stuff we've been up to...

Welp, no parents this Christmas due to bad weather. Below is the duck cassoulet that was supposed to be their welcome dinner. However, we ended up having a really nice holiday. On Christmas Eve, Santa brought us all some awesomely comfy sweat pants--so soft we forgave him for instructing his elves to make us men's large through men's extra extra large sizes. No really though, if you're going to wear Paul Bunyan britches, they really should be this cozy.

Christmas Morning we found wonderful treasures under the tree. A few examples: the entire X-Men cartoon series for Jesse, a mortar and pestle for Annie, a beautiful handmade apron from Belgium for me (Kathleen), and some cute flats and a Wolverine hoodie for Sarah. Sarah had fun putting on each one of her new gifts (clothing or not) all at once.

After presents, we relaxed and breakfasted on candy--like ya do. Then, armed with a plate of cookies and our turkey breast, we headed to the Plunketts (our lovely landlords) for "lunch." Emma's parents and sister, Lottie from 'Inja', were visiting, and we sat around the crackling fire with our heavy tumblers full of Shloer (sounds alcoholic doesn't it? It's sparkling apple cider). We watched the Queen's Christmas message, in which she praised sport and its ability to bring nations together. There was footage of her standing on the sidelines at athletic events in her violet queensuit with matching cake-on-your-head-with-ribbon violet hat. There she stood, ever so demurely, amidst the whistles and cheering fans. To clarify, people were not whistling at the queen, but at the game. Or heck, maybe they were. Anyway, it was a very nice message during which Emma's mother ("Mum's quite the Royalist") wept only a few tears.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Steven was working his magic, roasting the goose and red cabbage, frying potatoes in goose fat and semolina, and making bread sauce (a yummy steamed milk and bread concoction with clove). The formal dining room was lit by candles and yet another fireplace and the table was beautiful. We feasted and chatted and laughed. I was seated between Emma's mother, who favoured me with stories of India when Emma was a girl, and Emma's son Adam who is 15 and quite cheeky. Then it was time for Christmas crackers! Until a few months ago, this phrase to me referred perhaps to hors d'oeuvres, maybe with a cheese log or something. It's different here. Crackers are these cardboard tubes containing a toy, a joke, and a paper crown. The picture behind our blog title is a very fancy Christmas cracker. We looped arms and sang Old Lang Syne--who knew there are like 7 verses?--, and at the end of the song, we pulled on our ends of the crackers and out popped our goodies! We all put on our paper crowns and read our jokes. These are the equivalent of Laffy Taffy jokes. Apparently there was an attempt made a few years ago to improve the quality of the jokes, and the people revolted. Hey, in case you didn't know how Good King Wenceslas likes his pizza, we learned that he likes it deep and crisp and even.

After some carols and Christmas Pudding, we retired to the living room to play charades and watch Emma light the candles--real candles--on the tree. Everyone was very merry at this point (their tumblers were not filled with Shloer), and we had a jolly old time. After hugs and kisses on our cheeks (not so easy with a 6'7'' merry Irishman), we walked the 3 steps to our little house and enjoyed the rest of our quiet Christmas evening.

Yes, Virginia...

Jesse is a man of many faces. To illustrate my point:

Let's add one more to the stack, shall we? Guess who was Santa at the ward Christmas party last week? Yeah! I am married to SANTA (usually I feel bloggers use the exclamation point too liberally, but in this case, I feel it's appropriate)!!!

And let me tell you, he was a hit. "The best Father Christmas we've ever had." And even after watching, horrified, as Jesse ran around (not in the presence of little ones) wearing his wig and no beard, as I hugged his bowl full of jelly at the end of the evening, there was a small moment when I really felt I was hugging Santa Claus. There is still something magical about the man in the big red suit, no matter who's wearing it. Mrs. Claus is a lucky woman.

And just because I think we should all read it once in a while...

Eight-year-old Virginia O'Hanlon wrote a letter to the editor of New York'sSun, and the quick response was printed as an unsigned editorial Sept. 21, 1897. The work of veteran newsman Francis Pharcellus Church has since become history's most reprinted newspaper editorial, appearing in part or whole in dozens of languages in books, movies, and other editorials, and on posters and stamps. "DEAR EDITOR: I am 8 years old. "Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. "Papa says, 'If you see it in THE SUN it's so.' "Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus? "VIRGINIA O'HANLON. "115 WEST NINETY-FIFTH STREET." VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except [what] they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge. Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished. Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world. You may tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding. No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

Addiction Shmadiction

So my friend Jesse Thorson and his drinking buddy Sarah love Dr. Pepper. LOVE. Jesse's tried to quite numerous times to quit, but to no avail. So this time when he announced he'd be hoppin' back on the wagon, I decided I'd give him some moral support and stop eating sweets for a week (come on, Christmas is coming, that's all I can do). I have to say, I pride myself on having a non-addictive personality. I consider myself to be a very sensible and moderate person. That said, this has been the most agonizing 3 days EVER! I take back everything I said about not understanding cravings. I just ate 5 tangerines. For crying out loud.

The Road Home: Mud is Thicker than Water

Saturday:

I was on High Street doing a little Christmas shopping. The bus depot is on one end of High Street, and Canterbury West is on the other. As I was closer to the train station, I thought I'd try to catch the 2:05 train home. I booked it to the station with my bags and a backpack loaded with 2 jugs of milk and a 2-litre of Shandy (like sweet, nonalcoholic beer--it's actually good, I promise). I got to the station, asked for a ticket to Chilham, only to find that the train wasn't coming until 3:35. I didn't feel like walking all the way back to the bus, so I waited. A 3:35, the train to Ashford came, which doesn't stop at Chilham. The worker sort of shooed me onto the train with a quick "change at Ashford!"

I waved to Chilham as I passed, then got off in Ashford. I asked when the next train to Chilham would be. No one knew!!! I asked 5 workers! I thought those bright yellow vests somehow endowed the wearer with train knowledge. Apparently not. Since our big snow storm, the trains have all been wonky. Anyway, after waiting in the cold (pity me!) I finally got a train home 3 hours after I started. That was the longest 9-minute train ride ever.

Today:

Again, by myself. At 1:30, I left school, hoping to catch the 2:10 bus to Chilham (had enough of trains). I got to the bus station around 2:00 and walked straight into the Chilham line. On the bus I went, and I climbed up to my favorite spot in the front of the second deck. I pulled out my notebook and began to work on some writing. An hour later, we pulled into the bus depot. The Canterbury bus depot. That's right, on the wrong bus. So I ran into Marks and Spencer's, warmed up, then headed back to try again. At the 652 Chilham bus, I asked the driver if he was going to Chilham. Yup. And I believed him. In Chartham, the village next to us, I was suddenly the only one on the bus. Dear Reader, can you guess where this is going? Driverman informs me that this bus doesn't go to Chilham--he's going back to Canterbury. I guess he thought I said Chartham. I didn't. So I decided to just get off in Chartham and walk home. I took a footpath I had seen from the bus (and by footpath I mean a sign saying footpath pointing to a boundless field of mud. By this time it was getting dark and foggy withall. And cold. So I trekked through the fields in the direction of home, finally meeting up with a footpath I know. This footpath goes through the woods. In the dark. If you know me, or have ever been told a fairy tale, or are a sane person, you know that dark woods are scary. And because I was being chased by a pack of wolves (ok, it was a pack of foxes. and it was just one fox.) I decided to leave the path and head back to the field o' mud. It was very Jane Eyre, I feel. Wandering and slogging through the sticky mud in the fog. Long story long, I finally got home around 5:00. Longest 30-minute bus ride ever.

...I really did see a fox.

Shot in the Arm

Fun fact: I didn't even like poetry until my junior year of college. I went from not-liking-it, to loving-it, to wanting-to-write-it, to writing-it-a-lot, to majoring-in-it, to paying-money-to-get-a-Master's-in-it. Oh, the practicality of me. So it was nice to get an email last week informing me that New Millennium magazine wants to publish my poem 'Proper Procedure' in their January issue. Okay, so not so much 'nice' as 'totally rad and life-affirming and very very silly'. My first-ever publication! Whee! I'm grateful.

Christmas season in Chilham

The weather in the past few days has kept us all home. The trains and buses have stopped and on the off chance that they are running they are extremely delayed. So... to keep ourselves entertained and in the Christmas spirit we have been watching all sorts of Christmas specials!

The Snowman




How the Grinch Stole Christmas



Sesame Street Christmas Eve Special




Fraggle Rock Christmas Episode "The Bells of Fraggle"



Smurf's Christmas Special



I know we are just starting December, and that we will watch several more Christmas specials and movies; but I was wondering if any of you (our amazing friends and family) had any suggestions on ones you enjoy that we may not know of. Or have forgotten.

Sneak Peak at the Littlewoods...

Yesterday our friends Esther and John came over with their cutie-pies to play in the snow and take some family pictures. It was a very cozy way to spend the afternoon. Esther, I'm assuming Nanny and Grandma aren't avid followers of our blog, so here's a little teaser (hopefully without ruining any suprises).