitation.
Except for the sharp intake of air from our interlocutors, there was a stunned silence, followed by:
"oh," and some shifty eye movements.
Do I need to mention that it was awkward?
I realized that I needed to have a little talk with Emma. On the way home I told her that she needed to practice fielding these questions about her future.
"I know, Mom," Emma said earnestly. "I've already thought about it. From now on I'm going to tell them that I am studying to be a ballerina."
I stifled the urge to laugh. "Emma, you need to come up with an answer that is truthful but non-controversial such as, "I'm interested in historical costume design."
Today, I'm wondering why I didn't jump into the awkward silence at the dance and say, "Isn't that wonderful? I'm so proud of my daughter. She not only wants to marry, she wants to stay home and raise a big family for the greater glory of God."
Emma doesn't need to practice fielding questions about her future. I do.
The Veiled Threat
The veil thing seems to always bubble ominously on the back of the Catholic stove, boiling over regularly and making a sticky mess.
The biggest argument turns on whether a woman is required to cover her head in church.
Regardless of who is right, what puzzles me is the resistance. It is such a simple thing for a woman to throw a veil over her head.
And, contrary to internet rumors, veils don't blister your ears or cause unsightly head bunions.
Veils are easy-care. You can keep one wadded up in your car or your purse for a week, shake it out on Sunday, and it looks great. They wash easily with some Woolite in the sink. Drying is such a snap, veils should be EnergyStar rated!
What's the big deal?
I could understand if the battle were over whether women are required to wear hats. You can't safely store a hat in your car or your purse and wearing one positively ruins your Sunday hairdo. All that money you spent on chemicals to achieve Big Texas Hair is wasted.
The only reason I can think of to explain the resistance is that when a woman considers covering her head, she is confronted with her femininity. Our culture has trained us to be uncomfortable with that.
And that's not funny.
The biggest argument turns on whether a woman is required to cover her head in church.
Regardless of who is right, what puzzles me is the resistance. It is such a simple thing for a woman to throw a veil over her head.
And, contrary to internet rumors, veils don't blister your ears or cause unsightly head bunions.
Veils are easy-care. You can keep one wadded up in your car or your purse for a week, shake it out on Sunday, and it looks great. They wash easily with some Woolite in the sink. Drying is such a snap, veils should be EnergyStar rated!
What's the big deal?
I could understand if the battle were over whether women are required to wear hats. You can't safely store a hat in your car or your purse and wearing one positively ruins your Sunday hairdo. All that money you spent on chemicals to achieve Big Texas Hair is wasted.
The only reason I can think of to explain the resistance is that when a woman considers covering her head, she is confronted with her femininity. Our culture has trained us to be uncomfortable with that.
And that's not funny.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Feast of the Circumcision
Happy New Year!
It is a magical time. Jesus spilled his first drop of blood for us today with his circumcision. The Wise Men are on the way. We still have a month and a half or so before Lent.
As Fr. said at Mass this morning, let us look back and count our blessings and look forward to where we want to be spiritually when this time comes around next year.
Let us build virtue and shed sin.
It is a magical time. Jesus spilled his first drop of blood for us today with his circumcision. The Wise Men are on the way. We still have a month and a half or so before Lent.
As Fr. said at Mass this morning, let us look back and count our blessings and look forward to where we want to be spiritually when this time comes around next year.
Let us build virtue and shed sin.
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