offcntr | Entries tagged with holiday

Happy New Year!

We celebrated in our typical unrestrained fashion: sitting on the sofa with plates of snackies watching videos while arm-wrestling the kitties away from the food. I was feeling especially fortunate as Denise had cleared off space just for me--she'd been using the sofa for sorting projects while watching TV, so this is the first time we've actually both been able to sit on it together in, oh, three or four months.

We had a particularly good array of snackies this year: homemade Chex mix, Ritz crackers, leftover Christmas ham, Albacore salad, two kinds of imported cheese from the Groce Out (Dubliner and Rustic Red), and a Kaukauna cheese ball, hearkening back to our Wisconsin roots. Also a second plate with fruit: orange sections, apple slices and seedless red grapes. And a third small plate with Christmas cookies and fudge and slices of potica. All accompanied by a chilled bottle of Martinelli's (a non-alcoholic sparkling cider). I tell you, we were living large!

And the video? Well, for Christmas 2024, Denise had bought us the season 2 DVD of Star Trek: Prodigy, and we'd never actually gotten through it. In fact, we'd completely lost track of where we'd left off, so we started over from the beginning, watched all of disc 1 and three episodes into disc 2. I was not expecting [spoilers] Wesley Crusher... Wound up watching about five hours worth, will try and continue along so we're not still trying to catch up on next New Years Eve.

According to the Saturday Market newsletter, last Saturday was National Black Bear Day. Wish I'd known in advance. Coulda done something to celebrate...

Happy Easter, to all who celebrate! Woke at 5:45 am to a text from my music partner in Wisconsin; it's always nice to hear from Hans, but he really needs to learn how time zones work. Had a rather hectic Easter Mass--they had to keep bringing in more chairs, praying for no visit from the fire marshal. Also, our this was our new choir director's first big holiday--he started after Christmas, we had to source slides and sheet music for the Sequence at the last minute, and crowd conversation made practice more or less impossible before we began. Went relatively smoothly anyway, and it always feels so good to have a big congregation that's singing along with us.

Afterwards, home to dye eggs and enjoy a dinner of ham and sweet potatoes and asparagus spears. Still feeling stuffed, we'll probably have ham and potica for supper, maybe split an apple.

Apparently today is Tortoise Shell Cat Appreciation Day? In celebration, here's a pic of Tiki, on high alert.

She just spotted a spider on the ceiling.

A little present for all of you...

The Gift of the Magus

A Fable for Epiphany

Once upon a time, in a land far to the east, there were four wise men. Yes, I know, you've heard of the three wise men; trust me, there were four.

They were all magi, astrologers, priest-kings of their own domains, and they all had observed a certain new star in its rising, and gathered together to discuss its significance. Throughout the long night they took sightings, made measurements, pored over star charts and logarithm tables and fiddled with their secret decoder rings, and finally determined that there had been born a new king of the Jews, in the land to the west of them. Being kings, they immediately saw the diplomatic potential of this, and set about to do him homage.

Of course, you don't simply drop in on a royal household unannounced, at least not without a little present of some sort. So the first king, Caspar immediately went down to his treasury and produced a bag of gold. "Just the thing," he proclaimed.

Not to be outdone, Melchior climbed the tower to his treasury, and brought down a cask of frankincense. "This should put me in the right odor," he chortled.

Forthwith Balthazar, the third king, hurried to his treasury and returned with a canister of myrrh. Nobody knew what myrrh was, but at 400 ogats to the ounce, it was that season's hot investment item. "All set," he cried.

The fourth king, whose name was Bob, was appalled. "What kind of presents are those for a baby?" he exclaimed. "Can't you do any better than that?" But the other kings argued that time was of the essence, and that he should grab something from the treasury and join the caravan. "You go ahead without me," Bob urged, "I'll just stop downtown and pick something up, and catch up with you on the road." So three of the kings set out, following the star, which went ahead of them as they traveled.

Meanwhile, Bob hurried downtown, hoping to find silk nappies, or a crystal rattle, something more appropriate to a newborn king. To his dismay, however, he found the shops all closed when he got there, because of course it was Christmas eve. He quartered the length and breadth of the city, with no better luck, and finally arrived tired and discouraged, well past midnight, on the doorstep of his favorite aunt.

Aunt Marge had raised him from a princelet; his parents, being jet-setting near-eastern potentates, had never had much time to spare for family matters. She'd always been the one he counted on for good advice, and tonight he certainly needed that.

She was still up when he rang, welcomed him in, offered him strong coffee and kringle, and bit by bit wormed the story out of him.

"...So you see, none of that stuff really seemed appropriate for a baby," he concluded, "but I've been all over town, and haven't been able to do any better. Oh, Aunt Marge, what should I do?" He slumped, discouraged, on the sofa.

"Well, you've come to the right place, at least," she soothed, refilling his coffee. "Best selection of royal toys in the kingdom, right here under this roof. A little out-of-date," she twinkled, "but definitely kid-tested."

"You don't mean..."

"That's right, all your old toys, still up in the attic!" She led the way up the stairs.

"Boy, this brings back memories," he sighed, digging through the old toy box. There was his first soccer ball, gone flat with the years. Building blocks with arcane symbols on the sides. The toy drum he'd punched hole through as a 4-year-old, trying to rum-pa-pum-pum too vigorously. And at the bottom of the box--

"Just the thing," exclaimed Aunt Marge, holding up the teddy bear. It was limp, and a little threadbare, and the fur had rubbed off in spots. One eye was missing.

"Oh no, I couldn't, look at it!" he wailed.

"Oh, hush, it just needs a little fixing up," she scolded, "here, bring it downstairs."

Once down in the parlor, Aunt Marge proved as good as her words. She plumped out the bear with a couple of old woolen socks from the ragbag, and stitched him back up. She sewed on a new button eye, that almost matched the old one, and she cut a length of new red silk ribbon to replace the old, bedraggled bow. Examining her handiwork, she proclaimed, "Fit for a king."

So finally, Bob set out. By this time it was dawn, and the star had set, but he checked his notes, took the best bearing he could, and started off. It turned out that he miscalculated, overshot, and had to backtrack half a days journey, but three days later he was in a coffee shop in a small village on the Judean frontier, listening worriedly to the local gossip. He had a brief moment of concern when the village police started taking an interest in him, but as he was traveling alone, and entering, not leaving, he got off with a little fast talk, and buying a round of doughnuts.

It was nightfall of the fourth day when he arrived at a stable on the outskirts of Bethlehem. The star dithered overhead, as if it were uncertain whether to stay or leave, or was perhaps impatient to be going. In the stable yard, a middle-aged man with the broad shoulders and blackened thumbnails of a carpenter was tying a small bundle to the back of a small donkey. A woman with a larger bundle sat patiently on a larger donkey nearby.

Bob dismounted his camel. "I seek the newborn king of the Jews," he said, "I have seen his star in its rising, and have come to do him homage."

The carpenter rolled his eyes heavenward and grimaced, as if to say, Another one? Before he could reply, the woman's bundle began to wail.

"I don't know what's wrong," she sighed, rocking and shushing the swaddled babe. "He's not hungry, and he's not wet. I suppose," she admitted, folding her cloak closer around the bundle, "that he could just be cold."

"Here, try this," offered Bob, drawing the bear from under his cloak, "it always worked for me."

She accepted the gift with a grateful glance, tucked it into her bundle. The wail immediately subsided to a pleased gurgle.

"We're off to Egypt," confided the husband, "the sooner the better. Don't like the political climate around here."

"From what I've heard, that sounds like a good idea," agreed Bob. "And you might want to take the back roads 'til you're well past Caesarea Phillippi. Just for luck."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind," was the reply. "By the way, can you change foreign currency? All I've got are these ogats, and I need to pay the bill before we leave." So Bob gave them all the shekels he'd got in change from the doughnut shop and bid them farewell.

And he returned to his own country by a different route.

Frank A. Gosar

December 24, 1995

Frank and Denise and all the bears at Off Center Ceramics would like to wish you all a wonder-filled holiday season!

Here are some favorite things from the last four days of Holiday Market:

A little boy with a remarkably accurate Hobbes stuffy who stops to say hello to my bear. I ask if they've been to the Bill Watterson/Calvin and Hobbes exhibit at the UO's Jordan Schnitzer Art Museum. Oh, of course, says Dad.

A dad and two daughters spent a good while, picking out the perfect Christmas present for mom, settling finally on a fox small squared baking dish, at younger ones insistence--Mom loves foxes! While I'm packing it up, he mentions that he has a sloth mug like the one on the shelf, a gift from a cousin. They all give me sloth things, because my last name is Slothower. A vague memory chimes in, Like Tom Slothower? You know my UncleTom back east? Turns out I do, sorta. He used to book the folk series at the Blue Whale Coffeehouse at UW-Green Bay, went on to become a folk music agent for John McCutcheon, and was my booking contact with Fleming-Tamulevich Associates when I was running the Heritage Music series and Willamette Valley Folk Festival for the UO Cultural Forum.

Old acquaintances stopping by: Bev, who was the Art Department secretary during my graduate school days--her husband is also a potter, though at the gallery rather than art fair level. Sherry and Tamsin, a woman with cerebral palsy and her longtime care-giver, who used to come in and do clay work together at the Craft Center. Ritta, retired burrito vendor, who's helping a friend at her pizza stand, and who buys the big osprey serving bowl, and leaves the bag with me until after her shift ends.

A couple stop in, tell me how much they love my work, they're taken some to the flat they've purchased overlooking the ocean in France. They're going back in December, but have no room in their luggage, because Christmas presents for her grandchildren (she's French), but will plan on taking some things when they go again in May. I give them a card, tell them to email me with what they'll be wanting so I can have it for them. Instead, they proceed to buy nearly $200 in octopus and crab ware, including a big serving bowl and French butter dish. I carry the bag to their car, and she promises to send me pictures for my blog.

I sell the wild turkey platter to a woman whose husband talks to them, apparently does a very good turkey call. When I show her the matching watercolor card, she gets that as well. A man stops in the booth to tell me he'd walked past on his first visit, but saw my ad in the guide, liked it so much that he had to look me up. Takes another visit, but he buys a pilsner glass before we close on Tuesday.

Market lost a landmark and legend this fall, David Miller, aka Frog, who used to hawk the Funniest Jokebooks the World Has Ever Known from his green plastic kids' wagon. Our new Holiday Market layout next year will incorporate benches for weary shoppers to take a break on, and the first one is painted with his likeness. I also saw this tribute--a disturbingly accurate Frog marionette, complete with crocheted frog hat, miniature jokebook and tiny rubber chicken.

He would have loved it.

1. Drove down to Club Mud to start the kiln cooling. Open peeps, burner ports, damper out two inches.
2. Loaded up plastic wrapped pots into the car. Four 1x4-foot ware boards will fit in the back of a Toyota RAV with the seats folded down. Lids were in a plastic tote on the front seat.
2.5. Meanwhile, Denise is in the kitchen, peeling the sweet potatoes we roasted in their jackets the previous evening.
3. Transfer pots to the studio. Will have to finish them sometime this weekend. In the meantime, still plastic-wrapped.
4. Find the turkey roaster at the bottom of a kitchen cabinet. Wash off the dust.
5. Pull the thawed turkey from the fridge, unwrap and drain. Season liberally with kosher salt and Cavender's Greek Seasoning. Brush skin with melted butter. Put in pre-heated 325° oven and note the time, 10:45 am. (Best guess is 3 hours for an un-stuffed 18 lb. turkey.)
6. Mash sweet potatoes. Transfer to a small oval baker. Make praline topping: softened butter, dark brown sugar, pinch of salt, 3 T flour and a half cup of chopped pecans. Spread over top, set aside for later, filching a little of the butter/sugar/nut mixture. Tastes so good.
7. Split and seed a large-ish delicata squash and cut into one-inch cubes. Toss with olive oil, fish sauce, some walnuts. Transfer to greased 9x13" baking dish and slide into oven on bottom rack. Set a one hour timer
8. Dice up about 8 cups of bread cubes. Three slices equals about two cups. I'm using equal parts sourdough sandwich loaf and Dakota, a seedy whole wheat bread, both from Great Harvest. Transfer to my biggest mixing bowl and toss with black pepper and sage.
9. Melt a cup of butter in my biggest frying pan, add a bunch of diced onions and a little salt--last year my dressing was too salty, so I'm dialing it back. Sweat till transparent, add some chopped celery leaves, a little dried parsley, and a pathetic, wizened carrot from the vegetable drawer, diced fine. Add about eight or ten button mushrooms, sliced, and cook down until tender and the surplus water has evaporated.
10. Mix together two eggs, a cup of milk, teaspoon salt. Pour over bread cubes, mix in veggies and butter, transfer to a large, greased baking dish.
11. When timer goes off, pull squash and transfer to a covered bowl. Put sweet potatoes in oven on bottom rack. Try to put dressing in oven, discover baking dish is too high. Transfer to a small square baking dish. Put in oven. Set timer.
12. Wash dishes used so far today. Transfer cranberry sauce, cooked previous evening, to a serving dish and wash that pot too. Wipe down boil-over from top of stove.
13. Flop on the bed with a book while Denise peels potatoes.
14. Cube, rinse, season potatoes, add water and start cooking, 15 minute timer. Last year, the turkey got done before the potatoes were even started. Won't make that mistake again.
15. Slide out top rack of oven and baste turkey. Getting nicely brown.
16. Go help Denise clear off the table for dinner. So much stuff to recycle.
17. Timer goes off, pull and drain potatoes, saving some water for gravy. Turkey timer has popped too, so pull turkey, transfer to serving platter, and put pan drippings into gravy pan, deglazing with a little potato water. Turn off oven, leaving dressing and sweet potatoes to keep warm.
18. Defat drippings. Add a little thyme and chicken bouillon, bring to boil on stove top. It always takes forever to get turkey gravy thickened, so this year, I commit: half a cup of flour in three quarter cups water, shaken vigorously. Thickens perfectly first try, but with lumps. That's okay, what are strainers for, after all?
19. Reheat squash in microwave. Set table. Contain cats to bedroom. Bring out food, crack open the Martinellis.
20. Thanksgiving dinner, y'all.
21. Go out to pottery shed with list of missing inventory. Fill what holes I can in the restock boxes and reload the van. Two hours gone.
22. Drive to Club Mud to unload the kiln, just enough to get my remaining needs for Market, pie plates, mostly. Denise comes along to record patterns for inventory. We wind up unloading the whole kiln, another two hours. Go home and transfer boxes to van.
23. Realize I've forgotten to send Holiday Market reminders to my email customer list. While I'm on the computer, also email special order clients, catch up on my ledger.
24. Make lunch for the morning. Big salad with lettuce, spinach, diced turkey, apples, cranberry balsamic vinaigrette, Irish gouda cheese.
25. Pause to be thankful for a lovely day.

And so to bed.

Every year, I'd bake a pie for Thanksgiving. Usually apple, sometimes black/blueberry, occasionally pecan. Never pumpkin; I hate the taste and the texture. Nasty.

And every year, we'd end up so stuffed with turkey and sides that there'd be no room for pie before, oh, breakfast the next morning. And no room in the fridge for the leftovers, so by the time we got around to finishing it off, we'd have to look out for blue spots--mold--under the crust. Yuck.

So this year, I decided to try something different. I somehow ended up with a two-pound bag of cranberries from the Grocery Outlet (or Groce Out, as we fondly refer to it), so decided to divert some of them from sauce to make something completely different.

Cranberry Upside-Down Cake.

I've got a very good recipe for Rhubarb Upside-Down Cake, and I figured, Cranberries are just as tart, right? So I did a straight substitution on a half-recipe. And it turned out wonderful.

Here's the recipe:

Base:
1-1/2 cups cranberries (I used fresh, but I think frozen and thawed would work even better)
3/4 cup granulated sugar

Cake:
1/4 cup shortening
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1 egg
7/8 cup flour
1/8 tsp salt
1-1/2 tsp baking powder
1/4 cup milk

Thoroughly grease an 8" square cake pan. Butter or shortening is best. I used pan spray and got some stickage in the middle of the pan. Spread the cranberries evenly in the pan, then the sugar. (Here's where I think frozen and thawed would put out more juice to dissolve the sugar. Will have to try it sometime.)

Cream the shortening and sugar and beat in the egg. Whisk together dry ingredients, then beat into shortening mixture, alternating with milk. When completely combined, beat another two minutes on medium-low. The batter will lighten up and gain in volume. Spread evenly over cranberry/sugar mixture, covering completely.

Bake 35 minutes at 350° F. Remove from oven and sprinkle a little powder sugar over top. Let stand for 5 minutes, then loosen the edges with a knife and turn over onto a plate or platter. (I happen to have this square hand-built plate that's the perfect size.) Cool a little before serving--sugar on top will be hot!

It's a ghost crab.

We're old.

Which means staying up late on New Years eve has little or no attraction. Neither of us drink much (or at all, in my case), so going out similarly doesn't appeal. And since we work up until Christmas Eve, our holiday schedule gets a little skewed.
snackies

So we finally got around to opening presents on Boxing Day--woolly socks and the fourth Good Eats book for me, flannel overshirt and new tablet for Denise. And we finally celebrated New Years the evening of the first--snack basket on the bed while we watched the first two hours of Good Omens season 2.

After all that's gone on, it was weirdly relaxing to just be doing house chores yesterday and today. Laundry. Holiday baking. I even happened upon a tree lot behind Backyard Farmer that still had tabletop Noble/Grand firs on Monday. We have too much clutter for a regular-sized tree, and need the stiffer branches to support handmade ceramic ornaments; Douglas fir just doesn't cut it.

So tonight we decorated the tree!

I'd completely forgotten about this platter.

It was down at the bottom of the stack in the bottom of the pantry. Perfect size and shape for Thanksgiving turkey!