S.K. Waller's Blog, page 11

Christmas Polar Bear Cake

In my web searches this holiday season, I found a cake that's similar to this and thought, "Hey, I can make that!" Inside, though, I was afraid it might turn out like those awful Pinterest "Nailed it!" fails that people post in Facebook. I thought I'd give it a try anyway and this is the outcome. I opted for snowflakes instead of polka dots, but that's about all I did differently. It was a lot easier than I'd anticipated. Although I'd never worked with fondant before, I'm really pleased with the outcome! So much, in fact, I'm going to make more cakes in 2015. Watch out, friends and family, when your birthday comes around!

Guess I should add that the cake itself is a gingerbread cake with seedless strawberry jam between the layers.

We'll Phone You

I love how my worst nightmares about the holiday season aren't coming true this year. Since about 2002 the prospect of gift and feast buying has sent me into a cold sweat, but things are, as they say, looking up and I'm ready for the hoopla that is Christmas. The house is festive with decorations, the pantry is full with the ingredients for various holiday treats, gifts are beginning to appear beneath the tree, and we're looking forward to the arrival of our two daughters from NYC and Memphis, respectively. The only unhappy thing is that our son, Nathan, can't join us this year. As a chef at Chicago's Fairmont Hotel, he's sort of up to his neck in preparing meals for other people (we have yet to receive the benefit of his culinary expertise).

Dare I say it? Things are great and there's a certain vibe in the air that this is just the beginning of even better things to come. Does this mean we passed the audition?

Cottage Cats

Lowrider & MozieWe have two cats here at Bookends Cottage. Lowrider has been with us since 2007 when she was given to us by a neighbor at St. Michael's and Mozie, a kitten we adopted during the summer of 2012. Actually, Lowrider adopted Mozie after he was orphaned at the wee age of about five weeks. She was a good stepmother for a long time, but now she can't stand him and I think she regrets having taken him in. I took over the job of taming him, which took about two weeks of constant coaxing with food and the blinky eye cat thing, and now he's the most affectionate cat I've ever had the pleasure to know. At least with our family. As soon as anyone else appears, he's out the cat flap. Both of our cats are what I call "indoor-outdoor" cats as both of them were born feral.

"It's 5 o'clock. Feed me."One of Lowrider's quirks is that she wants to be outside most of the time, regardless of the weather. She comes in only at dinner time after sitting on the little table outside the large kitchen window, staring in as if to say, "It's 5 o'clock. Feed me." Daylight savings time doesn't seem to faze her; she always there at five, sharp. She even prefers to sleep outside, even on the coldest nights, but I have no idea where. I always leave one of the garage doors cracked so that she can get in out of the cold, and she knows where the cat flap is and how to use it. Still, she stays outside unless it's raining, when she comes in, begrudgingly, to sleep on the counter in the master bathroom. Silly cat. There is soft, cozy furniture in our house. Before Mozie joined our family, Lowrider slept on the bed with us nearly every night during the cold months. Why his appearance should change this I don't know, because he doesn't sleep with us.

Mozie sleeps in the house most of the day, moving from the window seat in our bedroom to the leather chair beside the piano and then to the antique chair in the living room. After dinner, he begins his sprint in and out the cat flap, sometimes using it as often as every five or ten minutes. In, out, in out... I can't image what hell life would be if I hadn't installed that lifesaver. He finally settles in the antique chair about 2am when Nigel can be relieved from his duties as Cat Flap Sentry. Having decided he's too grown up for his crate, Nigel now sleeps in the maroon wing back.

Feel free to add your own captionAnd lest you think these pictures are evidence that I'm a cruel cat mom because I kept the cats outside in the cold, they wanted to be there. I let them in a number of times, but they always wanted back out. And they do have a cat flap, after all. Silly cats.

Fa-La-La

This year we're giving ourselves a two-week break between the cooking and washing up of Thanksgiving and the decorating for Christmas. We usually like to do this the Saturday after Thanksgiving, but after everything that's happened since October, we just haven't have it in us to care. But the spirit of the season is beginning to tickle our toes and we've agreed to just do it.

Of course, what with summer stuff brought in out of the weather and two girls moving out-of-state leaving 30-gallon trash bags, cardboard boxes, and plastic bins of clothes, shoes, purses, and bottles of half-used product with us, getting to the Christmas boxes is going to be a major project. This means that, although I'll be hauling the boxes in on Saturday, I'll also be freezing my tush off blazing a trail to just get to them (which also means tearing down empty boxes and going through everything to sort the usual "keep, donate, or trash" specifications. It also will require me to lower the attic ladder and haul crap up there. This will be both exhausting and dangerous because I'm an old lady and cannot be trusted not to fall and break a hip.

See the boxes against the wall, beneath the dart boards? Those are the Christmas boxes. Once upon a time the garage was orderly and uncluttered, but now we can't even park one of the cars in it. All this must be changed this week, not only so we can get to the boxes, but also so that the cars can be pulled in before the snow season hits. Many trips to the city recycling dumpsters and thrift shops will be made this week.

Fa-la-la-la-pffft!

The reward is the weekend of January 16-18 when we'll be staying at Tenkiller Ferry Lake, about 150 miles from here, in a lovely three-bedroom house that a friend has generously offered to us. Just Lynette, Nigel and me, no internet, no phones, just three days of R&R. All I'm taking in the way of "work" is my guitar and my journal in case a song comes to me. The anticipation of this mini-vacation/honeymoon sustains us and provides the incentive we need to get through the holidays. We haven't been able to afford going away alone with each other—even for an over-nighter—since 2001. I even had to text Lynette to find out when that was. That's how long it's been.

Now, that really gives me incentive!

Letter to Santa

As soon as the Thanksgiving dishes were washed, my mother used to start poking us to make out our letters to Santa, which actually were no more than small wish lists held to the fridge door with magnets. These were mostly silly, with things like "a Ferrari RX7" or "a house in England" scribbled along with "knee socks" and "a new coat". These days, we have Amazon wish lists, but I admit I miss reading the cute notes my own kids stuck to the fridge door when they were growing up. I've tried to bring this tradition back, but getting people to pick up a pen for any reason is pretty nearly impossible anymore.

This year, I'd decided that I really din't need or want anything, but now that it's Thanksgiving Eve (and regardless of yesterday's post) I'm beginning to feel the ever so tiny awakening of the holiday spirit. Here, then, is my Christmas wish list for 2014.

Knee socks. Yes, I really, really need them. The crazier, the better.A new battery for my Toshiba laptop.A new laptop, for that matter!A big, cozy sweater. BIG. Actually, any man's sweater from Ross will do. Medium.Union Jack Hunter-Wellies. SERIOUSLY. Size US-7, please (need room for socks!).ANYthing Union Jack, actually.Cherry burst Les Paul and a Pignose.Pillar candles of any sort.Soaps of any kind. I especially like goat milk or linen/cotton. Nothing flowery.Teas, teas, teas! Loose or bags, I don't care.How about a 2014 Jeep Wrangler?A pair of basic Converse. Size 6.Any item on my Amazon Wish List.And yeah, that house, but now I want this one in Spain.

Letter to Santa

As soon as the Thanksgiving dishes were washed, my mother used to start poking us to make out our letters to Santa, which actually were no more than small wish lists held to the fridge door with magnets. These were mostly silly, with things like "a Ferrari RX7" or "a house in England" scribbled along with "knee socks" and "a new coat". These days, we have Amazon wish lists, but I admit I miss reading the cute notes my own kids stuck to the fridge door when they were growing up. I've tried to bring this tradition back, but getting people to pick up a pen for any reason is pretty nearly impossible anymore.

This year, I'd decided that I really din't need or want anything, but now that it's Thanksgiving Eve (and regardless of yesterday's post) I'm beginning to feel the ever so tiny awakening of the holiday spirit. Here, then, is my Christmas wish list for 2014.

Knee socks. Yes, I really, really need them. The crazier, the better.A new battery for my Toshiba laptop.A new laptop, for that matter!A big, cozy sweater. BIG. Actually, any man's sweater from Ross will do. Medium.Union Jack Hunter-Wellies. SERIOUSLY. Size US-7, please (need room for socks!).ANYthing Union Jack, actually.Cherry burst Les Paul and a Pignose.Pillar candles of any sort.Soaps of any kind.I especially like goat milk or linen/cotton. Nothing flowery.Teas, teas, teas! Loose or bags, I don't care.How about a 2014 Jeep Wrangler?A pair of basic Converse. Size 6.Any item on my Amazon Wish List.And yeah, that house, but now I want this one in Spain.

A Little Above the Madness

It's proving a bit difficult to get into the holiday spirit this year. What with the recent shit tsunami and my health's reactions to it, it's hard to remember all the things for which I should be thankful. I'm mostly thankful for bad things that didn't happen. We might have had one less plate on the table this year, possibly even two. Gratitude for the upcoming harvest feast, then, has been completely overshadowed by the fact that I'm just thankful no one's dead. It's no wonder Woody Allen movies hold a certain appeal just now. I totally get that pathos. If this sounds a bit obscure and disjointed, welcome to my "new normal". My perception of things around me has gotten as bad as my eyesight. Everything's a bit blurred and nebulous, kind of like looking through a glass shower door when the water's running down it.

Added to the obvious trauma was an unexpected onslaught of old issues and hurts from over a decade ago. When Nettl and I had our Holy Union ceremony in 2001, we were flung against the prejudices and judgments of religious family members who opposed our "lifestyle". Many of these people were pulled back into our life just a week after our actual wedding on October 24th, and they picked up right where they left off. This was cruel beyond belief and I don't mind saying so publicly. It has been a time of deep introspection and self-analysis and I've been able to keep a little above the madness by asking myself what I'm supposed to learn from it all, what lessons are in there, and  how can they bring me to a better understanding of not only myself, but also of the people I love. But continually pressing myself to take the higher road and to look beyond my own fears and frustrations so that I might respond through love and compassion has been much harder than coping with the actual situation. I've learned a lot, though, and I suppose that's something to be thankful for.

I've learned who I can rely on when things get tough, and who I cannot. I've learned that true friends are few and acquaintances are legion. (One friend,  Jacey , although she's a brand new mother, came all the way up from Oklahoma City to bring us dinner one evening and let us dote on her baby, Archer, which was ever so healing.) These people, these examples of what friendship really is, are what I'm thankful for. I've learned that total strangers will step up and lend a hand more readily than will people who profess to be a friend, that Good Samaritans are just that. Kind and compassionate strangers, people who brought us meals, made unsolicited runs to the wine store, dropped by to see how we were doing, or left a voice mail just to say they were thinking of us. Most of them I'd never met, didn't even know their names, but they were there for us. They sustained us when we couldn't do it for ourselves. That's what I'm thankful for.

That, and the fact that nobody's dead.

It Doesn't Really Matter Anymore

"When it came time to do the occasional song of mine—although it was usually difficult to get to that point—Paul would always be really creative with what he'd contribute. For instance, that galloping piano part on While My Guitar Gently Weeps was Paul's and it's brilliant right through this day. And you just have to listen to that bass line in Something to know that, when he wanted to, Paul could give a lot. Look, the thing is, so much has been said about our disagreements. It's like, so much time has lapsed, it doesn't really matter anymore." George Harrison

I have a friend whom I wish felt this way. We're getting older now, and carrying a cross around gets heavier with each passing year. I tossed mine to the side of the road a long time ago. I wish she could, too.

WTF Unsettled

Until I feel less unsettled and a little more sure of WTF life is up to, I've decided to make this blog as uncomplicated as I can without it being completely boring to look at. I need an undemanding, uncluttered environment just now, and I found that I didn't want to blog due to the artistic demands of my last design. So this is what you get.

As you see, I've removed all posts pertaining to our recent tsunami here at the cottage. She was found. She left on her own. She's doing WTF she wants to do. That's the end of that, for now.

To say that all of this hasn't taken its toll on me (it's taken its toll on all of us, especially Nettl, but this is my space where I get to talk about myself—no disrespect or minimizing intended) would be dishonest as well as out-and-out stupid. People know better. Given my health issues and my age, I would have to be made of stone for it not to flatten me, but I'm doing better than I might have predicted. I've discovered I have an iron will where survival and not falling prey to other people's bullshit is concerned. Throughout the ordeal I felt a little out of the loop, though. A step-parent is a step-parent, after all, but I think it was a good thing. If I'd been given the hundreds of well-wishes and comments that Nettl got in Facebook, I might have absorbed the whole mess a lot more and would be in bed right now nursing a thyroid burnout like never before. I also would not have been able to be strong for her when she needed me most, so I've decided that being overlooked was a good thing and exactly what had to be. No hard feelings where that's concerned, but I admit I'm experiencing a lot of resentment where the short-lived euphoria of our wedding week is concerned. That joy, simply put, was hijacked and held hostage. After waiting and working for 15 years to be granted the freedom to marry, having that joy so cruelly stolen from us is something that will take me a long time to forgive. If I speak too plainly, I'm sorry, but the truth needs to be said and after this post I won't mention any of it ever again.

There's also the Wicked Witch of the West issue that always arises when a crisis hits us. She peers into her magic ball and sends out her flying monkeys to kick me when I'm down. Every. Frickin'. Time. This blog ands the page I'd set up to find our missing daughter were crawled by her IP about every 30 seconds of every day. Site crawler extensions are easy to install via Firefox (which is the browser she uses) and she racked up literally hundreds of hits on my Statcounter reports. Pathetic, especially since she's been creepy-crawly me for 12 years now. What a waste of the short time she's been given on this planet. But you know, I quit being intimidated by her a long time ago. Bite my ass. I just installed a redirect script and until she learns how to change her IP, she can't get in here. And if she does learn how to do that, I'll just add that IP to the code. Hell, I can block the whole of Germany if I want to. Meantime, thanks for increasing my hit counts.

WTF ever.

Now, it's time for me to get back to what life was, although I know that's not realistic. But I can do my Alla Breve work, I can go back to writing my memoirs and I can get back to my album. I can stand with Nettl to make the upcoming holidays as happy as possible with or without a houseful of grown kids regardless of their reasons for not being here. We'll have three—my two sons and Nettl's eldest daughter. Her son will be busy at his job as a chef at Aria in the Fairmont Hotel in Chicago. Don't ask me about the youngest daughter because I don't know. Hey, three out of five isn't bad!
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UPDATE: Things got much better very quickly after receiving a phone call from our girl. This alone healed so many places in me and the anger and resentment are much diminished. In fact, I think they're morphing into a kind of "Glad that's over" exhalation.

Great News

Our daughter, Heather, has been found! Lynette just spoke with Detective Kyle Bruce of the Stillwater Police Department, who said that Dallas Police have made contact with her and that she's okay. They strongly encouraged her to make contact with us, but they couldn't give us any details about her exact location. We are, to say the least, relieved. Just keep praying that she will make contact with us soon. This has been a really hard time for us, and it's not over yet. The rest is up to Heather.