In the wake of the passage of the Republican tax scam, pardon me, tax bill, political cartoonists have been spot on. Here are just a few of the pieces of pure genius.
Not all of the talented pundits focused solely on the tax sham, though. Fortunately, Trump’s capacity for corrupt leadership is fertile ground for savvy artists:
All I want for Christmas is a compassionate, articulate, intelligent President. Is that too much to ask?
I can’t stop laughing! Please read this and every single other post Ellen Hawley has ever written. You might not get any answers, but you just won’t care. You’ll be laughing too hard.
As the Christmas season sneaks up on us, more and more people turn to Notes from the U.K. for help in understanding the link between brussels sprouts and Christmas. (I’ll get to the pudding in a minute. Be patient.) It started as early as October. Or maybe that was September. Who keeps track?
If you’re not British, you’re thinking, Christmas and brussels sprouts?That makes as much sense as Easter and birthday candles, or Hanukkah and ham.
But brussels sprouts are a traditional part of the British Christmas dinner. I’ve explained all this at length before, with (please, do remember where you are) varying degrees of accuracy and insanity. So instead of repeating myself, let me refer you to that great authority on all things British, me, for everything you need to know on the subject. And more. You’ll find it here and here and yes, even here.
Done? Seat…
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For some reason this post disappeared from my “published” list. You don’t have to read it again, I just wanted to make sure I didn’t lose it.
Studly Doright and I were too lazy to send out our annual Christmas letter this year (and the year before, and the year before that), but after receiving the twelfth such letter from various friends and family members I began feeling guilty. Without such a missive how will anyone know what an absolutely awesome year Studly and I had? Fortunately I have this forum, so with just a bit of exaggeration, here is our offering:
“Doright Year in Review”
Dear Friends,
It’s that time of year again when we regale all of you with our adventures great and small, but let’s face it, the Dorights only have great adventures. All others are swept under the rug.
In January we moaned about temperatures dropping into the 50’s. My tan faded and Studly had to wear long pants to play golf. It was devastating.
February brought more of the same, but Valentine’s…
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I found this one while searching for another post. Gosh, I miss this man.
In my childhood, picking out a Christmas tree was a family affair, but everyone knew that the ultimate decision was made by Dad. He had this great ability to find the perfect tree every year. And decorating it was his thing.
We could help as long as we followed two basic rules:
1. Evenly space out the ornaments,
2. Make sure the various colors of ornaments were distributed appropriately (i.e. No two reds too close together)
Mom never approved of the way Dad tossed the icicles onto the tree, so he’d wait until she went into the kitchen and with a mischievous grin he’d fling a handful here, another there until it was to his liking. We never had an ugly tree. And, if the eggnog was flowing, the tree became a true work of art.
Perhaps this is why I pretty much spoiled the joy of tree decorating for…
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If you aren’t familiar with Shehanne Moore and her marvelous hamsters, you really are missing out on great fun. shehannemoore.wordpress.com
Studly Doright and I were too lazy to send out our annual Christmas letter this year (and the year before, and the year before that), but after receiving the twelfth such letter from various friends and family members I began feeling guilty. Without such a missive how will anyone know what an absolutely awesome year Studly and I had? Fortunately I have this forum, so with just a bit of exaggeration, here is our offering:
“Doright Year in Review”
Dear Friends,
It’s that time of year again when we regale all of you with our adventures great and small, but let’s face it, the Dorights only have great adventures. All others are swept under the rug.
In January we moaned about temperatures dropping into the 50’s. My tan faded and Studly had to wear long pants to play golf. It was devastating.
February brought more of the same, but Valentine’s Day broke up the monotony. Studly made it special by purchasing a 10-karat diamond necklace for me to wear to the grocery store. It pairs well with the mink he bought me for Christmas last year.
In March the temperatures began creeping into the tolerable zone. I spent a great deal of time at our beach house while Studly made a killing on the stock market and switched to shorts on the golf course. He shot a 69 on his home course and recorded two holes in one. The PGA contacted him about joining the senior tour, but he declined, saying it wouldn’t be fair to all the other golfers. What a mensch!
April and May were memorable for their showers and flowers. I entered the annual garden show with an orchid I discovered on my last trip to South America. The National Society of Horticulturalists have named it the Nana Glorious in my honor. My entry took first, second, and third place honors at the event.
We spent June, July, and August abroad. While Studly golfed in Scotland and Ireland, I explored quaint mountain villages throughout Europe and discovered yet another rare flower. Being the generous soul that I am, I pointed it out to a local woman who will go on to win multiple accolades for her contribution to botanical studies. Studly isn’t the only mensch in our family.
September was quiet as we recovered from our travels. Studly worked a bit, as his sharp mind and quick wit are in great demand. I was approached with a multi-million dollar deal to publish my memoirs. I just laughed and said, “Darlings, I haven’t even begun living yet!”
In October I traveled to visit our five precocious grandchildren. Fortunately they all take after me and will be outrageously successful.
November brought us together with most of Studly’s family. We celebrated his 60th birthday with a small concert. Sting said it was the best event he ever performed at, and asked if he could join us for Christmas this year.
So here we sit, Sting, Studly, and I, sipping spiced rum around a massive Christmas tree in the grand salon of our cabin in the Rockies. Sting keeps wanting to sing, but Studly says, “Enough, man. Let’s enjoy a Silent Night.”
We hope you all have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
Yesterday I posted a true story of a heart wrenching encounter I had with a woman at Walmart in Tallahassee. I won’t retell it here, but I want to thank everyone for their comments and for sharing their own tales of times they’ve either confided in a stranger or had a stranger confide in them. I feel fortunate to have friends and followers with so much compassion for others.
Now, within yesterday’s post there was a casual mention of my “famous pecan pie.” Out of all the comments I received only one person, my cousin Elaine, inquired about the pie. I felt sure everyone would need my secret recipe for the perfect pecan pie, but I guess the heart-wrenching part of my story overshadowed the pie part.
Those of you who’ve followed my blog for any length of time know that I’m a zero in the kitchen. For awhile I regaled readers with my culinary escapades in a series of posts I called “Cooking for Studly.” For almost a year I planned meals and had dinner on the table every single night. Then one day Studly came home and relieved me of my chef’s hat.
“Honey,” he said, “I’ve decided I don’t want a big meal for dinner. From now on I’m having cottage cheese and fruit.”
Some women might’ve taken that as an insult. Some women might’ve felt dejected. This woman lifted her arms to heaven and said, “Thank you Lord, for answering my prayers!”
In spite of my ineptitude in matters related to cooking I do manage to put together a good holiday meal. My turkey usually turns out tender and juicy; although, there was that one year that each bite of turkey required one drink of water or wine or tea. My cornbread dressing generally turns out to be sufficiently savory and my green bean casserole is boringly adequate.
It’s my pecan pie, though, that brings me a sense of pride. In all the years I’ve made it, it’s never failed. I’ll share the top secret recipe in this post and I hope you’ll all let me know how yours turns out.
Okay, so it’s the recipe on the Karo Syrup label. Shhhh!
Peace, people!
I stopped in at a Walmart yesterday. Not the brightest move I’ve ever made, I must admit. All the usual Christmas craziness was on parade: bright-eyed children asking, no, pleading, for toys. Harried moms of all shapes, ages, and ethnicities asking, no, pleading for them to be good for just a few more days. Weary clerks just waiting for their shifts to end.
And there I was, an island of calm in the midst of chaos. All I needed was a bag of pecan halves to make my famous pecan pie for Christmas dinner. Ten minutes should have been sufficient for this errand.
Finding the pecans seemed simple enough, except all of the bags I found on the baking aisle were pecan pieces. I insist on pecan halves because they rise so beautifully to the top during baking. Almost like magic.
I couldn’t find a clerk, so I wandered to a center aisle thinking the pecan halves might’ve been moved to a holiday display. I found a likely looking spot, but at first glance, not the right pecans. A pleasant, well groomed woman, maybe a few years my senior, was also perusing the display.
“Excuse me,” I said, “Have you seen any pecan halves? All I can find are the pieces.”
With a bit of a flourish she lifted a bag from a lower shelf. “Voila!”
“Thank you!” I said. “These are exactly what I was looking for!”
I began to turn away, when the woman said, “You could make divinity with the leftover pecans.”
“I suppose I could,” I said. “But my husband won’t eat divinity and I’d end up eating the entire batch.”
She laughed. “My husband only wants cherry pie for Christmas dessert. I used to make pecan pies for our son and grandson, though.”
Again I started to turn away, but she said, “They we’re both killed in a car accident. On the interstate between Jacksonville and Orlando.”
My heart lurched, and time stopped. “I’m so sorry. How long ago?”
“Four years. My grandson was just twelve. I think about them both every day.”
Then she told me how an erratic driver, lane surfing had taken the lives of two of the people most precious to her. He’d had multiple tickets for a variety of violations, but still had a license.
I hugged this stranger. In the middle of Walmart beside shelves of pecan halves and pecan pieces we stood and cried.
She apologized for upsetting me. “I can’t believe I just told all this to a stranger,” she said. “But I think all of my friends are sick of hearing how sad I am. They want me to get over it, or to at least stop talking about it.”
“Sometimes a stranger is just the right person to talk to,” I said. “I’m glad I came in search of pecans. Thanks again for helping me.”
She hugged me again and we wished each other a Merry Christmas. She and her husband were going to her daughter’s home for Christmas dinner, she told me. She assured me she’d be all right. “You found the right pecans, but I found the right stranger,” she said.
We never know, do we? In the rush of the day, in the quest for some mundane object, we might find not only what we need, but be the answer to someone else’s need. Slow down. Listen. Be present. You might find exactly what you’re looking for.
Peace, people.
Great piece by cornfedcontessa.com. If you are a frequent faller, like I am, this could come in handy!
https://www.aarp.org/health/conditions-treatments/info-2017/how-to-fall-safely.html
This is a great article for baby boomers. I’m a klutz, and have fallen down more times than I care to count. My most recent spill was while on vacation. I was taking a photo and fell backwards over a curb. Thank goodness some bushes broke my fall.
I am currently recovering from knee replacement surgery. It’s winter here in Wisconsin and I’m deathly afraid of taking another tumble while trying to walk with a cane.
Fortunately for me, I do know how to fall. When I was a kid, I was always fighting with my two older brothers. They use to chase me around the house, and outside I would always be tripping on something. I learned how to tuck and roll. I never really got hurt except for a few scrapes here and there.
Just last week we had our first snowfall, and my car windows were…
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We have a president who insists on taking us back to a day without science, and perhaps into a future of oppression. Here is a list of words his administration has banned the Centers for Disease Control from using in future budget proposals:
Similarly, our Florida governor, Rick Scott, has forbidden the use of the term “climate change” among members of our state government, as if banning words could make the reality behind them go away.
So, let’s also ban these words:
Murder
Injustice
Poverty
Hunger
Abuse
Disease
Misogyny
There. That should do it. Pesky words.
Seriously, who bans words? Oh, we all know the answer to that. I’m sure North Korea has a long list of words that are illegal to use. Trump’s friend, Putin most likely has a tablet filled with words his people aren’t allowed to utter in public.
Can we panic now? Or will panic be banned, as well?
Peace, people. Please don’t ban peace.
Praying for Eyebrowz 