The job continues. I baked at Toast, the cafe/bakery, twice this week. Patronage was light due to the Inauguration and a persistent rain, so my Wednesday stint was cancelled. Monday's baking session was grim: the cake donuts were too light and soft to remove easily from the pan (we bake them rather than fry them, which is sort of a sacrilege for a donut, don't you agree?) and instead ended up resolving in a pile of crumbs that got tossed into a waste can. But the same donuts I baked today plopped out of their pans intact and crumbless, ready to be dipped in butter and coated in cinnamon sugar and were sitting on the racks by nine thirty waiting for the customers to come and taste them. The cinnamon rolls I baked today were light and fluffy and dripping with oozy cream cheese buttercream by nine forty just in time to be placed on waiting diner's plates five minutes later. This job makes me happy in ways running the Landing never did. I do like to make folks happy, that's true, but turning out good things to eat is pure fun.
It's not just the food, of course, that's part of the job. There's the people too. Fellow employees are part of the job and getting on with them is part of the fun too. Take the dishwasher, for example. The fellow who made my first day so great by washing up all the bowls I got dirty. The fellow who I thought was going to make this job the Best just because he was washing up behind me. He quit. Well, technically, I guess that's wrong. He didn't quit. But after last Friday, he just neglected to show up to work anymore. Bill and I passed him on the street Sunday when we were walking the dog and he greeted us just fine. So I don't think he had any hard feelings over all the pots and pans I sent his way. I think he just felt that three days washing dishes in the small cafe was enough for him. So he stayed home this week. So, hmmmm, that part of the job wasn't so much fun today. When I needed an extra bowl because I'd messed up too many and here were four sitting dirty and I needed to get a fifth used, then I had to step over to the sink and wash a few out. It humbles the chef a bit, but hey, I've been doing that at home for over forty years. What's new?
The other girls in the cafe are great. Eager young women wanting to do the right thing, rushing to get their jobs done without getting in each other's way. Asking questions of Bert, the baker, about various aspects of recipes or how things should be done. They've got a keen appreciation of trying to do it right the first time. In a way, it's like they are students studying extra hard for that test that's coming up. But when the cafe fills up around noon and there's ten dozen things to do to keep the customers happy and the food moving, these girls hustle and there's no slouching. I have been so impressed to watch how well this young green staff is doing. Makes me proud!
So for anybody in the Superior area that hasn't found Toast yet. It's open 7 AM to 2 PM, Tuesdays through Sunday and is located at 180 Main Street. We serve espressos and lattes and gourmet sandwiches and salads as well as some great chorizo pizza on Wednesdays and Fridays and some of the best Artisan bread in the Phoenix area. And if you are dieting, ask for one of those cinnamon rolls lathered with cream cheese buttercream. That oughta do you for a spell!
Friday, January 23, 2009
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Dream Job
The last thing I expected to receive in this depressed economic climate was an invitation to participate in my Dream Job. Actually, the last thing I expected to receive in this depressed economic climate was a chance to work part-time anywhere! I guess that's where Fate steps in and plays a hand for you.
During the busy Christmas season, Bill and I were invited to seven different parties and dinners. Normally, we get to one, so seven was a definite HIGH for us. We met some wonderful new people and at most of these, I would take along a tray of Christmas cookies I'd baked. They were well received and I admit it: I like to hear people rave over my baking. One of our new buddies proclaimed them to be, "The Best Cookies!" he'd ever tasted. So yeah, next party invite, here's Nancy in the kitchen baking up another tray of goodies to bestow on the group.
I guess you could say those cookies were my resume into this dream job. One of the participants was a man from Petaluma (go figure!) who was opening a new bakery/bistro in town. He remarked one evening that it would be a good thing for me to come into the shop one day a week to bake cookies for him. I laughingly agreed, figuring it was probably just 'party talk'. But what a lark that would be I thought, since secretly, I've dreamed of either working in a bakery or a restaurant and making folks happy through their bellies with my food!
This week, when I stopped by for a loaf of his extremely great Artisan bread, he asked me for my phone number and asked me if I was serious about baking for him. I told him of course I was! Next day, his partner and G.M. calls and asks if I could come in on Friday to 'watch her' bake for four hours. If it worked out, then she'd let me bake on Monday and Tuesday and several days a week I could go in and bake her signature baked goods. Heart pounding, I agreed (whole heartedly!).
The bakery/bistro is open from five to two and besides fresh bread and pastries sells coffees and sandwiches and salads for lunch. The day I got there, there were two brand new employees getting trained, one who was there for her second day and two others who've been there about a week, plus Mary and Bert, the seasoned owners. We got blitzed with the biggest day so far.
The first half hour, Mary was able to show me where a number of the products were stored and the location of the ovens, work center and utensils. She pulled out a sheaf of recipes and said even though the bakery was only in its third week, there were signature dishes that were expected to be on the shelves: notably the cinnamon rolls and the Magma Cake. So those two things I would be watching her bake that day.
We had barely begun the double batch of cinnamon rolls, when the gal who was making sandwiches came in with a strange look on her face. They had just received an order for twenty two sandwiches and had forty five minutes to assemble them. Without missing a beat, Mary told me I was on my own since she'd be hustling to help get the orders ready.
'Normally,' (I mean in my own kitchen), I don't always read a recipe completely through before assembing it. Today, I was, although a pounding excitement kept filling me up as I could sense the staff's urgency as the lunch crowd started arriving ( as soon as eleven, I might add.) I take this to be because in Arizona, folks go to work earlier in the day because of the heat, so naturally would want to eat lunch sooner. The restaurant is located in an old building downtown with fifteen foot ceilings and the acoustics are raw. From my post in back, stirring up a copious quantity of dough, I could hear a woman's high pitched laugh rocketing off the rafters. It sounded like a party going on out in front and this new staff was hustling, even if some of us had no idea where everything was!
So here I was, trying to follow the recipe as best as it was written. If it said to mix the eggs and milk and butter in a separate bowl, before adding it to the dry ingredients, so be it, I was! At home, I'd tend to just dump them into the bowl of dry ingredients and save myself an extra bowl to wash. AH HA! That's where the beauty of the bakery/kitchen comes into play. We had us here, A DISHWASHER to take care of that pesky extra bowl. I don't mean a mechanical-you-load-it-you-clean-it-out sort of dishwasher. I mean, a real blood and bones fellow named Bernie who washed, rinsed, sanitized and put them back in your own workstation so you could get them out and get them dirty all over again!!! I tellya after two hours of this, I felt like I'd died and gone to heaven!
When my first tray of liberally iced with cream cheese frosting cinnamon rolls hit the shelves, I started to relax a fraction. When the Magma Cake finally came out of the oven to cool and didn't fall or look mis-shapen, I relaxed even more, but by then it was time to call it a day. I didn't realize until I got home how totally worn out I was. It was a wild ride to find one's way around a strange kitchen and hustle to get everything done plus try to turn out a product that pleased the customers as well as the owners, but I think I managed. It's not everybody who gets to start their dream job the same year they are pushing sixty. But I think it can be done and I'm going to try real hard to prove I'm a good baker.
I purchased a couple of cinnamon rolls and brought them home for our breakfast this morning. They were pretty good. But Bill was still laughing that I had to go off to bed by eight o'clock last night. Evidently, a year of being retired had its effect on me and after only four hours of being a baker, I was pooped out quite a bit!
During the busy Christmas season, Bill and I were invited to seven different parties and dinners. Normally, we get to one, so seven was a definite HIGH for us. We met some wonderful new people and at most of these, I would take along a tray of Christmas cookies I'd baked. They were well received and I admit it: I like to hear people rave over my baking. One of our new buddies proclaimed them to be, "The Best Cookies!" he'd ever tasted. So yeah, next party invite, here's Nancy in the kitchen baking up another tray of goodies to bestow on the group.
I guess you could say those cookies were my resume into this dream job. One of the participants was a man from Petaluma (go figure!) who was opening a new bakery/bistro in town. He remarked one evening that it would be a good thing for me to come into the shop one day a week to bake cookies for him. I laughingly agreed, figuring it was probably just 'party talk'. But what a lark that would be I thought, since secretly, I've dreamed of either working in a bakery or a restaurant and making folks happy through their bellies with my food!
This week, when I stopped by for a loaf of his extremely great Artisan bread, he asked me for my phone number and asked me if I was serious about baking for him. I told him of course I was! Next day, his partner and G.M. calls and asks if I could come in on Friday to 'watch her' bake for four hours. If it worked out, then she'd let me bake on Monday and Tuesday and several days a week I could go in and bake her signature baked goods. Heart pounding, I agreed (whole heartedly!).
The bakery/bistro is open from five to two and besides fresh bread and pastries sells coffees and sandwiches and salads for lunch. The day I got there, there were two brand new employees getting trained, one who was there for her second day and two others who've been there about a week, plus Mary and Bert, the seasoned owners. We got blitzed with the biggest day so far.
The first half hour, Mary was able to show me where a number of the products were stored and the location of the ovens, work center and utensils. She pulled out a sheaf of recipes and said even though the bakery was only in its third week, there were signature dishes that were expected to be on the shelves: notably the cinnamon rolls and the Magma Cake. So those two things I would be watching her bake that day.
We had barely begun the double batch of cinnamon rolls, when the gal who was making sandwiches came in with a strange look on her face. They had just received an order for twenty two sandwiches and had forty five minutes to assemble them. Without missing a beat, Mary told me I was on my own since she'd be hustling to help get the orders ready.
'Normally,' (I mean in my own kitchen), I don't always read a recipe completely through before assembing it. Today, I was, although a pounding excitement kept filling me up as I could sense the staff's urgency as the lunch crowd started arriving ( as soon as eleven, I might add.) I take this to be because in Arizona, folks go to work earlier in the day because of the heat, so naturally would want to eat lunch sooner. The restaurant is located in an old building downtown with fifteen foot ceilings and the acoustics are raw. From my post in back, stirring up a copious quantity of dough, I could hear a woman's high pitched laugh rocketing off the rafters. It sounded like a party going on out in front and this new staff was hustling, even if some of us had no idea where everything was!
So here I was, trying to follow the recipe as best as it was written. If it said to mix the eggs and milk and butter in a separate bowl, before adding it to the dry ingredients, so be it, I was! At home, I'd tend to just dump them into the bowl of dry ingredients and save myself an extra bowl to wash. AH HA! That's where the beauty of the bakery/kitchen comes into play. We had us here, A DISHWASHER to take care of that pesky extra bowl. I don't mean a mechanical-you-load-it-you-clean-it-out sort of dishwasher. I mean, a real blood and bones fellow named Bernie who washed, rinsed, sanitized and put them back in your own workstation so you could get them out and get them dirty all over again!!! I tellya after two hours of this, I felt like I'd died and gone to heaven!
When my first tray of liberally iced with cream cheese frosting cinnamon rolls hit the shelves, I started to relax a fraction. When the Magma Cake finally came out of the oven to cool and didn't fall or look mis-shapen, I relaxed even more, but by then it was time to call it a day. I didn't realize until I got home how totally worn out I was. It was a wild ride to find one's way around a strange kitchen and hustle to get everything done plus try to turn out a product that pleased the customers as well as the owners, but I think I managed. It's not everybody who gets to start their dream job the same year they are pushing sixty. But I think it can be done and I'm going to try real hard to prove I'm a good baker.
I purchased a couple of cinnamon rolls and brought them home for our breakfast this morning. They were pretty good. But Bill was still laughing that I had to go off to bed by eight o'clock last night. Evidently, a year of being retired had its effect on me and after only four hours of being a baker, I was pooped out quite a bit!
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Christmas Tamales
For most of us, Christmas is a time of indulgent eating. Feasting and sampling far more than what we'd normally eat the rest of the year. It's become associated with 'the best', or 'the more the merrier'. Nowhere is this more true than right here in Arizona with the omnispresent tamale.
I'm a fan of tamales, never turning one down when it comes to eating one. But I've never made one, until this year. The true Mexican madre will begin making and freezing her tamales for the Christmas season as soon as the late summer or early fall and if she's got enough room in her freezer (it seems to be a sign of one-upmanship if you are lucky to have two or three freezers stuffed with tamales or their fixings) then she may have ten of dozens of tamales put away by Christmas.
Oh, they go fast however. If you are this same Mexican madre with the tamale stuffed freezer, then you do not show up to anyone's house during the Christmas season without a requisite bag of a dozen tamales bestowed upon the welcoming hostess. There were as many tamales offered as Christmas cookies where I come from. I'm quite sure that by New Year's, there won't be many tamale stuffed freezers left. They'll all be bare and waiting for more.
We've been fortunate to have met a lovely family that makes and sells their tamales. Given two days notice, Rene will have me replete with as many tamales as I request. We take them frozen back to the boys in Dillon Beach. We've feasted company on them. And we try to keep a dozen or two on hand in the freezer... just because.
But this Christmas season, I was given a very wonderful gift. My neighbor, Hope, offered to teach me to make tamales. She was thorough in her instruction and for several days before 'the Big Day' came, I was a) buying pork loin roast and beef roast and a huge bag of Mama Loco's corn husks and two pounds of manteca (lard) and on the proper day of the week(Wednesday afternoon here in Superior) a fresh bag of masa as soon as it was delivered off the truck, then b) opening the bag of corn husks and separating them and cleaning off any remaining 'hair' off the husks and c) cooking the roasts in slowcookers and saving the broth for the sauce. It was quite an operation, so that be Saturday morning, I felt I'd undertaken a whole new occupation: Making Tamales.
Hope is possibly the one of the premier tamale makers in town and I couldn't have learned from a better teacher. We started with the sauce, opening a can of Las Palmas red sauce (oh yes, these were red chile tamales that we made) and adding one part of shredded pork to two parts of shredded beef to a roux of vegetable oil and Bisquick, then just enough broth to impart the right liquidity. Then we started on the masa.
In a dishpan that was big enough to hold twenty pounds of masa, Hope creamed the lard, then broke up the masa mixture and added salt and baking powder and again, just enough broth to make it the consistency of a heavy pancake batter. (That's the crucial step, the right consistency.) Then she tested it by dropping a small spoonful in a glass of water. If the mixture floated, it was right for the tamale. If not, back to the mixing bowl adding more broth and lots more stirring.
Finally, we began the tamale making. A good tamale maker can crank out half a dozen a minute. A new tamale maker can do one in about three minutes. You pick up a corn husk and lay the wide end in the palm of your hand, the 'inside' of the corn husk is that part the mixture will go on, the 'outside' of the husk is the outside of the tamale. With a spoonful of masa, you start layering on the corn mixture across the bottom half of the corn husk. You don't want it to be too thick or it will spurt out of the tamale when it's rolled up. You don't want it to be too skimpy or you've missed the treat of the corn masa when you eat it. It's less than a quarter inch thick but thicker than an eighth inch thick and I guess when you get it right, that's the mark of a good tamale maker. Next you take a tablespoon or so of the red chile/meat mixture and spread it a third of the way down the tamale about a third of the way from where you started. A green olive or two can then be placed on the sauce. Now, starting at the lefthand side of the cornhusk, roll it up, enclosing the sauce and continuing rolling until you reach the end. Carefully fold the unfilled top end of the corn husk over the filled end, set your bundle upright in a pan and start rolling the next one. When you have enough to fill your steamer, steam a pan for an hour and a half, let them sit for half an hour and then you are ready to sample them. Downright heaven!
It's funny, but tamale ladies are quick to tell you how many they made that day. "Ten dozen!" an old lady down the street told me proudly one afternoon. "I couldn't sleep. I got up at four. And I make ten dozen by eight o'clock!" Or, "I've made five hundred since Thanksgiving!" another lady proudly told me. So I've been able to say, "My neighbor showed me how to make them and we got sixy!" (Yikes! I have a long way to go!)
I think with more practise, I could get good at these. They certainly are wonderful to eat. But I wonder if I want to get that good at making them. For I might replace my Christmas season of baking Christmas cookies with making mounds of Christmas tamales. I know it won't be hard finding somebody willing to eat them!
I'm a fan of tamales, never turning one down when it comes to eating one. But I've never made one, until this year. The true Mexican madre will begin making and freezing her tamales for the Christmas season as soon as the late summer or early fall and if she's got enough room in her freezer (it seems to be a sign of one-upmanship if you are lucky to have two or three freezers stuffed with tamales or their fixings) then she may have ten of dozens of tamales put away by Christmas.
Oh, they go fast however. If you are this same Mexican madre with the tamale stuffed freezer, then you do not show up to anyone's house during the Christmas season without a requisite bag of a dozen tamales bestowed upon the welcoming hostess. There were as many tamales offered as Christmas cookies where I come from. I'm quite sure that by New Year's, there won't be many tamale stuffed freezers left. They'll all be bare and waiting for more.
We've been fortunate to have met a lovely family that makes and sells their tamales. Given two days notice, Rene will have me replete with as many tamales as I request. We take them frozen back to the boys in Dillon Beach. We've feasted company on them. And we try to keep a dozen or two on hand in the freezer... just because.
But this Christmas season, I was given a very wonderful gift. My neighbor, Hope, offered to teach me to make tamales. She was thorough in her instruction and for several days before 'the Big Day' came, I was a) buying pork loin roast and beef roast and a huge bag of Mama Loco's corn husks and two pounds of manteca (lard) and on the proper day of the week(Wednesday afternoon here in Superior) a fresh bag of masa as soon as it was delivered off the truck, then b) opening the bag of corn husks and separating them and cleaning off any remaining 'hair' off the husks and c) cooking the roasts in slowcookers and saving the broth for the sauce. It was quite an operation, so that be Saturday morning, I felt I'd undertaken a whole new occupation: Making Tamales.
Hope is possibly the one of the premier tamale makers in town and I couldn't have learned from a better teacher. We started with the sauce, opening a can of Las Palmas red sauce (oh yes, these were red chile tamales that we made) and adding one part of shredded pork to two parts of shredded beef to a roux of vegetable oil and Bisquick, then just enough broth to impart the right liquidity. Then we started on the masa.
In a dishpan that was big enough to hold twenty pounds of masa, Hope creamed the lard, then broke up the masa mixture and added salt and baking powder and again, just enough broth to make it the consistency of a heavy pancake batter. (That's the crucial step, the right consistency.) Then she tested it by dropping a small spoonful in a glass of water. If the mixture floated, it was right for the tamale. If not, back to the mixing bowl adding more broth and lots more stirring.
Finally, we began the tamale making. A good tamale maker can crank out half a dozen a minute. A new tamale maker can do one in about three minutes. You pick up a corn husk and lay the wide end in the palm of your hand, the 'inside' of the corn husk is that part the mixture will go on, the 'outside' of the husk is the outside of the tamale. With a spoonful of masa, you start layering on the corn mixture across the bottom half of the corn husk. You don't want it to be too thick or it will spurt out of the tamale when it's rolled up. You don't want it to be too skimpy or you've missed the treat of the corn masa when you eat it. It's less than a quarter inch thick but thicker than an eighth inch thick and I guess when you get it right, that's the mark of a good tamale maker. Next you take a tablespoon or so of the red chile/meat mixture and spread it a third of the way down the tamale about a third of the way from where you started. A green olive or two can then be placed on the sauce. Now, starting at the lefthand side of the cornhusk, roll it up, enclosing the sauce and continuing rolling until you reach the end. Carefully fold the unfilled top end of the corn husk over the filled end, set your bundle upright in a pan and start rolling the next one. When you have enough to fill your steamer, steam a pan for an hour and a half, let them sit for half an hour and then you are ready to sample them. Downright heaven!
It's funny, but tamale ladies are quick to tell you how many they made that day. "Ten dozen!" an old lady down the street told me proudly one afternoon. "I couldn't sleep. I got up at four. And I make ten dozen by eight o'clock!" Or, "I've made five hundred since Thanksgiving!" another lady proudly told me. So I've been able to say, "My neighbor showed me how to make them and we got sixy!" (Yikes! I have a long way to go!)
I think with more practise, I could get good at these. They certainly are wonderful to eat. But I wonder if I want to get that good at making them. For I might replace my Christmas season of baking Christmas cookies with making mounds of Christmas tamales. I know it won't be hard finding somebody willing to eat them!
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Gift Swap
Some folks maintain that there's nothing that sums up the frenzy of the Christmas Season like a good rousing gift swap at the Christmas party. I've never experienced the ruthless intensity of the steal-em'-as-many-times-as-you-can gift swap as has been generated here in Arizona. For the past two weeks, I've attended four such parties, and let me tell you, Arizonans have really honed their skill when it comes to these types of gift exchanges.
Now the invitations read: "Bring a White Elephant gift for the gift exchange". Sometimes they may add more details to it such as one that asked that nothing over $10 be brought or the "All Christmas ornaments" exchange held by one lady friend. But the other two... (they were the more 'down and dirty' of the exchanges) just said "a White Elephant". Now what springs to mind when somebody says a "White Elephant" is as different as you and me, I'm sure. What sprang to my mind was a replica of an Easter Island sun god molded into a Kleenex box that Bill's dad gave us one year after our trip to New Guinea. Yeah, it looked like a primitive warrior, all right, but the tissue had to be pulled out of his nose and somehow we just could never bring ourselves to put the darned thing out. So when I heard "White Elephant" that's the sort of thing I imagined.
And the Rules go something like this: When your name is called or your number is called, (depending on what style is used) the first person goes to the table and selects a wrapped gift. He opens it and shows it to the others of the group. The second person who is called can either steal the first guy's present or select another one off the table. If he steals the first guy's present, the first guy gets to take another present and open it. The 'deal' here is that you hope for a high number and not to be the first person. At the first gift exchange, the poor gal who chose the first present got hers stolen so many times that she must have gotten up twenty times during the course of the party. Of course, that meant, she had desirable presents. If you happen to open a 'dud' (happened to me at both parties) nobody bothers to steal your present and at the end of the evening, gee, it's yours to take home! One item can only be stolen one time in a round. Otherwise, it would make the party pretty much interminable.
At the first party, we got a Look-See at what makes a desirable present. It ran pretty much like this: Number One was liquor. Number Two was wine. Number Three was Lotto tickets. And Number Four were gift cards. The rest of the so-called white elephants were pretty much not being stolen back and forth. The hits were a bottle of Crown Royal and another with a bottle of Jose Cuervo and a pair of men's bikini underpants. If they got stolen once, they got stolen thirty times or so.
One of the gals who had stolen the Crown Royal and had it stolen back from her, was finally hanging onto a gift card from Borders. There was another one circulating from Chili's. A laconic cowboy just had his bottle of tequila stolen from him. Since the Crown Royal had already been stolen, it was 'out' of range on this round. The crowd urged him to steal one of the wine gifts.
He grimaced. "I can't drink that stuff! I gotta drink the real stuff."
"Well, steal the gift card for Mexican food!" one of his buddies urged him.
The cowboy nodded and clicked his heels. "Will do!" He took three strides over to the lady with the Borders card and plucked it out of her hand.
"What are you doing?" she shrieked. "That's a card for Borders!"
"It sure is!" he agreed, with a wide grin. "And I just love to eat Mexican!"
"Mexican food! You fool!" she cried, "It's for a book store. They don't serve Mexican food!"
In disbelief, the tipsy cowboy stared at the little card he clutched. "But I like to eat Mexican food. I don't read no books!" The crowd roared with laughter at the crestfallen look on his face.
At the second party, the gifts were even more eclectic: an orange strait jacket with "PSYCH WARD" emblazoned on the back proved to be a big winner; a large pair of fuzzy slippers with Homer Simpson's plastic face plastered on them; more Crown Royal and two kinds of tequila (but no men's underwear this time); a lit up snowman with "I BELIEVE" emblazoned on his tummy; and an oversize margarita glass with "PIMP" in four inch letters. Yes, the prizes were definitely getting more inventive as the Christmas season progressed. The worst prize was the first one selected and nobody stole it back, a wine gift bag stuffed with a can of Spagetti-O's and two Twix fun-size bars.
The joy of these parties is listening to the banter and repartee exchanged and it's impossible not to see the personalities and quirks emerge of these folks we are partying with. Since we're the relative newcomers, I'm having a ball taking it all in. Maybe the same zaniness will wane after watching these characters for twenty years or so. But for this year, it's all fresh and new and man... it gives me something to blog about, doesn't it?
Merry Christmas! And may your gifts be worth hanging onto.
Now the invitations read: "Bring a White Elephant gift for the gift exchange". Sometimes they may add more details to it such as one that asked that nothing over $10 be brought or the "All Christmas ornaments" exchange held by one lady friend. But the other two... (they were the more 'down and dirty' of the exchanges) just said "a White Elephant". Now what springs to mind when somebody says a "White Elephant" is as different as you and me, I'm sure. What sprang to my mind was a replica of an Easter Island sun god molded into a Kleenex box that Bill's dad gave us one year after our trip to New Guinea. Yeah, it looked like a primitive warrior, all right, but the tissue had to be pulled out of his nose and somehow we just could never bring ourselves to put the darned thing out. So when I heard "White Elephant" that's the sort of thing I imagined.
And the Rules go something like this: When your name is called or your number is called, (depending on what style is used) the first person goes to the table and selects a wrapped gift. He opens it and shows it to the others of the group. The second person who is called can either steal the first guy's present or select another one off the table. If he steals the first guy's present, the first guy gets to take another present and open it. The 'deal' here is that you hope for a high number and not to be the first person. At the first gift exchange, the poor gal who chose the first present got hers stolen so many times that she must have gotten up twenty times during the course of the party. Of course, that meant, she had desirable presents. If you happen to open a 'dud' (happened to me at both parties) nobody bothers to steal your present and at the end of the evening, gee, it's yours to take home! One item can only be stolen one time in a round. Otherwise, it would make the party pretty much interminable.
At the first party, we got a Look-See at what makes a desirable present. It ran pretty much like this: Number One was liquor. Number Two was wine. Number Three was Lotto tickets. And Number Four were gift cards. The rest of the so-called white elephants were pretty much not being stolen back and forth. The hits were a bottle of Crown Royal and another with a bottle of Jose Cuervo and a pair of men's bikini underpants. If they got stolen once, they got stolen thirty times or so.
One of the gals who had stolen the Crown Royal and had it stolen back from her, was finally hanging onto a gift card from Borders. There was another one circulating from Chili's. A laconic cowboy just had his bottle of tequila stolen from him. Since the Crown Royal had already been stolen, it was 'out' of range on this round. The crowd urged him to steal one of the wine gifts.
He grimaced. "I can't drink that stuff! I gotta drink the real stuff."
"Well, steal the gift card for Mexican food!" one of his buddies urged him.
The cowboy nodded and clicked his heels. "Will do!" He took three strides over to the lady with the Borders card and plucked it out of her hand.
"What are you doing?" she shrieked. "That's a card for Borders!"
"It sure is!" he agreed, with a wide grin. "And I just love to eat Mexican!"
"Mexican food! You fool!" she cried, "It's for a book store. They don't serve Mexican food!"
In disbelief, the tipsy cowboy stared at the little card he clutched. "But I like to eat Mexican food. I don't read no books!" The crowd roared with laughter at the crestfallen look on his face.
At the second party, the gifts were even more eclectic: an orange strait jacket with "PSYCH WARD" emblazoned on the back proved to be a big winner; a large pair of fuzzy slippers with Homer Simpson's plastic face plastered on them; more Crown Royal and two kinds of tequila (but no men's underwear this time); a lit up snowman with "I BELIEVE" emblazoned on his tummy; and an oversize margarita glass with "PIMP" in four inch letters. Yes, the prizes were definitely getting more inventive as the Christmas season progressed. The worst prize was the first one selected and nobody stole it back, a wine gift bag stuffed with a can of Spagetti-O's and two Twix fun-size bars.
The joy of these parties is listening to the banter and repartee exchanged and it's impossible not to see the personalities and quirks emerge of these folks we are partying with. Since we're the relative newcomers, I'm having a ball taking it all in. Maybe the same zaniness will wane after watching these characters for twenty years or so. But for this year, it's all fresh and new and man... it gives me something to blog about, doesn't it?
Merry Christmas! And may your gifts be worth hanging onto.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
For the Greater Good
The Land Exchange Bill is stalled in the Senate and it doesn't look like anyone can bring about a resolution for Resolution Copper before the new administration comes in. For all of the questions and strife it has caused for some in this tiny town of Superior, one thing is clear. Superior and its residents NEED this copper mine. They're not going to survive without it. Any why they are not getting it, is not clear.
What is CLEAR is that a lot of hanky panky and Big Money is going on behind closed doors regarding the legislation that could make this new copper mine a reality. Three years ago, Arizona's Governor Napolitano was for this bill. Now, she's distanced herself to no help at all. And why would that be? Since if the mine goes through, the fiscal impact on Arizona's economy would be between 600 and 800 million a year, for upwards of sixy years. Isn't that saying something in this economy that's bordering on Depression when jobs, - any jobs - are scarce to come by? Wouldn't anybody who is leading a state be proud to sponsor some legislation that would bring those kinds of Buckos into their state's coffers? Guess not.
Why not? Well... evidently, personal gains have gotten in the way. There's an environmental bigshot, with Big Money (he's married to a DuPont... and you know what? I've NEVER been a Jeff Gordon fan!) who has put up over a quarter of a million dollars the past two years to politicos to defeat this proposed land exchange that would make the copper mine a reality. The environmental bigshot is Bill Roe and he is highly regarded in Arizona's environmental community, like the Nature Conservancy. He has donated money to Janet Napolitano's PAC groups and others as well as big donations to Obama's elections and the Democratic Party. The man is determined to stop the mine. He claims he only wants Resolution Copper to add another choice bit of land to the bill, that along the San Pedro River near San Manuel. That's what he claims. But Resolution Copper doesn't own the land Mr. Roe is interested in having. It is owned by BHP that owns part of Resolution Copper but they are not a bit interested in taking that out of their pocket to make the Resolution Copper mine a reality. And why should they be? It sounds like political blackmail from where I am.
At first, I have to admit, I wasn't Gung Ho for the copper mine to move into this town. I've been worried about water quality and the fact of a mine going in two miles down that might implode the mountain. But there's a heap of technical stuff I don't understand and won't live long enough to begin to understand. So I have to hope that the Right Things will prevail to mean there won't be a huge environmental disaster around here. What is Paramount right now is what is the Greater Good? I believe it is for the young families around Superior and Pinal and Gila counties that don't have jobs or a good enough job to provide for their livelihoods. It's for this super little mining town of Superior that is hanging on by her darned fingernails as she slowly slips away brick by brick because there isn't enough business to sustain business in what could be a bustling little town.
What I'm saying is this: It's time for the politicians to stop thinking of their damned personal gain and start thinking about their constituency and get the Lead Out and get this bill moving through the Senate and House again, - before this next Administration starts all over again - and make this Land Exchange a reality. Forget the dealings of these "do-gooders" Environmentalists and these politicians who aren't looking out for anybody but themselves and do something for this corner of Arizona. We need this mine. AND WE NEED IT NOW!
What is CLEAR is that a lot of hanky panky and Big Money is going on behind closed doors regarding the legislation that could make this new copper mine a reality. Three years ago, Arizona's Governor Napolitano was for this bill. Now, she's distanced herself to no help at all. And why would that be? Since if the mine goes through, the fiscal impact on Arizona's economy would be between 600 and 800 million a year, for upwards of sixy years. Isn't that saying something in this economy that's bordering on Depression when jobs, - any jobs - are scarce to come by? Wouldn't anybody who is leading a state be proud to sponsor some legislation that would bring those kinds of Buckos into their state's coffers? Guess not.
Why not? Well... evidently, personal gains have gotten in the way. There's an environmental bigshot, with Big Money (he's married to a DuPont... and you know what? I've NEVER been a Jeff Gordon fan!) who has put up over a quarter of a million dollars the past two years to politicos to defeat this proposed land exchange that would make the copper mine a reality. The environmental bigshot is Bill Roe and he is highly regarded in Arizona's environmental community, like the Nature Conservancy. He has donated money to Janet Napolitano's PAC groups and others as well as big donations to Obama's elections and the Democratic Party. The man is determined to stop the mine. He claims he only wants Resolution Copper to add another choice bit of land to the bill, that along the San Pedro River near San Manuel. That's what he claims. But Resolution Copper doesn't own the land Mr. Roe is interested in having. It is owned by BHP that owns part of Resolution Copper but they are not a bit interested in taking that out of their pocket to make the Resolution Copper mine a reality. And why should they be? It sounds like political blackmail from where I am.
At first, I have to admit, I wasn't Gung Ho for the copper mine to move into this town. I've been worried about water quality and the fact of a mine going in two miles down that might implode the mountain. But there's a heap of technical stuff I don't understand and won't live long enough to begin to understand. So I have to hope that the Right Things will prevail to mean there won't be a huge environmental disaster around here. What is Paramount right now is what is the Greater Good? I believe it is for the young families around Superior and Pinal and Gila counties that don't have jobs or a good enough job to provide for their livelihoods. It's for this super little mining town of Superior that is hanging on by her darned fingernails as she slowly slips away brick by brick because there isn't enough business to sustain business in what could be a bustling little town.
What I'm saying is this: It's time for the politicians to stop thinking of their damned personal gain and start thinking about their constituency and get the Lead Out and get this bill moving through the Senate and House again, - before this next Administration starts all over again - and make this Land Exchange a reality. Forget the dealings of these "do-gooders" Environmentalists and these politicians who aren't looking out for anybody but themselves and do something for this corner of Arizona. We need this mine. AND WE NEED IT NOW!
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Message Received
The evening the kids left for Dillon Beach, I retired early, settling down in bed at seven with a book and my bad cold. I left Bill and the puppy in the front room watching TV. Tad and Erin departed at three that morning, saying they hoped to get as far as Bakersfield or Los Banos to spend the night before going on to Dillon Beach the next day. (It's a sixteen to eighteen hour drive from here to the beach, for those that don't know. One extra long day in the car.) Erin promised she'd call when they got home, so I wasn't expecting a call that evening.
Earlier in the week, Bill had changed the ringtone on his cell phone. All summer long he's been having "In The Summertime" playing whenever someone calls in. But this week, he'd gone through a lengthy process and was having it play Bob Marley's "Buffalo Soldiers". I guess because it put us in the mood of Caribbean vacations. We've always taken our trips in October and November and even though we're not traveling this year, it's that right time to do it, you know?
Okay, so now I've set the scene for you: I'm in the far bedroom down the hall dozing over my book (it's real boring and I should just put it down and start something else, but I'm determined in my old age to finish every book I start - something I never did when I was younger and working) and Bill and Chuy are in the front room watching C.S.I. when all of a sudden, the television and satellite go blank. Bill looks at the TV wondering what happened when the stereo next to his couch lights up and the song "Buffalo Soldiers" wafts out. The song plays a few bars and Bob Marley's voice fills the room when just as suddenly, it turns off and the TV magically comes back on with Bill's show on it.
Bill came in to tell me about it. "You're not going to believe this..." He told me the story.
"Was it a message from your dad?" I asked. Whenever we experience unexplained electrical disturbances we tend to think it's a Sign from the Other Side that our loved ones are trying to get us a message.
"If it was, I don't know what They're trying to say," Bill shrugged. "That They're aware I changed my ring tone? Why should that matter?"
"I don't know either." But I shivered. His story was "cweepin' me out!" as Sage would say.
Not ten minutes later, the land line phone rang. It was Erin. She sounded exhausted but happy. Tad had driven them home in one fell swoop. They'd been home for an hour or so but she wanted me to know they were fine.
I hung up, considering. Was Bill's message from his dad who wanted Bill to know Tad had arrived home safely? It was one way of getting us to take notice. Or was it just one of those unexplainable Freaky Things that happen now and then? But why "Buffalo Soldiers"? I prefer to think we had a Sign from the Other Side.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Behind The Times
Sorry for the long delay in Blogging. It feels as though I've been stuck in slow hardening concrete while I've waited for the Writing Muse to strike me. But she hasn't dealt any blows lately, so I thought I'd better write something anyway.
We've had a fun visit with our son, Tad and his new wife, Erin and the effervescent three year old Ronnie. It was a week of Fun and Activities but Ronnie left us with a souvenir of a dandy cold so I'm still blowing and hacking. That's part of the charm of living with a Preschooler, a new cold or flu symptom monthly. When our kids were small, we tended to have one Sickie at least every two weeks. It took roughly ten days to feel well again and in that four day window, another bug would bite and another kid (or parent) would go Down For The Count. My dad used to chide me for not taking enough vitamins to ward off the frequent colds, but I didn't listen then. Well, I do listen now and Bill and I take enough Vitamins to build a small wall daily, but still that wasn't enough against the California Cold Ronnie brought to us. HA!
So days are chugging along here, now that the election is behind us and Thanksgiving and Christmas are looming. There's a Toy Run (motorcycles) going on in Globe, Miami and Superior today to benefit seven families for the holidays who have fallen on Hard Times. Santa driving a side car with a winsome maid just zoomed up our street for the first stop of the Run (a local bar). So that's a Sign of the Times. Bill and I weren't participating in that ride for our local Free Dump Day is going on out at the dump and we were volunteering for that instead. As it is, I'm staying indoors with my cough and he went out in the blustery thirty m.p.h. winds blowing off Apache Leap on this not cold but thoroughly Windy November day. My neighbor came out and told me, "You know, in Southern California, they have the Santa Ana winds. Well, they are mild in comparison to ours. These are known as the Apache Winds and the Apaches are much fiercer than Santa Ana." So there! Definitive proof it's worse here! (But thank God, no fires for us here in AZ.)
And I'm sewing like mad, trying to get enough shirts made for a craft sale my sister and I are doing in Florence in three weeks. So every spare moment I have, I'm huddled over the sewing machine or cutting out another shirt. I watched Ronnie one afternoon last week while his folks were out playing golf.
"What are you doing, Grandma?" he asked.
"I'm cutting out a shirt for you, Ronnie. I thought I'd sew you a shirt," I answered.
"I don't want a shirt." (Typical Three Year old.)
He left and returned in a few minutes. "What are you making, Grandma?"
"I'm making you a shirt, Ronnie," I answered. "The same shirt I was working on a few minutes ago."
"Well, I'm still not going to wear it!" He turned and went back to his toy trucks.
"Well, I'm still going to make it!" I countered.
That's it from this end. When I quit coughing so much, I swear I'll Blog more.
We've had a fun visit with our son, Tad and his new wife, Erin and the effervescent three year old Ronnie. It was a week of Fun and Activities but Ronnie left us with a souvenir of a dandy cold so I'm still blowing and hacking. That's part of the charm of living with a Preschooler, a new cold or flu symptom monthly. When our kids were small, we tended to have one Sickie at least every two weeks. It took roughly ten days to feel well again and in that four day window, another bug would bite and another kid (or parent) would go Down For The Count. My dad used to chide me for not taking enough vitamins to ward off the frequent colds, but I didn't listen then. Well, I do listen now and Bill and I take enough Vitamins to build a small wall daily, but still that wasn't enough against the California Cold Ronnie brought to us. HA!
So days are chugging along here, now that the election is behind us and Thanksgiving and Christmas are looming. There's a Toy Run (motorcycles) going on in Globe, Miami and Superior today to benefit seven families for the holidays who have fallen on Hard Times. Santa driving a side car with a winsome maid just zoomed up our street for the first stop of the Run (a local bar). So that's a Sign of the Times. Bill and I weren't participating in that ride for our local Free Dump Day is going on out at the dump and we were volunteering for that instead. As it is, I'm staying indoors with my cough and he went out in the blustery thirty m.p.h. winds blowing off Apache Leap on this not cold but thoroughly Windy November day. My neighbor came out and told me, "You know, in Southern California, they have the Santa Ana winds. Well, they are mild in comparison to ours. These are known as the Apache Winds and the Apaches are much fiercer than Santa Ana." So there! Definitive proof it's worse here! (But thank God, no fires for us here in AZ.)
And I'm sewing like mad, trying to get enough shirts made for a craft sale my sister and I are doing in Florence in three weeks. So every spare moment I have, I'm huddled over the sewing machine or cutting out another shirt. I watched Ronnie one afternoon last week while his folks were out playing golf.
"What are you doing, Grandma?" he asked.
"I'm cutting out a shirt for you, Ronnie. I thought I'd sew you a shirt," I answered.
"I don't want a shirt." (Typical Three Year old.)
He left and returned in a few minutes. "What are you making, Grandma?"
"I'm making you a shirt, Ronnie," I answered. "The same shirt I was working on a few minutes ago."
"Well, I'm still not going to wear it!" He turned and went back to his toy trucks.
"Well, I'm still going to make it!" I countered.
That's it from this end. When I quit coughing so much, I swear I'll Blog more.
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