Pray for the Caustic Commenters

"Commenters here can be very extreme, grumpy, and uncharitable."

That's the warning in the links section of the Psallite Sapienter blog about Rorate-caeli. I find the warning to be true, but I find commenters like that in so many places, and nothing sends me from a comments page faster than folks who come to a discussion armed with with razors and ice picks.

Ironically, I visited Psallite via a link on Rorate-caeli to read about saying goodbye to the Alleluia today, Septuagesima Sunday:

We do not so much put away Alleluia for a time, as begin the Year with it - at first Vespers of Septuagesima (once at the start, and four times at the end with the Benedicamus Domino otherwise special to Paschaltide), signifying that "In the beginning" Man and all that God created was "very good" (as in the Dominican Office the special Responsory at first Vespers tells) - then immediately leave it aside (symbolizing the Fall and the consequent captivity of all men under sin) till Christ by His Victory, bursting forth from the tomb on Easter morn, restores all things in Himself, making all things new.


"Alleluia, our transgressions / Make us for a while give o'er..."


The mediævals called this the Depositio Alleluia, the burial, even of the Alleluia - for as Adam sinned and died and was buried, so the heavenly song of original justice must be laid aside. (Some local ceremonies of old time for this involved writing Alleluia on parchment, and actually burying it!)

I love the whole idea of the Depositio Alleluia.  It made me wonder, though, about the caustic commenters and if they ever hear, much less sing, the Alleluia. I think for them it stays buried, casting a pall over their whole lives.

Experimenting with Butter

Yesterday I happened to have some homemade raw butter (HRB) and some store-bought butter (SBB) side by side on the counter. I turned my back for a moment, and when I looked again, Jess the Cat was licking the HRB. I assumed she had licked the other one too, so I threw her down and scooped the HRB onto the wrapper with the SBB to throw away. I noticed then what Emma has been telling me-- the HRB was much firmer at the same temperature than the SBB. I pinched a section of the SBB between my thumb and forefinger. It collapsed easily. It felt like oil. I pinched the HRB. It was much more dense and creamy. Emma described it as being more like cheese. The HRB was also about two shades darker yellow than its factory counterpart.

The density issue really surprised me. Previously, I had thought the main difference was the flavor and the nutrient content. I'm guessing the raw milk butter has a stronger molecular structure because the fat globules have not been smashed with homogenization*, and the protein structure has not been damaged with pasteurization.

In the flavor category, if I make butter with fresh cream, it tastes similar to SBB but with more depth. The SBB tastes "flat" in comparison. I am experimenting with using older cream and with "cultured" cream. (I leave it on the counter for 8 hours or so) It produces a stronger flavor, which at first I did not like. Now I am beginning to enjoy it. I imagine it would be especially good on strong-flavored breads like rye.

* I have since thought this over and realized that there would be absolutely no sense in homogenizing the milk/cream in the process of making SBB. I checked my box for unsalted butter; the ingredients list said "pasteurized cream and other flavors".

Filling the Tank, Emptying Confidence

In only six more days Emma will get her license, one day before her seventeenth birthday.

Realizing that she would soon be driving completely on her own, I decided not to help her make any decisions on Wednesday when she drove us to the Upstairs Studio in La Porte. I thought it would give us both confidence.

Then we stopped at a Shell station to get gas. I handed Emma my credit card. She knew the drill, and I was not expecting any trouble. Suddenly she jerked open the driver's door, leaned in, and shouted, "Help me, Mama! It's not working, and they're talking to me!"

It was windy, and her hair blew wildly all around her head.

"What are they saying?" I asked calmly.

"I don't know! Just help me!"

An uncontrollable urge to laugh overcame me just as I saw a man approach our car, lift the lever on the pump and depart. I breathed a deep sigh and started to really worry about Emma driving on her own.

I couldn't hear whether she regained her composure enough to thank the man who had helped her. She returned to the task at hand, but in a minute she tore open the door again.

"MOM! They're talking to me again!"

I could not answer her. Giant waves of laughter consumed all my oxygen. Another man appeared and pushed the pump handle firmly into the tank opening. Emma finally got the tank filled and returned to the driver's seat, appearing somewhat crumpled. She looked at me, totally humbled, and asked,

"Am I a dumb blonde?"

I Love a Parade

Leaving the back pasture for the parade route
Emma carries an armload of roses while waving at parade watchers
Parade's over, boots on, get to work.

Frolicsome Fiona Frightens Furry Friends, Falls into the Freezer of Emma's Affections

Yep. Monday, Emma was FURIOUS with Fiona for running toward the rabbits while kicking up her heels and otherwise carrying on like she had been drinking white lightning, which she had not, then pushing the rabbit cages with her big, slimy nose while the poor, frantic little bunnies raced all over their cage until one actually got his foot stuck and maybe broke it and now must drag it most pitifully, breaking Emma's heart.

Then last night Fiona fell asleep while Emma was milking her. Fiona's slow, rhythmic breathing made her appear baby-like, sweet and innocent and infinitely loveable. Emma was touched, and I think she began to forgive Fiona. Now if Fiona will be good today, I think Emma will sing to her again, and the old relationship can begin to be restored.

Ballet Folklorico de Mexico

Ballet Folklorico Publicity Photos
photo by Bob Shomler



Ballet Folklorico Publicity Photos
photo by Bob Shomler

A traditional costume from Jalisco, Mexico, that I spotted on the wall of a restaurant in North Carolina

Ballet Folklorico de Mexico's performance at Galveston's Grand 1894 Opera House Jan. 17th mimiced the weather that day--pure, bold, glorious sunshine.

We expected beautiful women in wonderfully flamboyant costumes, but the abundance of handsome men dancers daring to flaunt their masculinity was an unexpected delight that refreshed us with its simple reminder of God's design. In dance after dance these gorgeous men stomped and lassoed and captured the girl for a long kiss. It was fabulous!

Here's a link to a youtube video that features some of the highlights of a Ballet Folklorico performance. Go if you get the chance, and pay extra for a good seat!

A Chance to Dress Up and Dance: The 57th Annual Robert Burns Supper and Ball

Saturday night's Scottish shindig shepherded us into the world of bagpipes, haggis, and tatties and neeps.

After driving frantically to Emma's Scottish Country Dance practices across town, searching resale/thrift stores for the perfect gown, painting shoes, and spinning endless jewelry displays hunting earrings that would complement the dress, the big night finally arrived.

A stunning display of tartan flags, the poles arranged upright in a circle, greeted us as we entered the Marriott Westchase. The low, reedy hum of bagpipes called to us from down the hall, filling us with anticipation and preparing us for the lively music that would soon accompany the dancers as they performed for the Heather and Thistle Society.

Young ladies of Scottish Country Dance. Photo by Tiffany Clede

While Emma changed into her dance shoes, I peeked into the ballroom to see men in kilts and many of the women in simple gowns with tartan sashes worn over the shoulder, secured with a lovely "medallion" of the same fabric. Some added a pin to the center of the medallion, completing an interesting and elegant costume.

Wearing the plaid sash. Photo by Tiffany Clede

Meanwhile, the dance teacher, Mooneyeen Weiss, who prefers to be called "Moon", supervised a walk-through of the dances her students were to perform.

Moon gives last-minute instructions.

The dancers pose just before their first dance, a Straspey called "The Deeside Wanderer".

Emma and Dominic dancing the elegant Deeside Wanderer, which is done in a square formation.

Dancing the fast-paced Tomalina, which uses a figure with double-double triangles.Photo by Tiffany Clede

Our group danced well; each dance ended to fabulous applause. Now they were free to leave and return at 10 p.m. for the Ceilidh dancing.

So while the Robert Burns Supper ticket holders dined on the haggis, the national dish of Scotland--which according to About.com consists of cooked minced sheep’s offal mixed with suet, oatmeal, and seasoning all cunningly encased in the sheep’s stomach--we took the opportunity to sup at Phoenicia Specialty Foods. It is actually a grocery store with a fabulous deli and bakery. The store features groceries imported from around the world; the deli specializes in Mediterranean and Middle Eastern fare. (I made a mental note of their meat pies for future picnics.) Just the name of my meal tantalized me: Chicken Shawarma.

The dancers enjoy a silly moment as they return to their cars.

Back at the Marriott, the crowd had thinned out considerably. Some of us moms found an empty table in the ballroom where we could survey the Ceilidh dancing in comfort and sample some abandoned haggis and tatties (potatoes) and nips (turnips). However, when one mom said that her bite of haggis reminded her of dog food, I declined a sample.

Though the girls enjoyed the Ceilidh dancing, they suffered from a lack of male partners and often had to dance with each other. Two of our young men could not resist the temptation of a good game of chess, but there were men aplenty who could have given our eager-to-dance young ladies the pleasure but did not. Maybe their haggis had not settled well or their kilts were out of kilter.

The evening ended at midnight with a dance done to "Auld Lang Syne" but not before a waltz allowed Emma and Thomas to practice their Irish waltzing skills that they have been learning since last fall. They danced beautifully, and I heard that Moon was "astounded" when she saw them.

Emma and I made it home at 1:30 a.m., exhausted but ready to do it all over again if the opportunity arises.



AN EXPLANATION OF THE BURNS SUPPER TRADITION FROM THE HEATHER AND THISTLE SOCIETY:

Every year the Heather and Thistle Society have the Annual Burns Supper where several hundred people gather to celebrate the contribution Robert Burns made to the world.

Burns Suppers have been part of Scottish culture for about 200 years as a means of commemorating our best loved bard (a tribal poet-singer skilled in composing and reciting verses on heroes and their deeds). And when Burns immortalized haggis in verse he created a central link that is maintained to this day.

The ritual was started by close friends of Robert Burns a few years after his death in 1796 as a tribute to his memory. The basic format for the evening has remained unchanged since that time and begins when the chairman invites the company to receive the haggis.

Thanks, Gwen!

I received a wonderful surprise in my mailbox the other day, a "Nuns Having Fun" calendar. The best part is that it is from Gwen Cox, who started reading my blog after Corey's funeral.

I knew we were kindred spirits when she sent my sister a postcard from a state fair with a picture of a Jersey cow on it that was sculpted entirely from butter.

Seriously, though, Gwen is very dear to me because she and her husband have given my sister and brother-in-law immeasurable comfort as they grieve for Corey. It is not an easy thing to do, because people grieve differently, and many wannabe comforters unwittingly cause more pain. The Coxes have a special gift, though. I am eternally grateful for their love and care of my family.

Hugs to you, dear Gwen, and thank you ever so much for my funny calendar!

Bearing Burdens

I caught a bit of Emma's online literature class discussion yesterday. Her teacher, Mr. Cothran, was talking about bearing one another's burdens and how, often, we can bear easily for someone else what we can not bear ourselves. I think it is true.

In a slightly different way, my sister Beverly is doing this. Before her son passed away, she had asked to be transferred to the psychiatric ward at the hospital where she is an LPN. They deal with addictions there as well as other mental illnesses. She thought it would be good experience in helping her deal with Corey's alcoholism. As it turned out, Corey died just before she was to start the new job.

After that, she didn't think that she could do it--work with people who were suffering like Corey did. But she tried it and has stayed. In the first week she was able to cheer and comfort a de-toxing alcoholic executive. Since then she has brought Corey's clothes and given them to a young man who had none. He was actually having to wear paper scrubs. Then she had to see him wearing Corey's clothes, which I can only imagine took her breath away. However, in helping to bear their burdens, she is finding hers more "bearable". Here is what she said in a Jan. 3rd blog post:

I've also been blessed to find myself working on a psychiatric unit, caring for patients who often have no family, no opportunities, no hope. Being immersed in their lives and finding connections between theirs and my own has been, well, painfully liberating? Is that possible? I am finding more and more "constants", truths at work, as I watch over them.

Still Christmas

Our friend Mickey asked Nathaniel to take the pictures above last Sunday after Mass. Mickey, Nathaniel, and Herb usually put the Nativity scene together, and Mickey likes to get some pictures of the final product each year.

The other decorations in the church are gradually coming down. There was greenery that framed the side altars, and the window decorations and wreaths are gone too.Roses have replaced the poinsettias on the altar. Everything is quietly calming down as the Christmas season nears Candlemas.

I'm glad to have pictures from the choir loft showing the finished floor. It wasn't quite done when I posted Beauty Underfoot.

China May Loves Milking Time

Patterns in Weaving, Dancing, and Driving

Emma received word this week that it is time to come and choose a pattern for the District Check weaving workshop with Norman Kennedy so that the thread can be ordered. This week she also attended her first dance practice for the demo she is going to participate in for the Robert Burns Supper and Ball in Houston on January 23.

As we were driving to the dance practice she resumed the thread of a conversation we had several months ago as we wove in and out of interstate traffic. She said then that dancers make better drivers because they are trained to constantly adjust their position in relationship to the other dancers. In the renewed conversation she elaborated that she liked interstate driving and is good at it because it is very orderly. She admired the design of the infrastructure that facilitated this orderliness. I have never thought this way about driving. It interests me, though, to consider how our activities shape the way we see life.

Eat More Dirt

Fiona has begun stopping at the dirt pile on her way to our house to be milked. She plays like a frisky puppy in the dirt and rubs her head all in it. She even takes a few bites. This worries me and Emma. Now we are researching mineral deficiencies. Emma is going to take Fiona to graze along the fencerow and beside the hangar where there are a lot of wild plants. And I'm going to order Fiona some free choice minerals and kelp.

Fiona is bred to a Hereford bull and is due to calve in July.

Installing a Stereo, Building Relationships

I had a date with my firstborn yesterday morning. We attended a Michael Buble concert in Nathaniel's truck without ever leaving the garage. The roar from the propane shop heater that blasted us through the open driver's door could not drown out the beautiful sound from Nathaniel's new stereo system.

He glowed with happiness and pride.

I was happy and proud too. Herb and Nathaniel had installed the stereo together.They even had to fabricate some parts with Herb's new drill press and band saw.
It took two days. They installed the speakers on Saturday
and the stereo on Sunday.
Stereo seems an inadequate word to describe this piece of electronics. I don't even understand all the things it does, so I took some pictures of the box. Maybe the product description will mean something to you.




Here's the speaker box with pretty pictures on it.

Growing Up

June 30, 2007

January 8, 2010

I can't wait to be a Grandmother!

Milk, Mozzarella, and Mystery

Waiting for the correct temperature to add the rennet

Friday's mozzarella experiment with Emma's Keepers club friends proved that pasteurized milk from the grocery store yields inconsistent results. Three out of five of them produced soft, loose curds that would not hold together. Whether this was because the protein structure was destroyed in the pasteurization process, I can't say. Two girls used the same brand of milk with totally different results. One produced the best cheese in the class; the other ended up with cheese spread.

The girls had a lot of fun, no matter what the results of their cheesemaking. Two of the girls with curd failure were able to remove the excess whey, salt the curds, and spread it on crackers. They said it tasted really good. That's a better lesson than the cheesemaking--when life gives you lemons. . .

Emma's raw milk clearly triumphed in making a good curd. As soon as she started lifting the curd from the pot, you could see that it was totally different from the pasteurized milks. She had to cut hers into sections to remove. The failed curds looked and acted like a sickly cottage cheese. Not only that, but the volume of these curds was tiny. Pasteurized milk curd failure

The raw milk curds emerged from the whey in a shiny mass, but I forgot to take a picture.

I gave one of the store milks first prize, though, because it made the biggest cheese. Emma got the wrong directions about what temperature to add the rennet, and her curd did not develop completely before it reached the temperature that you normally take it out. The directions say remove the curd when the whey is clear, not milky. It didn't look "milky", just very yellow. I advised her to go ahead and remove. Later, when we bottled her whey, I could see that it was not clear. In fact, yesterday morning, it had a half inch of cream on top.

Raw milk whey that could still make more cheese

Her cheese would have been bigger if I had not told her to remove it too soon.

Last night I used the whey to make a creamy beef noodle soup. It was delicious.

Variations on a Theme of Mozzarella

The Keepers girls visited Old Town Spring in December for the Mother-Daughter Tea

This afternoon Emma and the other senior girls in her Keepers club are going to make mozzarella cheese using the recipe that my friend Susan taught Emma. (Susan is the club leader. ) I am excited because each girl will bring her own gallon of milk, so we will get to see all the variations that the different brands produce.

Stay tuned.

They're in a New York State of Mind

The wise men have arrived in Bethlehem, and my babies have returned from Syracuse. Their plane landed at Houston Intercontinental last night around 8:00.

We didn't get to visit much before bedtime, but I learned this much:

They LOVED Syracuse and especially Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of God parishioners like Mrs. Zallo (in the apron)--so much so that Nathaniel desires to move there and plans to return for the academy's graduation in June.

Emma confessed no such desire--yet, but daily snow and an "outdoor!" skating rink enthralled her, not to mention parishioners who love to dance. She said they had two dances during the five days of their visit. They danced contras and Virginia reels, a broom? dance, and even did some swing dancing, which Emma adored.

And the memories of napping, traveling, and hanging out with friends will be cherished forever.

Thanks to Fr. Stanich for making it all possible.

Beauty Underfoot

On the Saturday before Christmas, I got to see Mr. Mark Bryan finishing the installation of the new marble floor in the sanctuary and Lady chapel of our church.

He had waited about 32 years to do it, having helped install in 1977 the set of 3 matching marble altars, communion rail, and Stations of the Cross that had been purchased at auction from St. Joseph's Hospital in Kansas City, MO. So getting to do the floor at last is a dream come true for him.

The marble replaced old red carpet.