Holiday Cooking notes

 Christmas Pie Recipe

1/2 cup butter

1/2 cup cocoa

1 cup sugar

1 Tbsp molasses (pour and guess; not fussy)

1/2 tsp. salt

1 Tbsp. vanilla (pour and guess)

3 eggs

splash of heavy cream (only if Lu won't be eating it)

Melt butter.  Stir in cocoa, sugar, molasses, salt and vanilla.  Whisk in eggs, one at a time.  Pour into crust.  Bake at 350 for 32 minutes.  Center does not need to be set; it will set as it cools.

* * * * * * *

Gluten free pie crust

1/2 cup rolled oats

1 and 1/2 cups almond flour

1/2 tsp. salt

2 Tbsp butter

1 egg

Pulse oats in food processor until quite fine (this is actually much better than oat flour, in this recipe).  Add the rest of the ingredients and process until it forms a ball.  Remove to pie plate and shape into crust using fingers and/or a roller (I sometimes use a small cylindrical glass).

* * * * * * *

Christmas Soup

Use whatever ingredients you have on hand--

For example: leftover frozen broth, onions, celery, peppers, potatoes, sweet potatoes, squash, kale, spinach, carrots, chicken or beef, pinto and/or black beans, frozen mixed vegetables, frozen corn, frozen peas, etc.

Cook the onions hard in some butter or olive oil, until they are caramelized.  (If you are using raw meat, add diced chunks at this point, and brown up with the onion--add in a bunch of seasoning and let the flavors sear into the meat. Remove the meat to a separate pot and slow-simmer in broth while you work on cooking down and pureeing the stock vegetables.)

Add whatever other vegetables you want in a puree--usually the ones that aren't very nicely textured when cooked, like celery and peppers, plus some sweet potato for thickness and depth--plus a bunch of broth. Cook until very soft and then thoroughly puree. Add the stuff you want to be in chunks and simmer until tender.

Add broth or cooking wine if needed for consistency.  Boxed is fine.

Taste and correct seasoning.  Use about 1 Tbsp salt (less with salted cooking wine) for a large pot of soup, and work from there.  Spices can vary from curry seasonings to Italian seasoning to sage and thyme, depending on your ingredients and your mood.  Garlic is good with everything.

Fixing flavor:  add molasses for depth, lemon (zest and/or juice) and/or cayenne for kick, garlic is always nice.  Black pepper sometimes does wonders.  Celery seed can also add depth.  If you think it needs salt but are afraid to add more, offer grated Parmesan to sprinkle on the soup when you serve it.  Between Parmesan and molasses, you can basically fix anything.

* * * * * * *

Christmas Eve Menu

• soup
• crackers
• charcuterie
• crudite
• cookies or chocolates

Easter

We went to Ohio for Easter.  Ohio is ahead of Minnesota in terms of the coming of spring, but it is behind central Illinois.  This became particularly apparent when we arrived home on April 22, and I saw how far my flower beds had progressed in the two weeks I had been away and how they had missed me.

Of course, Ohio holds a treasure far beyond spring flowers.  Ohio holds a baby boy who, on Tuesday, reached the ripe old age of four months.  Soft blond hair, bright blue eyes, full of grins and giggles, he is a delight.  If only we could always keep our beloved children as safe as we can when they are babies, held close to our chests, their dear little heads perspiring softly in the curve beneath our chins.  Is there any joy in life greater than the soft dependance of a baby's body as it sinks heavy and limp in sleep against your heart?

On Good Friday, we were driving to Alistair Begg's church, Parkside Bainbridge.  We were on one of those seventy-something highways that run around and through Cleveland.  The light waned in early evening, as gray rain fell insistently.  A wave passed through my body and I forgot where I was, listening to the rumble of the tires on asphalt, suddenly swept back to some distant autumn in the northeast, driving to drop people off at college, cold and sad.  I had to shake myself and struggle to remember.  No, this is spring.  Easter.  Good Friday.  Ohio.  I have a grandson.  I am a grandmother.

I was going to write about righteousness, what righteousness is and why we need it.  Instead, I sit here and remember Easter in Ohio, and a little baby boy who sat up alert and attentive in an Easter morning church service, when the trumpets began to play.  He turned his soft, squishy face toward the music like a sunflower turning toward the sun, his body tense with excitement.

Jesus died to make us righteous, and rose again, the first one to break free from the bonds of sin.  Our little baby doesn't know about these things.  He only knows about drinking milk, turning his orange sphere of circles in his hands, kicking and splashing in his bath, laughing when we play peek-a-boo or pretend to sneeze, and crying when someone puts him down for a nap or pulls a shirt over his head.  He doesn't know he is plagued with the natural selfishness of humanity, or that he needs a Savior, or that the God of the Universe humbled Himself to death on his behalf.

He doesn't know, but I pray he will learn, and believe, and find redemption, freedom and joy in Christ.

A Halloween fright

This morning, I went to take Duffy out for a walk.

He paused on the threshold of the front door.  Looking down, I tugged at his leash, stepped out ahead of him to set a good example, and then slowly began to close the door, easing him forward.  All the time, I was watching him and talking to him, encouraging him.  Finally he hopped forward.  I finished closing the door and glanced up, only to see a gigantic cat, curled forebodingly in the nearest porch chair.

It was a huge cat with gray stripes, massive back legs, and a long, long tail.  Startled and shocked, I gasped and began screaming.  The cat did not move.  I gripped Duffy's leash and ran, dragging him across the street, screaming all the way.  On the far side of the street, I was able to gather myself and do a deep breathing exercise while I surveyed my situation.  The cat remained contentedly curled up in the chair, thwarting me from any hope of re-entering my home.

Shawn was upstairs in his study, holding an online meeting with a group of people who were assembled in Nevada.  He'd been preparing for this meeting for days, possibly weeks.  Even if he heard me scream, I didn't know if he could break away.

There I stood, in the street, chilly and windblown, shaking, grasping the leash at whose end was my tiny, four-pound puppy, wondering if the twenty-pound cat on my porch was ever going to be finished with her nap in my chair.

Then, like a hero, or an angel from heaven, Shawn opened the door and called out, "Just a minute!"  A few moments later, he appeared with a clear spray bottle, which he sprayed in the cat's face.  The cat rose from its lounge and dashed off, towards me actually, but I ran in a circle down the street and back towards my house.

Yes, it is Halloween.

If this post does not make sense to you, you can read about my cat phobia here.

David's Graduation

We enjoyed David's graduation.  I will share a few pictures.

He wore a gold tie and yellow socks, so as not to clash with the green on his gown.  His precious in-laws presented him with that beautiful chess set as part of their graduation gift to him.

I love this picture.  

It captures the playful little boy I used to scoop up and carry close to my heart.  

Except, he's really tall now.

So pensive.

And it culminated with a Happy Mother's Day, besides!

God is faithful.

God is good.

Faith in Happy Endings

I'm not a scholar.  Not a historian, nor a scientist, nor an archaeologist.  I have nothing but a lowly Bachelor's Degree in English, and even for that, I'm not particularly well read.  I do recognize a good story though.

I suppose you could (possibly even fairly) say that I believe the Bible because I am ignorant.  You might be right.  You might be wrong.

I'm tired, and I've been sick, and I don't really want to get into some big defense of why I see things the way I see them, and why I could possibly think that I, of all people, might be able to discern what is true.

Tomorrow is Easter, and here is what I am thinking about:

Happy endings follow terrible events.

In fact, you never even know how happy you can be, until you have experienced a loss of happiness and had it returned.  This is the truth, and I know it because I have seen it and experienced it, hundreds of times.

Stories are not any good without a conflict and a resolution.  Such is the basic pattern of every story.  Something goes wrong, and somehow this changes things fundamentally.  Some stories do not have a happy ending, and yet, even in stories where the main characters die tragically and the world is left scarred, the author almost always ends with some sort of poignant hope, veiled though it may be.

The human spirit hopes.  The human spirit hopes, and hope is from God, and hope is fulfilled in Jesus.  Those who turn to Jesus, to the light, to life and hope and joy and peace, those people will see a happy ending.

The Bible is the Best Story, the story of God, who created all things and infused His creation with beauty, love and great expectation.  Because it is a story, the Best Story, a problem had to arise: betrayal, separation, brokenness.  The Bible word for this problem is sin.  Adam and Eve brought sin and death into their perfect world, separating themselves from their perfect, holy Creator.

Throughout the Best Story, time after time, God reaches into His broken creation with signs of hope, words of hope, promises of restoration.  Over many, many centuries, smaller stories come together from the quills of many different writers, and these stories all fit together, sometimes creating patterns, telling simplified versions, partial versions of the amazing rescue to come.  Sometimes they give hints or present riddles; always, they remind of the promise of a Savior.  These little stories that fit together to tell the Best Story show us people just like us, people who make mistakes, people who do things that are stupid (and sometimes even wicked), people who are not particularly strong or smart or special.  When they stray from the Lord they are worthless, but when they cling to Him, He makes them invincible.

Like all the good stories, The Best Story has a climax.  Easter is the climax.  God Himself, having taken on mortal flesh, surrenders to a ghastly execution.  The glorious One who dreamed up the universe and spoke it into existence stood silent as deluded men whipped Him, swore at Him, spit on Him, pressed a ring of thorns over his His head and into His temples, and finally nailed His hands and feet to a cross of wood and stood it on a hill where crowds could mock and jeer at His suffering.  The sky turned black at midday, and Jesus Christ the Lord God died.

It was terrible.  All those who had believed in Him figured they must have been wrong.  Devastation, loss and despair reigned for three days.

But, on the third day, early in the morning, the most amazing thing happened.  There was a resurrection.  It happened mysteriously, and the dawning of understanding came slowly.  Nevertheless, the stone in front of the tomb had been rolled away.  The tomb was empty.  Angels appeared, saying things like, "He is not here, He has risen!"  And finally, He started to appear here and there, Himself, talking to His friends, reassuring and offering hope.

There is hope.  This is the Real Story, the story all other stories try either to emulate or to obfuscate.  No matter how bad it gets, we can always hope, because God is here, alive, attentive, almighty.  It's going to be okay.  If we can just hang on through the dark night, joy comes in the morning.  Every winter that turns into spring, every baby that arrives after a painful labor, every sunrise after a sleepless night reminds us of the same story: God plans good for us in the end.

There are a lot of stories in circulation that aren't true, but the truth is, there is a God.  He loves His creation, and He is working on the most glorious rescue operation ever.  It's going to take us all of eternity in heaven to study all the intricacies of His plan to bring His will to pass, all the millions of plot threads that He wove together for our ultimate joy and His surpassing glory.

It is going to be amazing.  It is going to be so good.

Please read Psalm 30.

Spring is coming slowly this year, but I'm holding on.  All I've got blooming is crocuses (it's the first year we haven't had Easter daffodils since we moved here).  But the crocuses are nice:

And here is my bleeding heart, which came back, even though it never bloomed last year . . .

If you liked this, here's another Easter post you might enjoy (from last year).

Well look at that. 30 years.

Shawn and I have now been married 30 years.

Shannon, Laura and Matthew came out over the weekend to commemorate the milestone.

Schubert was beside himself with joy.

We did bonfires, roasting hotdogs and marshmallows, making s'mores.

This is a sadly lacking photo, but I wanted to document Jon's presence with us.

One golden afternoon, Lu took us over to the park and photographed us.  Now we will be able to remember what we looked like, after 30 years of marriage.
(Disclaimer: Lu took the photos, but I edited these, and she may or may not approve of the edits, so don't judge her on them.  The edits are just my way of inserting my personal memories of the emotional feel of the day.)

Wow.  Can you believe 30 years?

( I didn't edit this one)

If you liked this, you might also like:

How I met your father

A love story

God at work VII (and gluten-free chocolate cake)

I am thankful to God because we had a good weekend.

Jon's birthday was Thursday, and we took him out for dinner.   But on Saturday, we had a little birthday barbecue with some friends from church.  We ate hamburgers, hot dogs, brats, potato salad, coleslaw, beans, fresh veggies, guacamole, and gluten-free chocolate cake.  Jon said he wanted me to be able to share in the cake; I thought that was terrifically sweet of him.  More about the cake (and the recipe) in a minute.  We also played Dominion, a new game we learned while we were on vacation at the beach.

On Sunday, Jon came home with us after church and we feasted on the leftovers from the barbecue.  Then we went shopping for birthday shoes for him.  It was a very nice day.

And... about the cake.  Even though Jon had expressed that he wanted me to be able to eat it too, I was planning on going easy and fixing him a boxed mix.  I was sure I had one.  However, in the end, the only boxed mix in the pantry was Red Velvet, and although Red Velvet is okay, it isn't anyone's favorite, and I didn't want to serve it on his birthday.

I decided that it would be less work to make a scratch cake than to go to the store again.

This may or may not have been true.

But.

As I thought through my scratch options, I realized that if I mixed up a cake from scratch, I might as well go for gluten-free.  Then I remembered that I had a bunch of almond flour that I'd ordered through Amazon and hadn't yet opened.

I looked at "gluten-free chocolate cakes" online, but they all looked flat and dense, like brownies.  If I wanted birthday brownies, I'd make birthday brownies.  I wanted birthday cake.  So I made up my own recipe, prayed, went forth...

And it was really good!  God blessed my efforts, my weekend, and my birthday boy.

The cake.  Frosted.

The cake.  Decorated.

The cake.  Cut.  

Note the traditional, cakey texture.  

It was fluffy and moist, lightly nutty because of the almond flour, 

absolutely delectable to me, as I have not had real cake since forever.

I warned our guests with a disclaimer that this cake was gluten-free.  They loved the cake and said they never would have known it was gluten-free if I had not told them.  They also commented that they enjoyed the almond kick from the almond flour.

Gluten-free Chocolate Cake

1 cup almond flour

1 cup oat flour

1/2 cup coconut flour

2 tsp. baking powder

1 tsp. baking soda

1/2 tsp. salt

1 and 1/3 cups butter, softened

1 cup sugar (use organic if you think it matters)

4 eggs

1 Tbsp vanilla

2/3 cup unsweetened baking cocoa powder

1 and 2/3 cups plain kefir (or buttermilk) 

Prepare two 9 inch layer pans. (I line the bottoms with waxed paper or parchment paper, and grease the sides.)  Prepare an extra (smaller) pan, because you will have some extra batter.  Preheat oven to 350.

Measure the almond flour, oat flour, coconut flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt into a large mixing bowl.  Whisk together thoroughly.  (You really should sift these together, but there are lumps too big to pass through a sifter in some of these flours, so if you sift, plan to tip the lumpy parts out of the top of the sifter and mix back in after you've incorporated the salt and leavening.)

Beat the softened butter with your electric mixer.  Beat in the sugar, and the eggs, one by one.  Add the vanilla and cocoa powder.  Beat well.

Beat the flours into the butter-egg mixture, a little at a time.  When you are adding the last portion of the flour mixture, also pour in the kefir.  Mix thoroughly and portion into pans.  This batter will not rise as much as regular cake batter, but it will rise.  Fill pans about 3/4 full and put the extra batter into the extra pan you have prepared.

Bake at 350 for 25-30 minutes.  Remove the small cake, and bake the two layers for 5-10 more minutes.

I was glad for the extra little cake, because it allowed me to taste-test my product before serving it to my guests.  Shawn and I ate it right down.

(Also, in case you are interested...)

Chocolate Frosting

    1/2 cup butter
    2/3 cup unsweetened cocoa
    3 cups powdered sugar
    1/3 cup milk
    2 tsp vanilla extract

Melt butter in microwave in a glass measuring cup.  Stir in cocoa.  Add powdered sugar to cocoa mixture, 1/4 cup at a time, stirring thoroughly after each addition, until you have added 1&1/2 cups.  Turn into mixing bowl and use an electric mixer to beat in the rest of the sugar, the vanilla, and the milk.

Fourth of July

Last year at this time we were in Ohio.  It was the day before Laura's wedding.

This year we are in Illinois.  I guess it's actually our first Fourth of July here in Illinois.

Also, we are alone, just Shawn and me.  We may or may not get to see Jon.

I am struggling with this empty nest phase.  I don't like it.

Back in Syracuse, on the Fourth of July, we never really did much.  School was finally over, which was a great relief and a blessing.  The pool was open, sparkling blue and usually quite warm.  The Fourth of July often involved sleeping in--a late morning to celebrate no school and a day off work for Shawn.  After a lazy breakfast, we would swim, relax, bask in the heat of mid-summer and the luxury of not having a schedule to keep.  On Memorial Day there was always a parade, but on the Fourth of July we stayed home and played, all six of us.

At some point, we would pull out the grill and cook up some hamburgers, which we ate with everything we could pile atop them, especially cheese, tomatoes, pickles, lettuce and condiments.  Hamburgers, often corn on the cob, nasty salad, potato salad, watermelon, a veritable feast.

After sunset, we'd scramble to figure out where we could go to see some fireworks.  Usually we parked at the Liverpool library and watched the show at the Fairgrounds from our side of Onondaga Lake, lugging lawn chairs up the parkway and drenching ourselves with bugspray despite the futility.  Sometimes we'd finish with root beer floats back at home after the show.

Traditionally, I stand at the sink and eat a quarter of a watermelon all by myself on the Fourth of July.  That's the only tradition we've been able to retain this year.  Slightly depressed, I didn't get my usual full quarter of the melon down; I barely cracked an eighth.

With the extra day off work yesterday, we should have gone to see someone.  Shawn's parents, my parents, and Matthew and Laura all live about an eight hour drive away (in completely different directions).

But.  There is stuff to do here, and a vacation day is awfully good for getting stuff done.  Ugh.

Clearly, this is why I am writing on my blog.

We've needed to repaint the laundry room ever since the disastrous kitchen remodel, because the electricians dug a big hole in the wall around the laundry room light-switch when they were wiring the kitchen.  I was not enamored of the color of the laundry room anyway (it was green).  So we decided that this was the weekend to tackle it.  We will paint it "Berkshire Beige" to match the family room on the other side of the kitchen.

Yesterday we started priming.

Now, I can get a nice line when I paint.  It is not the particular line that I am working on that is the problem.  No.  The problem is all the paint I dollop elsewhere in the process, the paint that somehow finds itself randomly running down the middle of the wall in gooey globs while I am working on edging the baseboard.  The paint that dribbles onto the floor, under the dropcloth, that I then step into and track into the kitchen: that is the problem.

It reminds me of the time I tried to dye my hair.  I always wanted brown-black hair.  One day about ten years ago, I decided to do it.  I bought a box of dye to darken my locks and took it into the kids' bathroom.  I read the directions very carefully.  By the end of the process, I had ruined a bathroom rug and the jeans I was wearing.  Splashes of dye had hit the wall behind me and run down next to the towel bars, brown-black stains on the sky-blue walls, and Mr. Clean could not get them off.  Like the cherry on top of everything (only not really), the next time I showered and washed my hair, it fell out in handfulls, thinning by at least 50%.  Ever since, I've been thankful to have any hair at all, regardless of color.

Ultimately, Shawn sent me out of the laundry room and did the priming himself yesterday.  By leaving, I did get the dogs out of the way, since they go wherever I am.  All four of us in the tiny laundry room, trying to climb in behind the washer and dryer where they stood pulled out from the wall, was too much of a crowd.  Can I blame my clumsy ineptitude on the lupus?

I retreated to the living room where I laid on the sofa and prayed for my family while my husband painted.  Then we went to bed.  We awoke early, to bright sun and the sound of Piper vomiting bright yellow stomach bile onto our bedroom carpet.  The laundry room being in disarray due to the painting project, we had to scramble to find the things we use to clean the carpet.  By the time we'd exerted ample damage control and obtained a couple of cups of strong coffee, there we were on the Fourth of July, 2015, all alone with only a painting project to keep us busy, and I can't even paint. 

So I made a ridiculously huge potato salad and stuffed myself with watermelon for old times' sake.

Family E-union!

We had a wonderful Fathers' Day.  I enjoyed it so much, I felt a little guilty.  I hope my joy did not infringe on Shawn's day.

Shawn and Jon sang a duet in church.  Jon played the piano.  How does it work out that I reap all the benefits on these deals?  On Mothers' Day, Jon played the piano and sang a solo, and I got to enjoy it.  On Fathers' Day, Shawn had to do half of the singing himself, and again, I got to enjoy it.

Then Jon came over and grilled us delicious steaks.  I put a cherry pie in the oven (Shawn's favorite).  And the high point of our day: a GROUP SKYPE with all the kids.

Don't forget Jon! He's the tiny face between Shawn and me in the bottom panel.

And this is so typical.  As I checked through the screenshots I'd taken, of course I found one where they all pulled faces.  How did they all know to do this in the same picture?  It must have been the one where I said, "One, two, three... smile!"

A love story

Once upon a time there was a boy who vaguely wished for a soul-mate.  He even wrote a poem about her, the person he did-not-yet-know but hoped to meet some day.  A snob may have thought that it was a sentimental adolescent poem, but it was heartfelt, almost a prayer.

Meanwhile, there lived a girl who hoped some day to marry and have a family, although she secretly doubted that anyone would ever have her.  Being devout, she prayed regularly and made a list in her diary, beginning with, "He must love Jesus," and ending with, "It would be nice if he were tall, and musical, and athletic."

One day they met in a Bible study.  She was taken with his clean-cut decency and the way he said, "How do you do?"  (She answered, "Fine," and then experienced the stab one feels when the wrong word bursts from one's mouth before one has time to think.)  He was taken with her big brown eyes and utter lack of veneer.

Over time, he learned that she was trustworthy, and she learned that he was an uncanny match for every item on her list.  They began to ask God about each other.

He ran into a snag or two with his college coursework, and she told him, "You can do it."  He did.

Before they finished college, they found themselves married and living in a file drawer of an apartment, a homemade quilt on their bed (dusty blue, for it was 1987), and lots of free sweet corn in their kitchen because she worked for the ag school of the University of Minnesota, St. Paul.  She grew tan, hoeing corn rows, and he did not, working on computers at various companies and finishing his electrical engineering degree.

Diplomas in hand, they moved to Syracuse, New York to start a new life.  A rainbow graced their way, and she felt hope, the smile of God, the promise of a future as they drove on through rainy Chicago towards the eastern side of the USA.

They learned things about one another.

He learned that she did not like him to give her gifts after fights.  "That is just a memorial to the fight," she told him.  "Please just say you're sorry."  So he learned to say he was sorry.

She learned that he could not eat both steak and ice cream in the same evening.  Sad but true.  So she worked on cooking approximately kosher meals.

He learned that she was deathly afraid of cats.

She learned that he played the bass guitar.

He learned that her favorite things included walks in the woods and neck massages.

She learned that he liked coming home to happy children and lots of toys in the living room, rather than a clean house and a stressed out wife.

He learned that piles of unnamed chaos stressed out his wife.

She learned that he liked tea and TV in the evenings (often Masterpiece, back before Downton Abbey ruined it).

He learned to change diapers and wash dishes while she learned to use computers and cell phones (after a fashion).

She did not learn how to maintain cars, but she was able to call AAA if the battery died.  He did not learn how to cook dinner, but he could fry eggs, and he was the best at making coffee.

Together, they learned how to do various home improvement projects.  He became an ace prefinished hardwood floor installer.  They wallpapered a number of rooms without fighting once (about the wallpaper).

She did the bulk of the child-rearing, but he had an important role, too.  When the children were little, he did the after-dinner baths while she cleaned the kitchen in peace.  When the children grew older, he took them to soccer, and basketball.  He picked up Lulubelle after ballet, on his way home from work.  He always, always took them to their music auditions and adjudications because she was incapable of remaining composed.

He made the money, but she saved it.

All in all, they worked very well together.

They even discovered family vacations in beach houses on the coast of North Carolina, where they spent as many evenings as possible walking up the shore in the edge of the water, into the sunset.

One ordinary, busy day, she visited him at his office in New York.  On her way out to the van afterwards, she saw a little paring knife lying forlornly in a pile of snow in the parking lot (there was a great deal of of snow in the parking lots in New York).  She saved the knife, rescued it and took it home.  It was small and lightweight and felt cheap in one's hand, but it turned out to be a great knife.  It had a very sharp point on its end, and a finely serrated edge that never seemed to get dull.

This past Christmas she lost the knife while the children were all at home.  At first she just assumed that someone had put it away in the wrong place, but after a couple of months, she remembered preparing a very large family apple crisp.  She wondered if it had been discarded with the cores and peelings.

He knew she was distressed about the lost knife, so every time they were out at a discount store, he would find a knife that looked similar to it, and offer to buy it for her.  "No thank you," she would say, "I have other paring knives.  I don't need another paring knife.  I just liked that particular, specific knife."

Then one day, a search for knives on the internet turned up this knife brand.  The paring knife was available!  The bad news, it was only available in a set of 19 knives.  The good news, the entire set only cost $19.99.  He ordered it for her for Valentine's Day.

The box was rather an appropriate Valentine design.

The knives were profuse.

And the Valentine score was second only to the year he gave her roses without spending $50.

a photo journal of Christmas 2014

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care.

They all dressed in Hawaiian shirts.  

This is a blurry picture because I was not able to get an un-blurry one.

David eats the protein bar that I put in his stocking.  

The others received Lindt Lindor Truffles.

Shannon enjoys a cup of Christmas coffee.

Jon hangs out with the Schu.

Laura and Matthew sit in the sunshine.

The sunshine was fantastic that morning.

Shawn ponders the events to come.

A Christmas morning fire.

Christmas is pretty much the only morning we have a fire.

A funny picture of Piper.

The egg-bake was not done, so we were killing time

after opening the stockings, 

which had a fight-the-virus theme this year

(medicines, tissues and cough drops).

The gingerbread house

that Jon and Shanny decorated,

posing in front of spaghetti squash.  Ha!

Jon and Shannon wait patiently.

David, a.k.a. "Mr. Christmas," 

works on distributing people's presents

from under the tree.

Another shot of "Mr. Christmas,"

taking his duties seriously.

...and yet more to go...

The angel atop the tree says, 

"Be sure to get the right gifts to the right people."

Random decorations.

Remember, killing time while the egg-bake bakes.

Dad wants to get in on

the Mr. Christmas thing.

I do not know what Laura is doing with her shirt.

So many amazing things about this picture.

I leave it to you to notice them.

Dad inspects his packages.

A sax and dumbbells because

David is in the house.

Some of our Christmas cards 

form a Christmas tree on the wall.

Soon I will do something more permanent

on this wall.

Wondering how she'd get this home on the plane.

It's okay.  It turned out to be a carry-on suitcase.

Curiouser and curiouser.

So... who has more anticipation,

do you think?

I like this picture because it shows

Mr. Christmas,

the fire,

the tree,

the sun streaming through the windows,

and at least a piece of nearly everyone.

Finally a delicious breakfast.

Oranges, fruitcake and egg-bake.  Yay!

Back to the task of opening presents.

I do love the sunlight in this picture.

What a glorious day.

A very cute shot

of a very cute dog.

Are we having fun yet?

Jon is a champion wrapper.

(It was a beautiful fountain pen with ink cartridges.)

He knew what it was right away!

Some of us needed an explanation.

A tee-shirt with the Greek alphabet 

and all the things the letters stand for in science.

A dog's life.

And the reason why we have blankets on our furniture.

No more presents here.

So. On about 12/23, I realized I'd made a mistake, 

and was short a gift for Jon.

He got a box of chocolate dipped granola bars

to even the count.

Periwinkle is nice on Shannon.

How do you like it with the Hawaiian shirt?

I tried to make

a small lap quilt for Laura

out of fabric squares

from her wedding centerpieces.

Poor Matthew asked for a scarf and got a face mask.

The online picture was not representative.

He was a good sport and said it would be useful 

when he rides his bike to school.

My favorite shot of the day.

He asked for a sweater vest.

I did not know that this is how he would wear it.

A random shot of Christmas in our living room.

So it doesn't feel left out.

David played lovely carols.

Oh yes, and I was there too.

So I don't feel left out.

My boys and me (David!).

A better behaved shot.

the papa and the mama

haha.  I finally realize that the candles are crooked and fix them.

with the newlyweds

They wanted me to hold both dogs.

That is a big armload of dog.

A private moment in the sun.

And... Jon is ready

for Second Breakfast.

Random decorative shots.

Keeping it festive.

The dining room, all decked out.

What, pray tell, is that?

Aha!  The gravy boat from my discontinued china

that my kids hunted up

and bought me for my birthday...

awaiting the gravy from the

Christmas roast beast.

An afternoon game of Pandemic.

Highly recommended, cooperative game.

Shannon whips up some creme brulee

for Christmas dessert.

It's gluten free.

Christmas dinner.  

My boys are incorrigible.

No valid excuse exists
for Jon's facial expression.

David is a ham.

(**Matthew is not incorrigible.**)

Do you see the new gravy boat?

And now:

A Creme Brulee Vignette

Shannon is really good with a blow torch.

She glazes that sugar just gorgeously.

Cracking through the glazed shell

to the creamy goodness below.

After dessert, we sat around in the living room 

and listened to David play Christmas music on the piano.

We were too tired to take many more pictures.

And that was Christmas 2014.

A blessed day of family togetherness,

a day to remember our Savior's birth.