World War I photograph of a dead German artilleryman.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
A Keynesian Free Lunch
What we in the western world are about to learn is that there is no such thing as a Keynesian free lunch. Deficits did not “save” us half so much as monetary policy—zero interest rates plus quantitative easing—did. First, the impact of government spending (the hallowed “multiplier”) has been much less than the proponents of stimulus hoped. Second, there is a good deal of “leakage” from open economies in a globalised world. Last, crucially, explosions of public debt incur bills that fall due much sooner than we expect.
Niall Ferguson
Niall Ferguson
Monday, February 8, 2010
A Short Visit
Alex came to Boston this weekend for a short visit.
He arrived Thursday night, and Andrew and I were waiting at Logan to retrieve him and bring him home.
As soon as we got home, we seasoned and breaded and fried shrimp, eating the shrimp with linguini. The shrimp and linguini maintained us until we could get a proper dinner prepared.
We cooked a pot roast. We ate the pot roast with baked macaroni and cheese (made from Andrew’s mother’s recipe calling for three different types of cheddar cheese and three different types of breadcrumbs), homemade stewed tomatoes, steamed lima beans, steamed white corn and steamed baby carrots.
We are big on steamed vegetables!
For dessert, we ate peaches and cream and zucchini bread warm from the oven.
On Thursday night, we stayed up until 2:00 a.m., talking and catching up. We paid for our error on Friday morning, when all of us found it very difficult to get up.
We ate grapefruit and hot oatmeal with raisins for breakfast, but nothing more, because there was no time to give Alex anything more substantial.
I had class on Friday, and Andrew had to go to work, so Alex spent the day at the Harvard Museum Of Natural History and the MIT Museum, neither of which Andrew and I have visited. We asked Alex whether he enjoyed the museums. His response: “They were alright.”
We had tickets for the Harvard-Princeton game on Friday night, so we arranged to meet before the game at Legal Sea Foods in Cambridge, where we were to have dinner.
None of us had eaten lunch, and we were hungry, so we ordered soup (lobster bisque), appetizer (steamed clams) and main course (baked Boston scrod). Back in October, Andrew and I had taken Alex to a different Legal Sea Foods outlet for dinner, and in October we had ordered much the same foods as Friday night. After Friday’s dinner, I think all of us have had enough of Legal Sea Foods for now; we do not plan to return anytime soon. Based upon my personal experience, McCormick And Schmick’s provides a seafood dinner superior to that available at Legal Sea Foods—as well as service and amenities that beat the competition.
Friday night’s game was a close one. Princeton won, 56-53, but it must be acknowledged that neither team is very good. Harvard had better athletes than Princeton, as well as the home court advantage, but Harvard nonetheless lost the game because Princeton played better defense and smarter basketball. Harvard has two very athletic players with fine offensive potential—one is a highly-touted player from Tulsa—but Harvard coach Tommy Amaker has proven himself incapable of developing an effective offense at every school he has served. Moreover, Amaker’s teams always seem to be error-prone.
Amaker is holding true to form at Harvard. The Harvard offense looked disorganized and unfocused and the team suffered lapses of concentration all night. It does not say much for Amaker that Harvard was unable to defeat in its home arena one of the weaker Princeton teams of recent years.
We went home after the game.
We were hungry for dessert, so we made chocolate cookies, which we ate with raspberries and ice cream.
We went to bed at a decent hour on Friday night, because we wanted to be rested for Saturday’s two basketball games.
We rose at 7:30 a.m. on Saturday, and we spent the entire morning in the apartment. We ate, mostly, making a point to give Alex a good breakfast to make up for Friday’s paltry offering.
We ate hot cereal, followed by bananas and cream and nut bread warm from the oven. The main event was bacon and eggs and fried potatoes, which we ate with English muffins, orange juice and cranberry juice. After we got cleaned up, Andrew made an apple walnut coffee cake, which we ate with milk and coffee before we departed for the games.
The afternoon game was Boston College-Duke. We were prepared for a Duke blowout, as Boston College has been inconsistent all season and had not played well the previous couple of weeks. The game was surprisingly close—another three-point game—but Duke prevailed, 66-63.
After the afternoon ACC game, we had dinner prior to the evening Ivy League game.
We ate at Bertucci’s. We ordered two courses: personal pizzas topped with chicken and broccoli and coated in a lemon pepper cream sauce and mozzarella cheese; and a pasta dish combining grilled chicken, roasted red and yellow peppers, diced prosciutto, mushrooms, peas, baby spinach and hot cherry peppers in cream marsala sauce. We thought the food was excellent, especially the pasta, and we were very pleased with our dinner.
Saturday evening’s game pitted Harvard against Penn—unlike other conferences, the Ivy League schedules back-to-back games on Friday and Saturday nights all through the conference season—and it was the least interesting game of the weekend. Harvard prevailed, 80-66, but the victory was unimpressive: Penn has its worst basketball team in many years.
We went straight home from the game.
Once at home, we made a late-night dessert: lemon pudding cake, a dessert that had turned out so perfectly last weekend that I told Andrew that he should make it again this weekend for Alex.
For the second weekend in a row, the lemon pudding cake was perfection.
Our only plan for Sunday was to attend a matinee performance of Arthur Miller’s “All My Sons” at Huntington Theatre Company. While planning the weekend, we had asked Alex whether he wanted to do something on Sunday morning and Sunday evening, and he had told us that three basketball games and one theater performance were more than enough for one weekend.
As a result, we stayed home on Sunday morning, once again spending our time eating a prolonged breakfast that lasted all morning. We ate berries and cream. We ate granola. We ate cranberry-orange muffins. We ate Eggs Benedict. We ate buttermilk pancakes and sausage.
Yesterday’s visit to Huntington Theatre Company was only our second performance at what may be Boston’s finest repertory theater company. In October 2008, Andrew and I had taken Alex to a performance of Emlyn Williams’s “The Corn Is Green” at Huntington Theatre Company, which we had enjoyed very much.
We did not enjoy “All My Sons”.
Three weekends ago, Andrew and I had attended a performance of Miller’s “A View From The Bridge” in New York. Bad as “A View From The Bridge” is, it is a masterpiece of world drama compared to “All My Sons”, a gruesome mixture of soap opera and 1930’s political theater.
Three minutes into the play, it was hopelessly apparent how the melodrama would be resolved. All three of us became numb, listening to Miller’s cardboard characters recite their shopworn speeches, speeches that Miller clearly believed to constitute profound and poetic thoughts but which in reality are nothing more than a string of leaden clichés. How can such swill possibly be taken seriously?
In the Huntington program book, the director of “All My Sons” laid forth the claim that “All My Sons” was a breakthrough drama that led inexorably to “Death Of A Salesman”, which the director identified as the greatest of all American plays. Has the director never encountered “A Streetcar Named Desire” or “Long Day’s Journey Into Night”?
The play was hopeless—and so was the production, which was as subtle as a jackhammer.
The actor that portrayed Joe Keller was Will Lyman, whose voice is familiar to millions through his narration of countless “Frontline” documentaries. Based upon yesterday’s performance, Lyman is an actor of very limited range, and possesses the stage presence of a noodle. Because Lyman, assigned the central character, could not carry the part, there was a giant hole in the center of the production.
After the play, we returned home and prepared a major Sunday night dinner.
We got things under way with chicken breasts baked in a cream-pepper sauce. We ate the chicken with seasoned rice, fresh green beans and a tomato-cucumber salad.
The main event a couple of hours later was stuffed pork chops, which we ate with mashed potatoes, steamed white corn, steamed parsnips, escalloped red cabbage and applesauce. For dessert, we had cherry crisp and ice cream.
It was a good dinner!
Andrew and I enjoyed having Alex come for a visit. This was Alex’s third visit to Boston since we have been here—not counting our cross-country road trip from Minneapolis to Boston in August 2008, a trip in which Alex participated—and we hope it will not be his last. Alex is good company.
Of course, this morning we had to rise at an indecent hour in order to get Alex to the airport in time for his early-morning flight. The early-morning flight works out well for him, however, because he can be in Minneapolis in his office by 9:15 a.m. Central Time.
The small sacrifice was worth it.
He arrived Thursday night, and Andrew and I were waiting at Logan to retrieve him and bring him home.
As soon as we got home, we seasoned and breaded and fried shrimp, eating the shrimp with linguini. The shrimp and linguini maintained us until we could get a proper dinner prepared.
We cooked a pot roast. We ate the pot roast with baked macaroni and cheese (made from Andrew’s mother’s recipe calling for three different types of cheddar cheese and three different types of breadcrumbs), homemade stewed tomatoes, steamed lima beans, steamed white corn and steamed baby carrots.
We are big on steamed vegetables!
For dessert, we ate peaches and cream and zucchini bread warm from the oven.
On Thursday night, we stayed up until 2:00 a.m., talking and catching up. We paid for our error on Friday morning, when all of us found it very difficult to get up.
We ate grapefruit and hot oatmeal with raisins for breakfast, but nothing more, because there was no time to give Alex anything more substantial.
I had class on Friday, and Andrew had to go to work, so Alex spent the day at the Harvard Museum Of Natural History and the MIT Museum, neither of which Andrew and I have visited. We asked Alex whether he enjoyed the museums. His response: “They were alright.”
We had tickets for the Harvard-Princeton game on Friday night, so we arranged to meet before the game at Legal Sea Foods in Cambridge, where we were to have dinner.
None of us had eaten lunch, and we were hungry, so we ordered soup (lobster bisque), appetizer (steamed clams) and main course (baked Boston scrod). Back in October, Andrew and I had taken Alex to a different Legal Sea Foods outlet for dinner, and in October we had ordered much the same foods as Friday night. After Friday’s dinner, I think all of us have had enough of Legal Sea Foods for now; we do not plan to return anytime soon. Based upon my personal experience, McCormick And Schmick’s provides a seafood dinner superior to that available at Legal Sea Foods—as well as service and amenities that beat the competition.
Friday night’s game was a close one. Princeton won, 56-53, but it must be acknowledged that neither team is very good. Harvard had better athletes than Princeton, as well as the home court advantage, but Harvard nonetheless lost the game because Princeton played better defense and smarter basketball. Harvard has two very athletic players with fine offensive potential—one is a highly-touted player from Tulsa—but Harvard coach Tommy Amaker has proven himself incapable of developing an effective offense at every school he has served. Moreover, Amaker’s teams always seem to be error-prone.
Amaker is holding true to form at Harvard. The Harvard offense looked disorganized and unfocused and the team suffered lapses of concentration all night. It does not say much for Amaker that Harvard was unable to defeat in its home arena one of the weaker Princeton teams of recent years.
We went home after the game.
We were hungry for dessert, so we made chocolate cookies, which we ate with raspberries and ice cream.
We went to bed at a decent hour on Friday night, because we wanted to be rested for Saturday’s two basketball games.
We rose at 7:30 a.m. on Saturday, and we spent the entire morning in the apartment. We ate, mostly, making a point to give Alex a good breakfast to make up for Friday’s paltry offering.
We ate hot cereal, followed by bananas and cream and nut bread warm from the oven. The main event was bacon and eggs and fried potatoes, which we ate with English muffins, orange juice and cranberry juice. After we got cleaned up, Andrew made an apple walnut coffee cake, which we ate with milk and coffee before we departed for the games.
The afternoon game was Boston College-Duke. We were prepared for a Duke blowout, as Boston College has been inconsistent all season and had not played well the previous couple of weeks. The game was surprisingly close—another three-point game—but Duke prevailed, 66-63.
After the afternoon ACC game, we had dinner prior to the evening Ivy League game.
We ate at Bertucci’s. We ordered two courses: personal pizzas topped with chicken and broccoli and coated in a lemon pepper cream sauce and mozzarella cheese; and a pasta dish combining grilled chicken, roasted red and yellow peppers, diced prosciutto, mushrooms, peas, baby spinach and hot cherry peppers in cream marsala sauce. We thought the food was excellent, especially the pasta, and we were very pleased with our dinner.
Saturday evening’s game pitted Harvard against Penn—unlike other conferences, the Ivy League schedules back-to-back games on Friday and Saturday nights all through the conference season—and it was the least interesting game of the weekend. Harvard prevailed, 80-66, but the victory was unimpressive: Penn has its worst basketball team in many years.
We went straight home from the game.
Once at home, we made a late-night dessert: lemon pudding cake, a dessert that had turned out so perfectly last weekend that I told Andrew that he should make it again this weekend for Alex.
For the second weekend in a row, the lemon pudding cake was perfection.
Our only plan for Sunday was to attend a matinee performance of Arthur Miller’s “All My Sons” at Huntington Theatre Company. While planning the weekend, we had asked Alex whether he wanted to do something on Sunday morning and Sunday evening, and he had told us that three basketball games and one theater performance were more than enough for one weekend.
As a result, we stayed home on Sunday morning, once again spending our time eating a prolonged breakfast that lasted all morning. We ate berries and cream. We ate granola. We ate cranberry-orange muffins. We ate Eggs Benedict. We ate buttermilk pancakes and sausage.
Yesterday’s visit to Huntington Theatre Company was only our second performance at what may be Boston’s finest repertory theater company. In October 2008, Andrew and I had taken Alex to a performance of Emlyn Williams’s “The Corn Is Green” at Huntington Theatre Company, which we had enjoyed very much.
We did not enjoy “All My Sons”.
Three weekends ago, Andrew and I had attended a performance of Miller’s “A View From The Bridge” in New York. Bad as “A View From The Bridge” is, it is a masterpiece of world drama compared to “All My Sons”, a gruesome mixture of soap opera and 1930’s political theater.
Three minutes into the play, it was hopelessly apparent how the melodrama would be resolved. All three of us became numb, listening to Miller’s cardboard characters recite their shopworn speeches, speeches that Miller clearly believed to constitute profound and poetic thoughts but which in reality are nothing more than a string of leaden clichés. How can such swill possibly be taken seriously?
In the Huntington program book, the director of “All My Sons” laid forth the claim that “All My Sons” was a breakthrough drama that led inexorably to “Death Of A Salesman”, which the director identified as the greatest of all American plays. Has the director never encountered “A Streetcar Named Desire” or “Long Day’s Journey Into Night”?
The play was hopeless—and so was the production, which was as subtle as a jackhammer.
The actor that portrayed Joe Keller was Will Lyman, whose voice is familiar to millions through his narration of countless “Frontline” documentaries. Based upon yesterday’s performance, Lyman is an actor of very limited range, and possesses the stage presence of a noodle. Because Lyman, assigned the central character, could not carry the part, there was a giant hole in the center of the production.
After the play, we returned home and prepared a major Sunday night dinner.
We got things under way with chicken breasts baked in a cream-pepper sauce. We ate the chicken with seasoned rice, fresh green beans and a tomato-cucumber salad.
The main event a couple of hours later was stuffed pork chops, which we ate with mashed potatoes, steamed white corn, steamed parsnips, escalloped red cabbage and applesauce. For dessert, we had cherry crisp and ice cream.
It was a good dinner!
Andrew and I enjoyed having Alex come for a visit. This was Alex’s third visit to Boston since we have been here—not counting our cross-country road trip from Minneapolis to Boston in August 2008, a trip in which Alex participated—and we hope it will not be his last. Alex is good company.
Of course, this morning we had to rise at an indecent hour in order to get Alex to the airport in time for his early-morning flight. The early-morning flight works out well for him, however, because he can be in Minneapolis in his office by 9:15 a.m. Central Time.
The small sacrifice was worth it.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Monday, February 1, 2010
A Quiet Weekend
Andrew and I had a second very quiet weekend in a row.
We stayed home all weekend, going out not at all.
I studied. Andrew cooked.
Cooking certainly helped keep the apartment warm!
On Friday night, Andrew was in the mood for a “major” dinner, so he prepared sesame chicken and pasta with steamed shredded vegetables mixed into the pasta.
The chicken and pasta were only a starter course. After we ate the chicken and pasta, Andrew truly got to work, preparing: Steak Diane; a complicated potato dish that included cream, chives, onions and sharp cheddar cheese; baked okra; fresh green beans with almonds; fresh mushrooms seasoned, coated and fried; and a complicated tomato salad.
It was a stunning dinner—and we skipped dessert.
We ate breakfast all morning on Saturday. We had grapefruit. We had shredded wheat. We had strawberries and blueberries in cream. We had scrambled eggs and toast and orange juice and cranberry juice. We had fresh homemade cinnamon coffee cake (and not from a package).
We had no need for lunch on Saturday!
However, around 4:00 p.m., we were again ready to eat a little something, so Andrew prepared chicken quarters coated with an apple glaze and baked in the oven. We ate the chicken quarters with steamed peas, steamed carrots and Andrew’s mother’s version of Waldorf Salad.
At 8:00 p.m., we were ready for our first dinner course: oysters baked with green peppers, green onions, bread crumbs, parsley, egg yolk, crumbled bacon and butter. Even though Andrew had never attempted baked oysters until Saturday night, the baked oysters were incredibly good.
Our main dinner course was at 9:00 p.m.: a small pork loin, already seasoned, that Andrew merely had to put into the oven. We ate the pork loin with potato pancakes, steamed lima beans and boiled beets. Andrew does not even like beets—and neither do I—but on Thursday night, while we were at the food store, Andrew said that he had a powerful taste for beets and, consequently, he bought some. The beets actually went well with the pork loin, the potato pancakes and the lima beans.
For dessert, we had a small lemon pudding cake, which turned out perfectly: a soufflé-like texture on top, a sauce-like texture on bottom.
Yesterday we had a breakfast that again lasted all morning. We had granola. We had cantaloupe. We had baked eggs and toast and grapefruit juice. We had American waffles and sausage. We had homemade cranberry-orange muffins.
After breakfast, we did not eat again until 4:00 p.m., when we had grilled tuna, seasoned rice (from a package) and steamed broccoli.
Last night we had a major garden salad, followed by baked chicken and stuffing, mashed potatoes, white corn, fried zucchini and two fruit salads: a cranberry-nut salad and a whipped tangerine-cream cheese salad. For dessert, we had homemade cherry crisp with ice cream.
I don’t think I could have eaten as well this weekend even at Andrew’s mother’s house!
________________________________________________
While I have been diligently studying, Andrew has been diligently working. In his spare time, Andrew has been doing some serious reading.
Alex will arrive for a short visit on Thursday night.
My sister has announced, midway through her second year, that she is sick of Vanderbilt. She has decided that Vanderbilt is provincial and she is talking about transferring. My parents do not know whether to ignore such talk or to be in an uproar.
Myself, I am looking forward to Spring Break and our trip to Greece.
________________________________________________
Like Andrew, I view my blog as a personal journal and I do not expect strangers to read my blog or to find my blog interesting.
I do nothing to promote my blog. I very, very seldom comment on other persons’ blogs and I make no effort to “publicize” my blog or to expand my blog readership. My blog is for me and me alone.
I was, accordingly, quite surprised when—out of the blue—my blog readership instantly tripled back in October of last year.
After tripling in October, readership quadrupled in November and quintupled in December.
What was going on? Had I become more interesting?
Alas, my increase in readership had a more mundane cause: people were coming to my blog in search of “White Trash Fat Lady” videos.
Last autumn, I wrote about our summer vacation in Bavaria and Austria, and in one such blog post I wrote very briefly about a hilarious program we viewed on European television, a segment of a program devoted to “White Trash Fat Lady”.
“White Trash Fat Lady” videos portray a genuine (and extremely down-market) American family in the Southeastern United States. This appalling hillbilly family and its outrageous shenanigans are presented mercilessly for the camera’s (and the viewer’s) amusement. The people on the videos simply have no shame. They are, quite obviously, loons, trashy and disgusting in equal measure. I have no idea why these people are not sufficiently mortified never again to appear in public.
Apparently a veritable industry has arisen around “White Trash Fat Lady”. One may find “White Trash Fat Lady” videos all over the internet on any one of thousands upon thousands of websites worldwide devoted to the habits and foibles of “white trash”. Until Andrew and I viewed “White Trash Fat Lady” on European television, we had had no idea that people everywhere were enjoying so many laughs at the expense of American lowlifes in general and this particular family of lowlifes in particular. A focus on white trash has become a growth industry in recent years, especially outside the U.S. Websites featuring photos and videos on the subject now number in the millions, offered in languages I cannot begin to decipher.
The “White Trash Fat Lady” videos Andrew and I saw in August indeed were enormously funny.
However, there are no “White Trash Fat Lady” videos to be found here.
We stayed home all weekend, going out not at all.
I studied. Andrew cooked.
Cooking certainly helped keep the apartment warm!
On Friday night, Andrew was in the mood for a “major” dinner, so he prepared sesame chicken and pasta with steamed shredded vegetables mixed into the pasta.
The chicken and pasta were only a starter course. After we ate the chicken and pasta, Andrew truly got to work, preparing: Steak Diane; a complicated potato dish that included cream, chives, onions and sharp cheddar cheese; baked okra; fresh green beans with almonds; fresh mushrooms seasoned, coated and fried; and a complicated tomato salad.
It was a stunning dinner—and we skipped dessert.
We ate breakfast all morning on Saturday. We had grapefruit. We had shredded wheat. We had strawberries and blueberries in cream. We had scrambled eggs and toast and orange juice and cranberry juice. We had fresh homemade cinnamon coffee cake (and not from a package).
We had no need for lunch on Saturday!
However, around 4:00 p.m., we were again ready to eat a little something, so Andrew prepared chicken quarters coated with an apple glaze and baked in the oven. We ate the chicken quarters with steamed peas, steamed carrots and Andrew’s mother’s version of Waldorf Salad.
At 8:00 p.m., we were ready for our first dinner course: oysters baked with green peppers, green onions, bread crumbs, parsley, egg yolk, crumbled bacon and butter. Even though Andrew had never attempted baked oysters until Saturday night, the baked oysters were incredibly good.
Our main dinner course was at 9:00 p.m.: a small pork loin, already seasoned, that Andrew merely had to put into the oven. We ate the pork loin with potato pancakes, steamed lima beans and boiled beets. Andrew does not even like beets—and neither do I—but on Thursday night, while we were at the food store, Andrew said that he had a powerful taste for beets and, consequently, he bought some. The beets actually went well with the pork loin, the potato pancakes and the lima beans.
For dessert, we had a small lemon pudding cake, which turned out perfectly: a soufflé-like texture on top, a sauce-like texture on bottom.
Yesterday we had a breakfast that again lasted all morning. We had granola. We had cantaloupe. We had baked eggs and toast and grapefruit juice. We had American waffles and sausage. We had homemade cranberry-orange muffins.
After breakfast, we did not eat again until 4:00 p.m., when we had grilled tuna, seasoned rice (from a package) and steamed broccoli.
Last night we had a major garden salad, followed by baked chicken and stuffing, mashed potatoes, white corn, fried zucchini and two fruit salads: a cranberry-nut salad and a whipped tangerine-cream cheese salad. For dessert, we had homemade cherry crisp with ice cream.
I don’t think I could have eaten as well this weekend even at Andrew’s mother’s house!
________________________________________________
While I have been diligently studying, Andrew has been diligently working. In his spare time, Andrew has been doing some serious reading.
Alex will arrive for a short visit on Thursday night.
My sister has announced, midway through her second year, that she is sick of Vanderbilt. She has decided that Vanderbilt is provincial and she is talking about transferring. My parents do not know whether to ignore such talk or to be in an uproar.
Myself, I am looking forward to Spring Break and our trip to Greece.
________________________________________________
Like Andrew, I view my blog as a personal journal and I do not expect strangers to read my blog or to find my blog interesting.
I do nothing to promote my blog. I very, very seldom comment on other persons’ blogs and I make no effort to “publicize” my blog or to expand my blog readership. My blog is for me and me alone.
I was, accordingly, quite surprised when—out of the blue—my blog readership instantly tripled back in October of last year.
After tripling in October, readership quadrupled in November and quintupled in December.
What was going on? Had I become more interesting?
Alas, my increase in readership had a more mundane cause: people were coming to my blog in search of “White Trash Fat Lady” videos.
Last autumn, I wrote about our summer vacation in Bavaria and Austria, and in one such blog post I wrote very briefly about a hilarious program we viewed on European television, a segment of a program devoted to “White Trash Fat Lady”.
“White Trash Fat Lady” videos portray a genuine (and extremely down-market) American family in the Southeastern United States. This appalling hillbilly family and its outrageous shenanigans are presented mercilessly for the camera’s (and the viewer’s) amusement. The people on the videos simply have no shame. They are, quite obviously, loons, trashy and disgusting in equal measure. I have no idea why these people are not sufficiently mortified never again to appear in public.
Apparently a veritable industry has arisen around “White Trash Fat Lady”. One may find “White Trash Fat Lady” videos all over the internet on any one of thousands upon thousands of websites worldwide devoted to the habits and foibles of “white trash”. Until Andrew and I viewed “White Trash Fat Lady” on European television, we had had no idea that people everywhere were enjoying so many laughs at the expense of American lowlifes in general and this particular family of lowlifes in particular. A focus on white trash has become a growth industry in recent years, especially outside the U.S. Websites featuring photos and videos on the subject now number in the millions, offered in languages I cannot begin to decipher.
The “White Trash Fat Lady” videos Andrew and I saw in August indeed were enormously funny.
However, there are no “White Trash Fat Lady” videos to be found here.
Friday, January 22, 2010
The Russians Are Coming, The Russians Are Coming
Andrew and I have nothing going on this weekend or next. I shall use the time to study while Andrew plans to occupy himself by force-feeding me all sorts of peculiar Norwegian eel dishes and playing the music of Milton Babbitt at horrific volume twenty-four hours a day.
In two weeks, Alex will come for a visit, a weekend visit built around three college basketball games. That should be fun.
The following weekend is a holiday weekend—Presidents’ Day—and Andrew and I have a very special weekend planned in Washington. Over a four-day period, we shall attend a Mariinsky Ballet performance of “The Sleeping Beauty”, hear Amsterdam’s Concertgebouw Orchestra in concert, and attend a Bolshoi Ballet performance of “Spartacus”. Such riches are impossible for us to resist, and Andrew’s parents are of the same mind—they also decided that back-to-back appearances by the Mariinsky and Bolshoi, with a Concertgebouw concert thrown in for good measure, make Washington a splendid Presidents’ Day Weekend destination.
Everything is booked. It should be a wonderful weekend.
Andrew is trying to develop my interest in Bard’s SummerScape this August. He wants to attend performances of Franz Schreker’s “Der Ferne Klang” and Oscar Straus’s “The Chocolate Soldier”, neither of which sounds particularly appealing to me.
When Alex comes to Boston in two weeks, he will bring with him the Naxos set of “Der Ferne Klang” from Andrew’s father’s library so that I can listen to it and decide whether a trip to Bard is on the cards.
In two weeks, Alex will come for a visit, a weekend visit built around three college basketball games. That should be fun.
The following weekend is a holiday weekend—Presidents’ Day—and Andrew and I have a very special weekend planned in Washington. Over a four-day period, we shall attend a Mariinsky Ballet performance of “The Sleeping Beauty”, hear Amsterdam’s Concertgebouw Orchestra in concert, and attend a Bolshoi Ballet performance of “Spartacus”. Such riches are impossible for us to resist, and Andrew’s parents are of the same mind—they also decided that back-to-back appearances by the Mariinsky and Bolshoi, with a Concertgebouw concert thrown in for good measure, make Washington a splendid Presidents’ Day Weekend destination.
Everything is booked. It should be a wonderful weekend.
Andrew is trying to develop my interest in Bard’s SummerScape this August. He wants to attend performances of Franz Schreker’s “Der Ferne Klang” and Oscar Straus’s “The Chocolate Soldier”, neither of which sounds particularly appealing to me.
When Alex comes to Boston in two weeks, he will bring with him the Naxos set of “Der Ferne Klang” from Andrew’s father’s library so that I can listen to it and decide whether a trip to Bard is on the cards.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Best Of The Post-Election Jokes
The results of Tuesday prove that Kool Aid has a shelf life of only twelve months.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Monday, January 4, 2010
A Melancholy Final Two Days
Our last two days at home were sort of melancholy.
With the holidays over, our time at home was winding down—and we were not eager to leave.
The dog could sense our melancholy, because he was slightly unsettled on Saturday and Sunday. Andrew’s mother said that the dog understood that we would be departing soon, leaving him without his best pals—and she insisted that he was as sad to see us depart as everyone else because she could hear it in his “voice” (by which she meant the noises the dog makes).
The dog was particularly keen for affection from Andrew on Saturday and Sunday. He did not want to leave Andrew’s side.
We took him to the park early Saturday morning. We made the gesture for him, not for us, because it was frightfully cold. We did not remain at the park for long.
On Saturday morning, we had a major breakfast. We ate grapefruit, hot oatmeal, scrambled eggs, bacon, fried potatoes, toast, orange juice, cranberry juice and apple-cinnamon muffins warm from the oven.
After breakfast, Andrew and I went out to do some serious food shopping for Andrew’s mother. Alex accompanied us, because he needed to restock his own kitchen after spending ten days at his parents’ house. We took the dog with us, and he enjoyed his morning outing.
We visited two food stores. On our way home, we stopped at Alex’s apartment and deposited his purchases.
Once we returned home, we had a quick lunch—vegetable lasagna—and afterward all of us (except the dog) headed to Southdale to catch the first showing of the afternoon of “Nine”.
Everyone but me was already familiar with the source material: the Fellini film, “8 ½”, and Maury Yeston’s Broadway score.
“Nine” was not boring, but it was not good.
The project obviously had the wrong director. A French or an Italian director should have been assigned the project, and a different cast engaged (except for the actress portraying Mrs. Contini, who was convincing—and marvelous).
The film had the wrong “look”, the wrong “tone”, and the wrong tinctura.
Much of the film was laughable, largely because of fatal miscasting. Most gruesome was Judi Dench, a fat old cow, who was assigned a Folies Bergere number that, in the right hands, would have been a surefire success.
After the movie, we went straight home, because Alec and Lizbeth and the kids were to join us for our last night home.
We had Swiss steak for dinner, accompanied by mashed potatoes, white corn, lima beans, butternut squash and a pear-strawberry-nut salad. We had angel food cake for dessert, which Helena loves.
We spent the evening playing with the kids.
Early yesterday morning, Andrew and I took the dog to the park again, even though it was colder than ever. It was the dog’s last early-morning romp in the park for a while—he will now have to make do with an early-morning romp by himself in the backyard.
We had buttermilk pancakes and sausage for breakfast.
After church, we all returned home for a lunch of Quiche Lorraine.
Andrew and I spent a melancholy afternoon getting our things together.
In the middle of the afternoon, Andrew’s parents took us to the airport. It was painful to have to say “Goodbye” to everyone.
Andrew and I will see next Alex over the first weekend in February, because Alex will join us in Boston for a weekend of college basketball games: three games in two days.
Andrew and I will next see his parents early on the morning of Saturday, March 13, when we will meet up with them (and Alex) at Athens airport.
I do not know when we will next see Alec and Lizbeth and the kids.
It is possible we will not see them again until summer.
With the holidays over, our time at home was winding down—and we were not eager to leave.
The dog could sense our melancholy, because he was slightly unsettled on Saturday and Sunday. Andrew’s mother said that the dog understood that we would be departing soon, leaving him without his best pals—and she insisted that he was as sad to see us depart as everyone else because she could hear it in his “voice” (by which she meant the noises the dog makes).
The dog was particularly keen for affection from Andrew on Saturday and Sunday. He did not want to leave Andrew’s side.
We took him to the park early Saturday morning. We made the gesture for him, not for us, because it was frightfully cold. We did not remain at the park for long.
On Saturday morning, we had a major breakfast. We ate grapefruit, hot oatmeal, scrambled eggs, bacon, fried potatoes, toast, orange juice, cranberry juice and apple-cinnamon muffins warm from the oven.
After breakfast, Andrew and I went out to do some serious food shopping for Andrew’s mother. Alex accompanied us, because he needed to restock his own kitchen after spending ten days at his parents’ house. We took the dog with us, and he enjoyed his morning outing.
We visited two food stores. On our way home, we stopped at Alex’s apartment and deposited his purchases.
Once we returned home, we had a quick lunch—vegetable lasagna—and afterward all of us (except the dog) headed to Southdale to catch the first showing of the afternoon of “Nine”.
Everyone but me was already familiar with the source material: the Fellini film, “8 ½”, and Maury Yeston’s Broadway score.
“Nine” was not boring, but it was not good.
The project obviously had the wrong director. A French or an Italian director should have been assigned the project, and a different cast engaged (except for the actress portraying Mrs. Contini, who was convincing—and marvelous).
The film had the wrong “look”, the wrong “tone”, and the wrong tinctura.
Much of the film was laughable, largely because of fatal miscasting. Most gruesome was Judi Dench, a fat old cow, who was assigned a Folies Bergere number that, in the right hands, would have been a surefire success.
After the movie, we went straight home, because Alec and Lizbeth and the kids were to join us for our last night home.
We had Swiss steak for dinner, accompanied by mashed potatoes, white corn, lima beans, butternut squash and a pear-strawberry-nut salad. We had angel food cake for dessert, which Helena loves.
We spent the evening playing with the kids.
Early yesterday morning, Andrew and I took the dog to the park again, even though it was colder than ever. It was the dog’s last early-morning romp in the park for a while—he will now have to make do with an early-morning romp by himself in the backyard.
We had buttermilk pancakes and sausage for breakfast.
After church, we all returned home for a lunch of Quiche Lorraine.
Andrew and I spent a melancholy afternoon getting our things together.
In the middle of the afternoon, Andrew’s parents took us to the airport. It was painful to have to say “Goodbye” to everyone.
Andrew and I will see next Alex over the first weekend in February, because Alex will join us in Boston for a weekend of college basketball games: three games in two days.
Andrew and I will next see his parents early on the morning of Saturday, March 13, when we will meet up with them (and Alex) at Athens airport.
I do not know when we will next see Alec and Lizbeth and the kids.
It is possible we will not see them again until summer.
Friday, January 1, 2010
2010: Off To A Splendid Start
On Wednesday morning, Andrew and I had hoped to be able to sleep a little later than usual because we had not gone to bed on Tuesday night until midnight. It had been almost 11:00 p.m. when we had arrived home from the Minnesota-Penn State game, and by the time we had finished eating brownies and playing with the dog it was almost 12:00 a.m.
The dog had other ideas. At 5:30 a.m., he was ready to get his day started, and he let Andrew and me know it. We had to rise a few minutes later—otherwise, he might have started barking and roused everyone else from a deep sleep.
We took him to the park on Wednesday morning. He enjoyed his romp.
Andrew and I cleaned up once we got home, and we waited in the kitchen for everyone else to come downstairs.
It was a late morning for everyone but Andrew and me. Alex and Andrew’s father did not come downstairs until 8:00 a.m., and Andrew’s mother did not appear until 8:45 a.m.
For breakfast, we made omelets with tomato, green pepper, onion and cheese, and we ate our omelets with toasted Pepperidge Farm cinnamon bread (which actually is pretty good).
After breakfast, we all went over to Alec and Lizbeth’s house to spend the day.
The kids were waiting for us when we arrived. The day, above all, provided an opportunity for them to show us how they had learned to play with their Christmas toys.
The kids had a ball, and we had a ball. Even the dog had a ball (he struts around Alec and Lizbeth’s house like he owns the place).
We played with the kids and their toys literally all day (except when the kids were taking their naps). We moved back and forth between the kitchen and the family room as the various toys and games demanded. One of Tim’s Christmas presents was an indoor hockey game. He likes to play his hockey game in the family room. Another of Tim’s Christmas presents was a new set of building blocks. He likes to make things with his building blocks on the kitchen floor.
For lunch, we had chicken breasts baked in an apple-cranberry glaze. We ate the chicken breasts with peas, herb stuffing, butter noodles and an apple-cranberry salad.
When the kids woke from their naps, we ate scones fresh from the oven. Lizbeth makes great scones. Herself, she does not even like scones, but she makes them all the time because Alec likes them—and so does Tim.
Dinner was Yankee pot roast, with meat, potatoes and vegetables all cooked in the same cauldron. We had cherry crisp for dessert.
All day, Helena was able to eat much the same foods we ate, except her foods had to be pureed. Wednesday night was the first time Helena was given a taste of pot roast—pureed, of course—but she did not like it. However, Lizbeth says that Helena seldom likes a new food the first time she tries it.
Helena is not quite ready to walk fully unsupported. She walks around the kitchen or the family room, holding onto furniture, but she will not take steps across a room. If she wants to go someplace not supported by furniture, she will crawl, not walk.
There is one exception: if her Dad is kneeling two small steps away from her and holding out his arms, she will take two tiny steps on her own into her Dad’s arms. (Clearly, she understands that her Dad will not let her fall.) She will go no further than that at present.
Alec and Lizbeth and the kids are very happy in their new home. The house is big and light and airy, with high ceilings and lots of windows. It suits them.
We stayed until it was time for the kids to go to bed. It was a lovely day.
Yesterday was New Year’s Eve.
We stayed home all morning, because we had afternoon and evening parties to attend. The afternoon party was to last from 2:00 p.m. until 7:00 p.m., and the evening party was to last from 7:00 p.m. until 12:00 a.m.
We ate very little for breakfast—a bowl of shredded wheat, and a bowl of strawberries and cream—and we ate nothing for lunch because we knew there would be mountains of food served at both parties.
We spent much of the morning getting ourselves and our clothes ready, as the parties were to be semi-formal.
Andrew’s mother had given Alex, Andrew and me satin bowties for Christmas specifically to wear to the New Year’s Eve parties. The bowties were red-and-black, appropriate for (and ONLY for, or so I was informed by Andrew’s mother) holiday parties. They had to be hand-tied, and I had not a clue how mine was to be tied. I had to rely upon Andrew for assistance—I dared not attempt to tie it myself, because the ties may be tied only once if they are to look right. They are intended to be worn only once and then discarded (because the correct “fluff” of a new tie cannot be recreated from a tie once tied).
Andrew’s father wore a Windsor band tie, also of red-and-black satin.
We looked like we were impersonating 19th-Century diplomats, ready to present our credentials to The Court Of Saint James.
At the afternoon party, prime rib cooked to perfection and fresh Alaska salmon of the very highest quality were the primary attractions. Chocolate truffles of the very highest standard and genuine French petit fours of a quality I had never experienced were the stars of the dessert table. Everything presented was at the very highest level of taste and discrimination.
As a general rule, I would be unable to judge good champagne from bad, but the champagne served at the afternoon party was STUNNING. It may have been the first time in my life I had tasted fine champagne, and I was very impressed.
“This must be $100.00-a-bottle stuff” I said to Andrew, very quietly.
“No, I think it must be more like $300.00-a-bottle stuff” was Andrew’s answer.
We did not allow ourselves to eat too much, because we knew we would be facing more food at the evening party. We made do with one serving of prime rib (served with cold asparagus, with each spear wrapped in prosciutto and some kind of fancy Italian cheese) and one serving of cold Alaska salmon (served with fresh vegetables). For sweets, we limited ourselves to four petit fours and three chocolate truffles. We had one glass of champagne with the prime rib, and a second glass of champagne with the salmon, after which we declared a moratorium on champagne. We drank espresso with our petit fours.
Everyone at the party was exceedingly gracious, but I find myself having little to say at these affairs. I remained at Andrew’s side, or at another family member’s side, all afternoon. I was unwilling to branch out and go independent.
We left the party shortly before 6:00 p.m. We went home for an hour in order to feed the dog and to give him some company as well as to watch the first hour of the Insight Bowl, which matched Minnesota and Iowa State, Alex’s two favorite teams.
The evening party was very similar to the afternoon party. Indeed, even the guests were much the same, substantially overlapping the guests at the afternoon party.
The main foods were cold duck, cold beef tenderloin, and Alaska crab. The primary desserts were an array of fancy liqueur cakes and giant fresh strawberries dipped in chocolate.
Once again, the presentation of the foods was exceptional. The keenest attention to detail was apparent everywhere the eye looked.
We were not particularly hungry—the afternoon prime rib probably had had something to do with that—and we skipped the cold duck and the cold beef tenderloin and the Alaska crab. We ate a few oysters on the half-shell and a few strawberries dipped in chocolate and that was about it.
A little champagne goes a long way, and we did not drink any champagne at the evening party. However, we had a snifter of brandy, and the brandy was to die for. To the best of my recollection, I had never had brandy before, and the brandy HAD to have been top-of-the-line, because it was magnificent.
We left the evening party at 11:15 p.m., but we were far from the first guests to depart.
The hosts had never expected their guests to remain until midnight in order to see in the New Year—and, not exactly night owls, we had had no wish to stay until the very last minute.
When we got home, I asked Andrew, “When are we going to host a party, and throw away $50,000, perhaps more, on food, flowers, spirits and musicians?”
“Never” was Andrew’s answer. “Everyone knows we are not party types and no one expects us to throw that kind of party.”
This year, unlike the last three years, Andrew and I actually managed to stay up until midnight to welcome the New Year. The dog was not impressed—he wanted everyone to go to bed as soon as we arrived home so that he could go to bed, too—so a few minutes past 12:00 a.m. we all went upstairs to turn in.
Because of the dog, Andrew and I had to get up early this morning, although we would have preferred to sleep in. We did not take him to the park this morning; we made do with a romp in the back yard.
For breakfast, we had genuine French toast, made with genuine French bread and coated in French caramel butter and powdered sugar. It made for an appropriate New Year’s breakfast.
Alec and Lizbeth and the kids came over in the middle of the morning, ready to celebrate New Year’s Day with us. We played with the kids all day while keeping an eye on the bowl games.
We had Andrew’s mother’s chicken noodle soup and egg salad sandwiches for lunch, lemon bars warm from the oven in the middle of the afternoon, and pork loin for dinner. We ate the pork loin with fresh homemade applesauce, red cabbage, parsnips, Brussels sprouts and fancy potatoes cooked in cream and chives. We had bread pudding with cream sauce for dessert.
The kids had a good time . . .and so did everyone else.
The dog looked pretty spiffy today—he was wearing one of our holiday bowties from yesterday’s parties.
2010 is off to a splendid start.
The dog had other ideas. At 5:30 a.m., he was ready to get his day started, and he let Andrew and me know it. We had to rise a few minutes later—otherwise, he might have started barking and roused everyone else from a deep sleep.
We took him to the park on Wednesday morning. He enjoyed his romp.
Andrew and I cleaned up once we got home, and we waited in the kitchen for everyone else to come downstairs.
It was a late morning for everyone but Andrew and me. Alex and Andrew’s father did not come downstairs until 8:00 a.m., and Andrew’s mother did not appear until 8:45 a.m.
For breakfast, we made omelets with tomato, green pepper, onion and cheese, and we ate our omelets with toasted Pepperidge Farm cinnamon bread (which actually is pretty good).
After breakfast, we all went over to Alec and Lizbeth’s house to spend the day.
The kids were waiting for us when we arrived. The day, above all, provided an opportunity for them to show us how they had learned to play with their Christmas toys.
The kids had a ball, and we had a ball. Even the dog had a ball (he struts around Alec and Lizbeth’s house like he owns the place).
We played with the kids and their toys literally all day (except when the kids were taking their naps). We moved back and forth between the kitchen and the family room as the various toys and games demanded. One of Tim’s Christmas presents was an indoor hockey game. He likes to play his hockey game in the family room. Another of Tim’s Christmas presents was a new set of building blocks. He likes to make things with his building blocks on the kitchen floor.
For lunch, we had chicken breasts baked in an apple-cranberry glaze. We ate the chicken breasts with peas, herb stuffing, butter noodles and an apple-cranberry salad.
When the kids woke from their naps, we ate scones fresh from the oven. Lizbeth makes great scones. Herself, she does not even like scones, but she makes them all the time because Alec likes them—and so does Tim.
Dinner was Yankee pot roast, with meat, potatoes and vegetables all cooked in the same cauldron. We had cherry crisp for dessert.
All day, Helena was able to eat much the same foods we ate, except her foods had to be pureed. Wednesday night was the first time Helena was given a taste of pot roast—pureed, of course—but she did not like it. However, Lizbeth says that Helena seldom likes a new food the first time she tries it.
Helena is not quite ready to walk fully unsupported. She walks around the kitchen or the family room, holding onto furniture, but she will not take steps across a room. If she wants to go someplace not supported by furniture, she will crawl, not walk.
There is one exception: if her Dad is kneeling two small steps away from her and holding out his arms, she will take two tiny steps on her own into her Dad’s arms. (Clearly, she understands that her Dad will not let her fall.) She will go no further than that at present.
Alec and Lizbeth and the kids are very happy in their new home. The house is big and light and airy, with high ceilings and lots of windows. It suits them.
We stayed until it was time for the kids to go to bed. It was a lovely day.
Yesterday was New Year’s Eve.
We stayed home all morning, because we had afternoon and evening parties to attend. The afternoon party was to last from 2:00 p.m. until 7:00 p.m., and the evening party was to last from 7:00 p.m. until 12:00 a.m.
We ate very little for breakfast—a bowl of shredded wheat, and a bowl of strawberries and cream—and we ate nothing for lunch because we knew there would be mountains of food served at both parties.
We spent much of the morning getting ourselves and our clothes ready, as the parties were to be semi-formal.
Andrew’s mother had given Alex, Andrew and me satin bowties for Christmas specifically to wear to the New Year’s Eve parties. The bowties were red-and-black, appropriate for (and ONLY for, or so I was informed by Andrew’s mother) holiday parties. They had to be hand-tied, and I had not a clue how mine was to be tied. I had to rely upon Andrew for assistance—I dared not attempt to tie it myself, because the ties may be tied only once if they are to look right. They are intended to be worn only once and then discarded (because the correct “fluff” of a new tie cannot be recreated from a tie once tied).
Andrew’s father wore a Windsor band tie, also of red-and-black satin.
We looked like we were impersonating 19th-Century diplomats, ready to present our credentials to The Court Of Saint James.
At the afternoon party, prime rib cooked to perfection and fresh Alaska salmon of the very highest quality were the primary attractions. Chocolate truffles of the very highest standard and genuine French petit fours of a quality I had never experienced were the stars of the dessert table. Everything presented was at the very highest level of taste and discrimination.
As a general rule, I would be unable to judge good champagne from bad, but the champagne served at the afternoon party was STUNNING. It may have been the first time in my life I had tasted fine champagne, and I was very impressed.
“This must be $100.00-a-bottle stuff” I said to Andrew, very quietly.
“No, I think it must be more like $300.00-a-bottle stuff” was Andrew’s answer.
We did not allow ourselves to eat too much, because we knew we would be facing more food at the evening party. We made do with one serving of prime rib (served with cold asparagus, with each spear wrapped in prosciutto and some kind of fancy Italian cheese) and one serving of cold Alaska salmon (served with fresh vegetables). For sweets, we limited ourselves to four petit fours and three chocolate truffles. We had one glass of champagne with the prime rib, and a second glass of champagne with the salmon, after which we declared a moratorium on champagne. We drank espresso with our petit fours.
Everyone at the party was exceedingly gracious, but I find myself having little to say at these affairs. I remained at Andrew’s side, or at another family member’s side, all afternoon. I was unwilling to branch out and go independent.
We left the party shortly before 6:00 p.m. We went home for an hour in order to feed the dog and to give him some company as well as to watch the first hour of the Insight Bowl, which matched Minnesota and Iowa State, Alex’s two favorite teams.
The evening party was very similar to the afternoon party. Indeed, even the guests were much the same, substantially overlapping the guests at the afternoon party.
The main foods were cold duck, cold beef tenderloin, and Alaska crab. The primary desserts were an array of fancy liqueur cakes and giant fresh strawberries dipped in chocolate.
Once again, the presentation of the foods was exceptional. The keenest attention to detail was apparent everywhere the eye looked.
We were not particularly hungry—the afternoon prime rib probably had had something to do with that—and we skipped the cold duck and the cold beef tenderloin and the Alaska crab. We ate a few oysters on the half-shell and a few strawberries dipped in chocolate and that was about it.
A little champagne goes a long way, and we did not drink any champagne at the evening party. However, we had a snifter of brandy, and the brandy was to die for. To the best of my recollection, I had never had brandy before, and the brandy HAD to have been top-of-the-line, because it was magnificent.
We left the evening party at 11:15 p.m., but we were far from the first guests to depart.
The hosts had never expected their guests to remain until midnight in order to see in the New Year—and, not exactly night owls, we had had no wish to stay until the very last minute.
When we got home, I asked Andrew, “When are we going to host a party, and throw away $50,000, perhaps more, on food, flowers, spirits and musicians?”
“Never” was Andrew’s answer. “Everyone knows we are not party types and no one expects us to throw that kind of party.”
This year, unlike the last three years, Andrew and I actually managed to stay up until midnight to welcome the New Year. The dog was not impressed—he wanted everyone to go to bed as soon as we arrived home so that he could go to bed, too—so a few minutes past 12:00 a.m. we all went upstairs to turn in.
Because of the dog, Andrew and I had to get up early this morning, although we would have preferred to sleep in. We did not take him to the park this morning; we made do with a romp in the back yard.
For breakfast, we had genuine French toast, made with genuine French bread and coated in French caramel butter and powdered sugar. It made for an appropriate New Year’s breakfast.
Alec and Lizbeth and the kids came over in the middle of the morning, ready to celebrate New Year’s Day with us. We played with the kids all day while keeping an eye on the bowl games.
We had Andrew’s mother’s chicken noodle soup and egg salad sandwiches for lunch, lemon bars warm from the oven in the middle of the afternoon, and pork loin for dinner. We ate the pork loin with fresh homemade applesauce, red cabbage, parsnips, Brussels sprouts and fancy potatoes cooked in cream and chives. We had bread pudding with cream sauce for dessert.
The kids had a good time . . .and so did everyone else.
The dog looked pretty spiffy today—he was wearing one of our holiday bowties from yesterday’s parties.
2010 is off to a splendid start.
