Alas, Christmas is over. That’s probably a good thing. The holiday season is dangerous for me, filled as it is with cookies and other baked goods. Most holiday cookies are nice, but run-of-the-mill. Every once in a while, a friend surprised me with something truly delicious: Jenn’s gingerbread cookies, Courtney’s hot pepper and chocolate wonders.

This year, though, I tasted two great cookies. On the same day. Oh, my poor poor belly. Fortunately, I’ve been able to obtain the recipes for the future. Maybe once I’ve lost some weight, I can bake a batch of one of these as a reward.

First up, from Michael Hampton comes this delicious jelly-filled cookie:

Great Grandma Emilia Marie Martin’s Jelly Cookies

• 1 cup butter/margarine
• 1-1/2 cups sugar
• 3 eggs
• 1 tsp vanilla
• 3-1/2 cups flour
• 2 tsp cream of tartar
• 1 tsp soda
• 1/2 tsp salt

Cream butter.  Add sugar gradually, creaming until light and fluffy.  Add eggs one at a time, beating after each addition.  Stir in vanilla.  Sift dry ingredients together.  Add gradually to creamed mixture.  Chill 3-4 hours.
 
Roll on well-floured surface to 1/8-1/4 inch thickness.  Cut in desired shapes – Grandma’s were always round so cut circles and then circles with a hole in the middle.  Put circle on a baking sheet and then put the circle with the hole on top.  Put a bit of jam or jelly in the hole. 
 
Bake on an ungreased cookie sheet at 375 for 6-8 minutes. Cool on a cooling rack and frost with a thin powdered sugar icing.

Next, from the Moenne-Loccoz household, here are some chewy oatmeal cookies that, well, are more than oatmeal:

Praline Snaps
from Art of the Cookie by Jann Johnson

• 2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1 teaspoon baking powder
• 1/4 teaspoon baking soda
• 1-1/2 cups old-fashioned or quick (not instant) rolled oats, coarsely ground in a blender or food processor
• 1 cup plus 2 tablespoons (2-1/4 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
• 1-1/2 cups firmly packed dark brown sugar
• 1-1/2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

Preheat the oven to 350˚F. In a medium bowl, stir together the flour, salt, baking powder, baking soda, and oats; set aside. In a large bowl, using an electric mixer on medium speed, cream the butter and sugar. Add the vanilla extract. On low speed, gradually add the flour mixture and combine well.

Scoop the dough into 1¼-inch balls and place 2 inches apart on ungreased baking sheets. Flatten the balls slightly with the bottom of a glass.

Bake in the center of the oven for about 12 minutes, or until barely browned around the edges. Let the cookies cool on the baking sheet for a few minutes, then transfer them to a wire rack to cool completely. Store in an airtight container. Well-wrapped cookies may be frozen.

Makes about 4 dozen cookies

Yum. My mouth is watering just thinking about these…

Every few years, Jeremy and Jennifer hold a Christmas party with lots of food, wine, and song.

Tiffany says the singing is unusual, and maybe it is. I remember lots of singing at the gatherings I went to as a kid, but a lot of those were Mennonite events too. Music is an important part of the Mennonite tradition, and, especially, of the Gingerich family culture.

Three years ago, the Gingeriches came together to record a CD of their best-loved hymns. This year they produced an album of Christmas music, mixing traditional songs with lesser-known stuff. I remember singing the following in Tom’s choir class in high school:

Break Forth, O Beauteous Heavenly Light

Though I like the CD of hymns better than the CD of carols, the best song from either album can be found at the end of the latter disc. I’ve never heard this song before, but I love it:

Beautiful Star of Bethlehem

Well done!

Eight or nine years ago, Kris and I took a Saturday around Christmas to drive all over creation playing Santa, delivering goodies to our friends. We’ve harbored fond memories of that trip, but never made the time to repeat it until now.

On Friday, Mr. and Mrs. Claus boarded the sleigh — Mrs. Claus’ sleigh because Mr. Claus still has no heat in his — and delivered presents to good boys and girls down near Canby and Woodburn. We got to chat with Kara, Kim, Kristin, and Steve and Mary. On Saturday, the industrious couple made a run to Newberg, Beaverton, and various parts of Portland.

“We should do this every year,” I said to Mrs. Claus when we had finished. “I like spending the hour or so chatting with each family, seeing them in their environment without a lot of stress all around. And all the kids seem to like it, too.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Claus said. “It’s fun.”

Because we were too lazy to drag our sleigh all the way to McMinnville, Michael and Laura and Ethan and Sophia agreed to meet us halfway. They joined us at a Chinese restaurant in Newberg. We had a slow, relaxed lunch during which the children charmed us (as they always do). Ethan is six and Sophia is four. They are both very verbal and overflowing with ideas. Ethan gave us updates on his nature museum and bug zoo. His fund-raising drive is going well, and he hopes to have the museum built and opened by summer.

Near the end of our meal, Kris asked Ethan, “What do you know about Santa?”

Ethan fixed her with a serious gaze and said, “Here are some facts about Santa.” Fortunately, I had my notebook open and ready to scribble. Most of what you read below is verbatim from Ethan’s mouth.

“Here are some facts about Santa,” Ethan said. “One, he has super powers. Three, he —”

“You forgot number two,” the adults corrected.

“Two, he has jingle bells. Three, he has a sleigh. Four, he has a magic sleigh. Five, he has magic reindeer.”

“What about his home life?” Kris asked. “Does Santa live with anyone?”

“He has Mrs. Claus, and he has some elves,” Ethan said.

“Do they have jobs?” asked Kris.

Ethan nodded. “The elves have lots of jobs. One, they have to be disguised in public. Let’s say I was bad. The elves — who could be disguised as anything — would see and would tell Santa.”

“Two,” Ethan continued (he likes lists), “they have to find out what kind of toy you like. Three, they make the toys. They invent the toys. Four, the elves guard the sleigh — there are a couple of elves on board. Five, they help Santa with The List.”

“Is there on-board navigation?” asked Michael, Ethan’s father. “Like GPS?”

“Sort of,” Ethan said. “He has an air map.” He spent a couple minutes describing how the air map worked before Kris steered him back to the original topic of conversation.

“What does Mrs. Claus do?” she asked.

“Well, Mrs. Claus has to make dinner,” Ethan said. “Sometimes they go out. How do they go out without people knowing they’re Santa? They dress up like just regular people. But pretty much Mrs. Claus does clothes and stuff. Sometimes she gets to relax. Mostly when Santa is gone.”

“Is Santa really fat?” asked his mother, Laura.

“No, he’s not. He’s really skinny,” Ethan said. And here my notes end. He gave us more information on Santa, but they were all minor compared to the enumerated lists he’d shared before.

I’ve often noted to Kris how different friends play different roles in our lives. Some are for relaxing. Some are for exploring new things. And some make me think in ways that are different from normal. The same is true with children. I have to admit, I find it exhilarating to interact with kids — especially young kids — who seem to have unbounded imaginations. Ethan and Sophia are two of those.

Busy busy busy. We are busy.

Yesterday morning, book group met to discuss The Last American Man by Elizabeth Gilbert. This is not a good book. Gilbert has a strong, confident style, but she’s just a little too glib. Some might consider her twee. Worse, her subject is not worthy of a book-length exploration.

In The Last American Man, Gilbert writes about Eustace Conway, a real-life mountain man of the Daniel Boone and Davey Crockett mold. Eustace lives in a teepee (or used to, anyhow), eats roadkill (or used to, anyhow), and runs a sort of wilderness camp in North Carolina.

The problem is that we, the readers, are supposed to sympathize with Eustace. We’re supposed to admire him. Gilbert clearly does. She provides a chapter on his downsides, but they’re always filtered through her rose-colored glasses. But it’s hard to admire a man who comes across as a complete jerk. His attitude is always “my way or the highway”. He doesn’t trust anyone. He believes his is the only right way to do things, and is unwilling to let others learn from their own mistakes. He’s authoritarian. He’s callous. He’s not a sympathetic figure.

Despite the lousy man and the lousy book, we had a fantastic book group discussion — probably our best in months. Our discussion ranged from parenting to life skills to American history to our possible futures. Through it all, we touched on a number of books we’ve read in the past. It was great.

In the evening, we attended Kris’ office party. This, too, was fun. I used to be uncomfortable at these sorts of gatherings, but I know enough of Kris’ little friends (and their spouses) that I can have a good time. Plus, the highlight every year is the two-hour-long White Elephant gift exchange.

When Rhonda and Mike dropped us off from the Christmas party, they came in for some late-night Dance Dance Revolution. We spent an hour stomping and flailing. DDR is a great game, though it proved just how out of shape I was. Plus, as we were dancing, I became nauseated. I’d been feeling sick ever since dinner, and the exercise just made it worse.

It took me over an hour to fall asleep — I was trying not to be sick.

Today we drove to Jeff and Steph’s for our family Christmas. This, too, was fun, are would have been except that I was miserable most of the time. Kris and I left early.

I’ve spent the afternoon doing nothing. (Well, that’s not true. I’ve been writing. Always writing.) I just tried to have a bite to eat, but my stomach has rebelled. I’m not sure what’s wrong. Near as I can figure, I must have had something “off” at the Christmas party.

In any event, I have a busy week ahead of me. But once this is over, I think I can have some time to relax! I’m looking forward to it…

Every day, it’s the same thing.

The alarm goes off at 5:30. Kris hits snooze.

The alarm goes off at 5:39. Kris pulls herself awake and heads downstairs for a shower. I pull of my C-PAP mask, roll over, grab my laptop, and then set it on my belly. While Kris is getting ready, I’m doing my morning stats.

Each day, I log the same numbers from Get Rich Slowly. I have a spreadsheet containing traffic, subscriber, link, and revenue information. It’s a little anal-retentive perhaps, but it’s probably no surprise to most of you. I also process e-mail and then check to be sure there are no fires to be put out. (Believe it or not, sometimes there are.)

At about 6:05, I put away the laptop, grab some clothes, and tromp downstairs. I brush my teeth, etc. as Kris gets out of the shower. At 6:10, I get into the tub and begin to soak. I don’t have as long as I’d like (and in the winter, I never get as warm as I want) — I need to be out of the house at 6:25, which means I need to be out of the tube at 6:20.

Some days — like today — Kris throws a monkey wrench into things. Some days — like today — she begins to talk to me about work. At 6:18.

Kris is a good storyteller, and I like to hear about all her little friends, but her stories are not short. In fact, they’re always quite long. I’d rather she told them to me in the evening, as we’re eating dinner. “I’m tired when I come home,” she said tonight when I mentioned this.

I understand. But when she starts telling me stories about work at 6:18 am, my heart sinks. I want to be a good husband and listen, but I also don’t want to be late for work. If I’m on time every day during a pay period, I get a $50 bonus. If I’m not, I don’t. And when Kris begins to tell a story at 6:18, I know it’s going to be a near thing.

Things get even worse when she slips into lethargy mode. She’ll go through periods where she hits the snooze button twice. Or when she won’t get into the shower until 6:04. When I come down to take my turn, she’ll have only just begun.

When this sort of thing begins to happen on a regular basis, I practice social engineering. Before she gets home from work, I go through the house and set back every clock by three minutes. (I can’t set them back any further or it’s too obvious. Though not as obvious as writing a blog entry about it.) This usually helps mitigate the problem, though it never quite solves it.

Ah, the strange dynamics of the husband-wife relationship.

Over the past month, Kris has developed a new hobby: dancing. She sort of mocked my obsession with Dance Dance Revolution at first, but it didn’t take long for her to push me aside and take over as Queen of the Dance.

As with other things we enjoy, we’ve become evangelists for this game. This is strange, I know, since it’s been around for year. But it’s new to us, and new to most of our friends. Now when we have company over, they’re generally required to dance for their supper.

Here, for example, are Nikki and Celeste just learning to play:

Poor Nikki has the lousy pad in that video, and it slips and slides beneath her. (Since then we’ve added a carpet pad, which prevents potentially dangerous spills.) At the end of our last book group discussion, we dragged people to dance. A formal dinner party is no excuse — even then we put our guests to the test.

Pierre and Mike get their groove on (photo by Amy Jo)

Rhonda reports that she is now stuck on the same song I am. In “groove circuit” mode, you’re able to unlock new venues and songs. But the difficulty level makes a mind-boggling leap with the song “Super Samurai” (or whatever it’s called) comes along. Kris and I have been practicing other songs, working from Basic level to Difficult. Each song is rated by a number of “bombs”. “Super Samurai” has six bombs — we’re able to do songs with four bombs.

I guess we’ll just have to dance some more.

My Thanksgiving was a little strange.

This was the first year that most of the family made a road trip to get together. My brother Tony moved his family to Bend in the middle of 2006, and it was their turn to host things. Early Thursday morning, Kris and I picked up Tiffany and then Mom, and we drove through Silverton, Stayton, Sisters, and on to an early turkey dinner.

I felt fine starting the trip, but I did a dumb thing: I drank 16 oz. of orange juice for breakfast. Orange juice is basically sugar water, or at least that’s how my body responds to it. Within half an hour, I was a very groggy J.D. In fact, I was a very groggy J.D. for the rest of they day.

Tony and Kamie live in the same housing development as Kamie’s parents (”River Rim”, though there’s no river in sight). But David and Merre are in the midst of a nine-month swing across the U.S., selling horse cookies. Because their house is huge, the Roth family took it over to celebrate Thanksgiving.

The food was good, and the conversation too. But I was groggy. I felt totally out of step with the rest of the group. To make matters worse, I had a glass of wine, and then a little Scotch. Two drinks in three hours isn’t enough to get anyone intoxicated, but the additional sugar made me woozier yet. I went upstairs and drowsed off for a while. Then I went to bed early.

Despite feeling so lousy, I had a fun time.

This was the first I’ve ever really had a chance to know my neice Emily since she’s had a personality. I like her. I think she’s rather witty for a girl of nearly two. (A girl who does not speak.) I thought it was hilarious that she ate constantly the entire time we were there. She never stopped.

I also found myself enamored with T.J., the cockatoo who lives in the house. He and I became fast friends.

On our drive home, we made the traditional Sno-Cap stop in Sisters for burgers and fries. During both days of the road trip, we listened to the audio version of The Golden Compass, about which more later.

So, it was a strange holiday for me — I was in a mental fog, I was in a strange house, and things just seemed out of sync. But it was fun.

When Mac and Pam called to invite us to spend the weekend at a family beach house, we jumped at the chance. It’s been a long time since we’ve been able to get away and relax. It’s been an even longer time since we did so with the Proffitt-Smiths.

Kris and I had intended to leave early on Friday afternoon, but various delays — including a disastrous “short cut” through Tigard/Sherwood/McMinnville — found us just three minutes ahead of Mac and Pam on the highway to Lincoln City. Our hosts humored me by agreeing to meet for dinner at Mo’s, an Oregon landmark.

Mo’s is where I first learned to eat clam chowder. It was the summer after my senior year in high school, and somebody — perhaps Stan Oyer, though I cannot recall exactly — convinced me to give the stuff a try. I liked it. It tasted like Dad’s potato soup. I have many fond memories of the place. I haven’t been to Mo’s for many, many years, however, and I must confess the place is disappointing. The chowder is average at best. I did enjoy my chicken-fried steak, but that’s mainly because the breading was crispy and delicious. (Sometimes I just get in a chicken-fried steak mood, you know?)

After dinner we stopped for ice cream before heading the beach house belonging to Mac’s aunt. After the Liam and Megan went to bed, the four adults spent some time chatting. Very nice.

On Saturday, we spent a lot of time on the beach. I made use of my little camera’s video capabilities:

I spent some time wading in the cold, cold ocean waters. My toes and legs were numb! In the afternoon, we watched the Oregon Ducks defeat the USC Trojans 24-17, and then spent some more time on the beach.

I would have liked to stay one more night, but Kris and I decided we needed to get things done on Sunday, so we drove home. Instead of heading home through Salem, I decided to head north. But in Tillamook, I had a moment of doubt: drive to Forest Grove on Highway 6 or head north to Highway 26? I made a Bad Choice, heading north. After an extra hour of driving, we finally cut over to 26 on Highway 53, a nasty, twisty little road. We arrived home an hour later than we should have.

We did some yard work on Sunday, though my efforts were cut short when I managed to mow over the metal edging around Kris’ rose garden. The mower blade cut into the edging and then bent as it tried to continue spinning. Ugh.

In the evening, we joined the MNF group at Jeremy and Jennifer’s for pumpkin carving. Kris and I were both out of sorts, though; we were both beginning to come down with colds. We woke this morning feeling crummier, so we both stayed home from work. Kris has slept most of the day. I’ve spent a lot of my day in the bathtub (surprise!) reading Gone With the Wind.

In all, it was a relaxing weekend. Just what I needed!

After several weeks of being rather non-social, Kris and I spent a lot of time with friends this weekend.

Thursday
On Thursday, I drove to Salem to have lunch with Mackenzie. Though both of us are feeling heavy, and we believe we should start watching our weight, we opted to eat at The Great Wall, my favorite Chinese buffet. I love that place. While we ate, we brainstormed possible collaborations.

I’m interested in having Mac help me revive Money Hacks, a companion site to Get Rich Slowly. Mac surprised me, however, by suggesting a site that I’ve had on the back-burner for some time: Get Fit Slowly. I’d planned to launch a site with that name on January 1st, but was worried I wouldn’t have time with all my other projects. But with Mac as a partner, I think it has a far better chance at succeeding. I’m excited about working with him on this.

On Thursday evening — my belly still stuffed — we headed to Gino’s with Paul and Amy Jo. We seem to do this once a week lately. It’s fun. I ordered the clams, of course, and a cheese platter. But I was so full from The Great Wall, that I couldn’t even finish the clams! When the cheese platter came, I thought I’d explode.

Friday
On Friday afternoon, we stopped by Rejuvenation to look at furniture for the living room. I sat in a number of chairs, and fell in love with the much-too-expensive Stickley pieces. Now begins my quest to find similar furniture for less. (Look for more on the furniture quest in coming entries.)

In the evening, we visited Marcela, Pierre, and their children for a wonderful dinner. We have them over about once a year; they have us over about once a year. Though we don’t see them often, I always love these meals. Marcela and Pierre are intelligent, witty, and fine cooks. Their kids are very precocious. On Friday, Ella was telling me all about the money she’d saved. It was great stuff. But by the time I remembered to run to my car for the camera, she’d become a little shy. Still, here’s a couple of minutes of my conversation with her. Louis is providing background commentary.

For dinner, Marcela had prepared a pork roast, mashed potatoes, and more. It was delicious. Pierre, being French, always has a great selection of wine. In particular, I’m fascinated by his ability to pick sparkling wines that aren’t too flowery. I always think of champagne as a light drink, something sort of girlie. But Pierre has a talent for choosing sparkling wines that work well as aperitifs. This time he served a Domaine Ste. Michelle Blanc de Noirs. “This is like pop!” I exclaimed, and it was. It was great. He also recommended the Blanc de Blanc from the same winery. (Another winner from the past was a Roderer Estate Anderson Valley Brut.)

Saturday
Saturday found us double-booked. We spent the day doing chores. In the late afternoon, Mac and Pam and the kids came up for dinner. We prepared salmon with lemon/caper/mustard butter using fish from our neighbor, John, who is newly returned from his summer in Alaska. (John is also our primary source for grapes, especially the Concords, which I love.) It was great to chat with the Proffitt-Smiths, and to see the now-beefy Liam.

After they’d left, we darted up to Portland to join Courtney’s 40th birthday celebration at Bluehour, one of Portland’s hippest restaurants. We’d never been before, but knew it was swanky. Apparently it’s swankier than we had imagined. I felt severely under-dressed, but my discomfort faded after I began to chat with Andrew. I felt like we had a nice talk, something we don’t get very often anymore. Because Kris and I had already eaten, we didn’t have much. Perhaps it was because we didn’t order an entree, but I wasn’t impressed. Bluehour is expensive, but the food was decidedly mediocre. It was nothing special. I’d rather go to Gino’s almost every time. (In fact, we spent as much for just a little food at Bluehour as we might spend for an entire meal at Gino’s.)

Sunday
Now we’re enjoying a lazy Sunday. I have a lot of writing to do. Kris is reading the book group selection for the month: Oscar Wilde’s Picture of Dorian Grey.

It’s been a lovely weekend, actually. Very nice, indeed. But this weekend is just the beginning. We have a lot of social engagements in the coming weeks, too. In fact, I think every weekend in October is booked, as well as many in November and December.

“Do you think it’ll rain” — Dad, whenever it rained heavily

It’s pouring outside. The autumnal Oregon rainfall set in two or three weeks early this year, taking away the last few days of September, and making early October swampish.

Right now the rain is roaring down in torrents outside my office window. Whenever it rains like this — whenever it is stormy — I’m reminded of my father. He loved this weather. All my strong memories of stormy days revolve around him.

I remember working with him outside in the rain, building things, digging things, burning things. I remember driving with him in the rain. I remember how he especially loved a stormy day at the beach.

At various points throughout his life, he owned a boat. In his final years, he kept this boat tied up in Astoria. I’m convinced that the only reason he did this was so that he could have a place to enjoy the storms of autumn, winter, and spring.

Dad has been dead more than twelve years now, and I don’t think of him on a daily basis. But there are certain things — songs, smells, occurrences — that will freeze me in my tracks, as if his presence were palpable. Stormy weather always does this. Always.