The Vintage Bridal Shower – an Ode to Downton Abbey

Posted on April 6, 2013 by housewifery.org

My lovely, young cousin is getting married this summer. She is an only child, an only niece and one of only two cousins – so this is a big to-do. Mom and Aunt (mother of the bride) have been busy planning the bridal shower. We are having a vintage themed shower – with inspiration from Downton Abbey.

This shower planning also coincides with my mother’s discovery of Pinterest. She set up a bridal shower “board” on Pinterest and invited us to share. Every since then, my inbox has been clogged with breaking news of every inspirational photo she pins. She has pinned food, drink, flowers, photography, favors, gifts, decor, games, fashion, and most of all – fascinator ideas. I can’t even imagine what it would cost to recreate this very pink, vintage inspired Pinterest shower in real life.

Our first mission was wardrobe. I happened upon an authentic 1920′s navy lace dress at an estate sale.

I bought this even though it is partially disintegrating and two sizes too small. Mom set out to make a dress. She found this pattern for a “one hour dress”

Seventeen hours later, she was nearly finished and it looked somewhat promising:

Then she tried it on. It was not the flattering flowy style that is shown on the pattern, but a stiff, derrière-enhancing tent. Mom named it the Humpty Dumpty dress. Needless to say, we both have backup dresses.

Next we needed headwear. I figured I’d wear a hat. My first exposure to the hat was at Royal Ascot in 2000. Here we are, a bunch of American women, trying to blend in. We were not very adventerous with our hats.

Hates are just not comfortable and they take up a lot of air space. Mom decided fascinators would be better – those lightweight little concoctions the British wear askew on the heads.

If you care to read about the history of the fascinator:

http://www.justfascinators.co.uk/about.asp

“A fascinator may be worn instead of a hat but to occasions where hats were traditionally worn — such as weddings in the U.K. — or as an evening accessory, when it may be called a cocktail hat. It is generally worn with fairly dressy attire. Modern fascinators are commonly made with feathers, flowers and/or beads. They attach to the hair by a comb, headband or clip. They are particularly popular at premium horse-racing events, such as the Grand National, Ascot, and the Melbourne Cup. Brides may choose to wear them as an alternative to a bridal veil or hat, particularly if their gowns are non-traditional.”

Interestingly, fascinators have now been banned in the royal enclosure at Ascot – they are still allowed in the grandstands. However, what passes for a hat at Ascot is questionable.

Mom decided to host a craft day to make fascinators for ourselves and the bridal party. She had pinned a dozen photos of Kate and other fashionable young women wearing different feathery fascinators. She watched a video on how to make your own. I had my doubts about this idea, but I agreed to try. Mom bought everything we might need – plastic flowers, feather, buttons, white stick-like things, fabric, fun fur and giant glue gun.

Here was my Pinterest inspiration photo:

The first step was to make the base from some kind of heavy interface material.

You hot glue a giant clip onto the back. Warning – you will hot glue your fingers several times during this project and it will really hurt.

Aunt and I were glue gun virgins, so it took us longer.

I decided to hot glue on a fun fur base. I was immediately regretting my decision as it looked like a 1970′s toilet seat cover, but there’s no going back once you put glue to fur.

Then I added some black tulle and a few feathers.

I topped it off with a little lucite bird and a vintage looking button in the center.

I must say that this turned out WAY better than I imagined. We were on a roll. Mom finished hers.

I tried a black and white one with flowers.

How do people wear these with a straight face?

Mom switched to pink

By this time Mom and I had finished five hats, yet Aunt was still on her first. She is a bit of a perfectionist. Her projects are always detailed and symmetrical. She had to leave before it was finished – so we added the white twigs after she left.

We whipped out a few more:

One for the bride:

Another long feathered black and white

I call this my “Scarlett O’Hara goes to Ashley Wilkes’ Birthday Party”

Now the real dilemma – which one to wear?

They are surprisingly cute and I will be sad to give them away, but really – what would I do with them?. Aunt suggested we sell them in a store or on eBay. One look at the underside and people would want their money back. I also fear a stiff breeze would tear them apart.

However, if Passing Fancy ever does another pop-up store I know what I’m making!

Things I Learned from My Mother

Posted on March 18, 2013 by housewifery.org

I am descended from a long line of very mediocre housewives. My mother summed it up in one sentence — “We are Irish”. Apparently that explained everything. It was why we could not clean thoroughly (those were the Polish) and why we could not cook a decent meal (Italians did this). We could, however drink merrily and be the life of the party.

I don’t remember a lot about my early childhood, but I do remember people making fun of my grandmother’s cooking. Her roasts were dark and chewy. Her vegetables were frozen peas and carrots. Her coffee was a bottomless percolator of reheated black slurry.

My mother had a limited dinner repertoire, as my brother likes to bring up at family gatherings (someday my mother will just reach across the table and strangle him). He says we basically had five rotating dinners – dried-out baked chicken, hot dogs, meatloaf, tuna sandwiches and Polish sausage (which my stepfather actually made). On the weekends we would have an occasional hamburger. All of these hamburgers and hot dogs were served on wheat bread. I guess my mother thought buns were a conspiracy (“Why would anyone waste money on buns when bread tastes so much better?”) We drank only milk or orange Hi-C with our meals. When I moved out, the first things I bought were a case of Diet Pepsi and a bag of buns. I still consider them a delicacy.

It is surprising that my brother has bad memories of these meals. It’s not as if he were a budding gourmet — his favorite after-school snack was circus peanuts. We did both love to go to Olympus Gyros for takeout. We sat on our back patio and ate the enormous tasty pitas dripping with grease and tzatziki (as we were not allowed to eat the smelly things in the house). Greek food was too ethnic for our mother’s palate.

My childhood best friend, Cathy, had Betty Crocker as her mother. Whenever I went there for dinner we had exotic meals like Cathy’s casserole and Tuna Bunstead’s. She made the best chocolate chip cookies. As an adult, I was informed that she really wasn’t Betty Crocker – she made spaghetti sauce from a box and served powdered milk (that they mixed in a big yellow plastic jug). She was English.

All of the men in my family are better cooks than the women. Husband and Son cook, Brothers cook, Dad cooks. I guess it is a survival instinct. I could probably try harder. I just don’t get excited about spending hours preparing a meal that will be consumed in ten minutes. I’m just as happy having a bowl of cereal for dinner.

So, my mother did not teach me to cook, but she did teach me many useful life lessons:

Stepladders are a waste of money. Why in the world would anyone waste money on a stepladder when they had perfectly good folding chairs? We never once played cards, but we used these card table chairs for reaching high items and house painting (and we never ever used painter’s tape or a dropcloth). Chairs were easy to carry and scoot around the perimeter of the room. If we bothered, the Naugahyde could be wiped off with a wet rag. Over the years we actually spilled very little paint onto the floor (unless you count the two full cans of paint that my mother accidentally kicked down the stairs. They exploded magnificently all over the basement).

Naturally, when I bought my first house and it was time to paint, I whipped out my folding chairs. Husband complained briefly, but was just happy that I was working. To this day people ask me why my chairs are such a mess. “Doesn’t everyone do that?” I asked my friends. Apparently not.

My mother also taught me that you don’t need a bunch of fancy chemicals to clean your house. One rag and a container of Comet will do it all. When dusting – a little saliva on the wood will dissolve any crusty bits. I was not keen about swishing the toilet with the Comet. The second thing I bought when I moved out was a giant package of sponges, rubber gloves, and spray cleaning products. I must admit, however, that nothing polishes my stainless sink quite like a scouring with Comet.

My mom taught me all about home remodeling on a budget. We had a closet in our house that had a tiny little door. For years, Mom asked Stepdad to put in a double door. It was apparently low on his priority list. I came home from school one day and found that Mom had taken a crowbar (or possibly just a skillet) and bashed out the drywall where she wanted the door. Stepdad then had no choice but to frame in a new door. I learned a valuable lesson – just threaten to do a project yourself and you will get some help. If you don’t get help with the threat – just start the project poorly.

My mom had her own set of tools, but was also good at improvising. Screws could be removed and paint cans opened with butter knives. Nails could be pounded in with a sturdy loafer heel. I have also learned to make my own tools. Husband is still mad about the day I chipped away an old tile countertop with his grandfather’s chisels. I had to run after the mobile knife sharpening guy to make amends.

I learned how to measure without a tape measure from my mother. This is useful when trying to determine if you can move a piece of furniture into a tight spot. You simply stand in front of the furniture and spread your arms to the width of it. Then you walk as carefully as possible with your arms spread, preserving the measurement, to the new spot. If you need more precision you spread your arms horizontally and place your longest left finger on the left end. Then with your free hand touch the part of your body that marks the right edge. This allows you to measure without having to hold any awkward angles with your arms. Husband loves to pantomime my measuring technique.

My mother taught me to be crafty. We always had the latest trendy objet d’art. I came home from school another day to find her in the basement bashing a giant piece of (stained) wood with a heavy chain to “distress it”. She then hammered in nails and strung wire until, voila, we had a beautiful wired sailboat sculpture that looked like it was made centuries ago. Sadly, I do not have a picture of the real one, but this gives you an idea.

We also had lots of macrame and decoupaged plaques and framed needlepoint fruit. This complemented our mushroom canisters nicely (who ever decided that mushrooms were cute?).

I was fine with her decorating of the public areas of our house, but drew the line at my bedroom door. Her favorite style was, and still is, what she calls whimsical. It was a constant struggle to protect my room from her whimsical creative clutches. She read in a magazine (thank goodness Pinterest didn’t exist back then) that you could take rope and make flower designs on top of a dresser, and then shellac the whole thing. It would look so cute on my dresser (that she had already painted neon yellow). I was so horrified that I locked my door.

Everything I owned ended up painted some vibrant color. I had an antique trunk that I found in my grandparents attic. Somehow, when I wasn’t looking, it turned lime green (It has since been repainted cream). Mom was all about the trash to treasure, She never understood the appeal of authentic antiques. Everything looked better, she said, with a light sanding and a fresh coat of paint or a new fabric cover. My (paternal) great grandmother made a needlepoint a seat for my childhood rocker. To my horror, Mom ripped the needlepoint off, threw it away and covered the chair with a cheery, dotted navy velveteen. She never understood why I was upset (“what? it was old and filthy”).

One craft we both enjoyed was making fake flowers. You twisted floral wire into the shape of a petal and dipped it into a little can of toxic red stuff. It was some kind of resin that dried to create the perfect petal. In Googling this, I learned that they were called resin film flowers or dip film flowers

Our house was in a constant state of redecoration and accessorizing. We lived in a 1950′s Cape Cod. By the late 70′s it had evolved into a Gothic castle. This photo showcases the gold shag carpet, gold foil floral wallpaper and my mother’s love of sconces. I love the cassette player on top of the old Hi Fi.

Here is the other side of the living room with a grass wallcovering, vertical boards and the larger sconce.

Mom is still crafting. She went through a silk floral arrangement phase about ten years ago. Here is my topiary of the magic tree that grows 5 different kinds of fruit.

Every year we get her Christmas craft (her sister helps out with this one). I have yule logs, painted candles, painted dish towels, lighted and gift wrapped glass blocks. One year, I joined in and we tried to make decoupage glass soap dishes. I cut out magazine photos for hours and tried to combine them in interesting ways. Here we have the seahorse woman.

The lemons.

These were not gift worthy.

Mom recently discovered Pinterest and the craft ideas are growing exponentially. Here are a few of her pins:

I wonder which one I’m getting for Christmas – I hope it’s the Guinness or the pebble trivet and not the staircase spindle snowmen.

So, over the years I have learned a lot from my mother. I learned that there is simply a genetic limit to my cooking abilities. I learned to clean with a rag and some powder, but more importantly that you don’t need to be a great housekeeper if you can decorate with a well-turned craft. Most of all, I learned how to remodel a house with three tools and a folding chair.

Valley of the Housewives: The Swinging Sixties Party

Posted on March 3, 2013 by housewifery.org

About a year ago we toyed with the idea of reading a 1960′s book for book club and serving some 60′s food at the meeting. We wanted to recreate some of our childhood foods – in particular, that cream cheese slathered classic: the sandwich loaf. I have fond memories of eating slices of ham and tuna and egg salad layered inside white bread and covered with that delicious, decadent cream cheese frosting. Beth and I had it all planned. We bought the ingredients and prepared to make it for our summer book club weekend. At the last minute, however, Beth panicked at the thought of our gourmet hostess, Jeannee, seeing us prepare this lowbrow lunch. So, we just ate the salads on sliced bread.

The party idea was still with us, and it grew over the months. We elected to read Valley of the Dolls and expanded the event into a full blown dinner party with husbands.

The Outfits

My top priority was finding the perfect outfit. I scoured eBay for vintage 60′s dresses and found I was spoilt for choice. I checked the measurements on this beauty and decided it would work if it had a little stretch and if I could drop a few pounds (well you can guess that didn’t happen).

I also ordered Go Go boots from a costume store. I found some white gloves at an estate sale. I bought false eyelashes and a rat tail comb for final touches.

My dress arrived from eBay. The fabric on the dress was stretchy, but the belt was not. It barely fit around my waist. I would need the industrial spanx for this one.

The Food

We planned the menu:

Appetizers:

Shrimp cocktail

Cheese ball

Deviled eggs

Cocktail wieners

Fondue

Entrees:

Chicken Tetrazzini

Glazed Pineapple Ham

Sides:

Jello mold

7-layer salad

Scalloped potatoes

Desserts:

Grasshopper pie

Ambrosia

Drinks:

Tom Collins

Whiskey stone sours

Martinis

I felt like Carol Brady shopping for the ingredients. Lots of salty canned products. Here are the tetrazzini ingredients:

I know why housewives in the 60′s were skinnier than we are – it took four hours to make dinner. Good thing I started early.

Here are the ingredients from my favorite childhood dip – chipped beef dip. My mom used to make this for her parties. On the morning following one of her parties I would head down to the basement and eat up all the leftover dip. It’s a wonder I didn’t die of botulism.

Another childhood favorite – ambrosia. I mixed a giant bowl and sampled it – fabulous! Just as I remembered.

The Music

I was in charge of music. I much prefer this to cooking. I went through our entire CD collection and extracted all the 60′s songs. I then went to iTunes when Husband wasn’t looking and bought about 20 of my favorites 60′s songs. Build Me Up Buttercup, In the Year 2525, Ferry Cross the Mercy, Season of the Witch, California Dreamin’, So Happy Together to name a few.

The Decor

We didn’t want to spend a fortune on the party – but I did buy some retro highball glasses. I ordered some 60′s era candy from an online store. I raided my booth at the antique mall for some fun candy dishes, and my favorite Liddle Kiddle dolls and Avon kitsch. Beth strung some love beads and pulled out all the vintage dishware.

The Party

I squeezed into the dress, teased my hair and put my eyelashes on (those are annoying). I took a photo before my hair wilted.

We went off to Beth and Jim’s to set up.

Beth looked fabulous. I was going for a That Girl look. She was going for Patty Duke. The professional wash, set and tease was much more authentic than mine. Beth’s first priority was to sample the Tom Collins in my Star Trek highball glasses. Jim mixed us up some half strength Tom Collins (we had a long night ahead). Those glasses were great. Every time I lost my drink I just had to find Captain Kirk.

The hostesses: Those fake eyelashes really do make your eyes pop. Someone might have a seizure looking at our dresses for too long.

The guests started arriving. Sally looking sweet with her beatnik husband, Len.

Andy Warhol and Twiggy (aka Paul and Leslie)

joined by hippies Elaine and Bob

More hippies, Paula and Scott (Jimi Hendrix perhaps?)

and then we have Margaret Thatcher (another professionally styled helmet that will last for weeks) and her Pan Am pilot (Cari and Mark)

Joan and Curt in their hippy gear

Susan and Todd, aka The Petris arrived. The photo is a little blurry because Rob was tripping over the ottoman.

Brian and Sue in her cute vintage green dress:

Marc and Mary

Jim and Mary

Jane and Sally

Mark modeling his Penguin sweater.

Dinner

The ham looked delicious:

The chicken looked a little scary, but tasted good.

Mmm, mayonnaise. This must have killed Leslie to make.

I had to hold myself back from eating this entire bowl of dip. Beth added the olives as a joke and was horrified to discover that I love canned olives.

We had more food than we could fit on the table. It was a fabulous display of carbs, cholesterol and sodium. Were heart disease rate really lower back then?

Everyone enjoyed the food.

I think Sally and I should have dressed as Cathy and Patty Lane (even if Sally didn’t know who they were).

The Games

We started with a 60′s trivia quiz; no iPhones allowed.

Team A triumphed. I should have remembered not to put Mark and Len on the same team. They collected the prize of movie sized Sugar Babies. Here you can see Karla as our 2nd Laura Petri.

We moved onto charades. Mark, fueled by a Sugar Baby high, was unstoppable as a guesser.

We challenged the legitimacy of his acting out of West Side Story by doing the snappy Jet dance.

As it was going to be a tie, Beth did the final clue for a sudden death.

Paul leapt and shouted out “Do You Know the Way to San Jose” from the back of the room and sealed Team B’s victory. Who knew he was a Dionne Warwick fan?

Charades winners:

Our final competition was for Best Costume. We voted and Cari was the winner by a landslide (but every woman did get at least one vote; I’m hoping by their husband).

The drinking of the sour highballs and Schlitz beer continued.

Cari led the room in dancing. Then Mary decided that she needed the black wig.

Everyone looked good in the wig. Here is Paul:

I think it looked best on Bob:

We closed the night with a little hula hoop competition

and then a duet by Mary and Jim.

Don’t hire them for your next party.

Stitches West

Posted on February 27, 2013 by housewifery.org

It finally arrived – the trip we had been planning for over a year – a journey to Santa Clara, California. It was the year of Noelle’s 50th birthday and her wish was for us all in the knitting group to go to Stitches West (there is a Stitches Midwest in Schaumburg, but apparently Stitches West is the mecca of knitters). Unfortunately it didn’t work out for all of us – but 4 of us set out on a cold Thursday in February (as a snowstorm was rolling in).

The flight was extremely crowded because the entire UIC Flames baseball team was also traveling to Santa Clara (too cold to play in the Midwest in February). The boys were so cute and polite. We kept mentioning that we had daughters their age that they should meet. I’m sure they thought we were all just creepy.

We finally arrived at the Santa Clara convention center and hotel.

We quickly unpacked and then went outside to get a little sun. It was only 55 degrees, but felt so wonderful.

After a quick drink we headed to “The Market”. Thursday night was reserved for conference participants and we were to get a special preview.

I have been to one previous market, so I knew a little about what to expect. This market, however, was enormous. I could not even take it all in. We started in the back and started walking up and down the rows. All the yarn looked so beautiful. Everyone was touching yarn and oohing and ahhing.

Our first serious stop was in this booth:

This was hand dyed and so soft. I did not come prepared. I had no idea what I wanted to buy or make. I just selected two colors I loved and bought them. Then the knitters pointed out that I bought lace weight (needs small needles). I waited in line again and swapped for thicker yarn. I plan to make a cowl.

One reason the market is visually overwhelming is that the yarns, the sample garments, the shoppers and the vendors are all swathed in rainbows.

It all becomes a bit of sensory overload. I think this woman’s hair was even made of yarn:

There was a man dressed as wizard (could have been a woman) but I was not able to get a good pic.

Friday:

The classes started on Friday. Noelle and I set off to an all-day weaving class. Tracy took Latvian stitches and Mary Ellen took something with granny squares and crocheting (she was up late Thursday doing her homework).

I was excited about weaving. As I have a bit of arthritis in my hands I don’t think I’ll be knitting into my old age, but I can see myself weaving.

The class was set up with about 25 small looms. We were going to make a scarf using different types and colors of yarn. We spent the morning picking out our yarns. The teacher walked around and inspected all the yarn we had brought. She quickly rejected all the inappropriate yarns we had and helped us with color and texture. My yarns were pretty boring (gray and purple) so she gave me some bright green and blue to add in.

We threaded our looms.

After lunch we actually did the weaving. I have to say that moving that shuttle back and forth was making me a bit dizzy and was not as relaxing as I thought it would be. I was very clutsy and kept dropping things on the floor. Noelle had to reprimand me for shaking the whole table every time I bent over to retrieve something (pulling my entire loom with me). Noelle is concentrating quite hard on her scarf.

As my woven scarf came off the loom, I quickly realized it was going to be hideous. I walked around and looked at everyone’s scarves. They had some beautiful jewel tones and mine was so dull (what I should have expected with a gray “weft” yarn). I decided to switch to a purple weft yarn. I anticipated a beautiful plaid pattern emerging, and I was sure the teacher would compliment me on my vision. Sadly, it just looked like a mistake. The teacher held it up and said “Hmm, you changed your weft yarn?” “Yes,” I said. “Next time, try not to beat it so hard.” She dropped it on the table and moved on. Beating is how tight you pack the yarn in when you weave. I guess that’s why it is so stiff and wavy instead of soft and drapey. It is not at all what I imagined making. I texted a photo to Husband and he immediately became concerned that I would be returning with an industrial loom.

What I was most surprised about in the class is that knitters are not very friendly or helpful. They are all trying to show off their skills and knowledge and were not too interested in small talk.

Classes ended at 5:00. We hurried back to get ready for the evening activities – the fashion show and banquet. We had a drink in the bar and headed over around 6:15 for a 6:30 show. We were amazed to learn that women had been waiting in line since 4:30. They had dragged chairs over from the classrooms and sat and knit, waiting for the doors to open.

We were obviously then at the back of the line, so we sat in the back of the auditorium.

It was a full house. These women never stop knitting.

We chose drinking over knitting IMG_0107_2

I must say the fashion show was great. There were about 5 beautiful, tall, thin models who made even the dorkiest hand-knit garments look like high fashion. It was much more interesting than looking at samples on hangers.

After the show we transferred to a banquet room for dinner. Again, we ended up in the back. That was fine. We met some nice librarian knitters at our table. After the meal the emcees began giving out prizes. All of the vendors and yarn companies had donated great door prizes. A long line of “runners” lined up. As each name was called and an excited winner screamed, the runners ran to deliver their prize. About 40 people won prizes and it was getting quite irritating. We got nothing, but still had fun.

Saturday:

Another day of classes. Mary Ellen and I went to learn Scandinavian stitches. Noelle and Tracy went to a lining class (where they were subjected to a shoosher for 3 hours).

This class was great because no one knew what they were doing, so I wasn’t too far behind. We learned how to wind yarn like an old Scandinavian woman and then knit with these twisted stitches, carrying three balls of different colored yarn. We were to knit in the round on a pair of circular needles. Now, I knit in the round all the time – but with a single pair of circular needles. I can never figure out how to do it on two. Somehow, one needle always ends up flying off my work. To make things worse, for some reason I kept knitting but it was not turning out round. I finally had the nerve to show the teacher. She quickly fixed it for me and soon I had an adorable little Scandinavian finger warmer.

At lunch we ran back to the market. We bought some gifts for Sally and Tracey back at home. After the fashion show I had a better idea of what projects I would like to tackle. I bought a kit to make a cardigan with stainless steel blend yarn and some ribbon yarn for a sleeveless sweater. Some samples, however, just looked overwhelming and a little too Maude for me.

My afternoon class was skirt design for all shapes and sizes. They weren’t kidding. This class was chock full of full figures. I have never felt so young and thin in my entire life.

The class was fun. We learned how to design a skirt pattern to fit us perfectly. I do have yarn for this project. We’ll see how this goes.

Mary Ellen took a cable class. I lost track of the others.

That night was the student fashion show. This was absolutely the most bizarre thing I have ever seen in my life. Basically, anyone can participate in this show – you simply fill out a slip with info on your garment and then you walk the runway in your knitwear.

Once again we were in the back. Once again that was a good decision – we had a lovely group of librarians (I sensed a theme here). Here are a few samples of the models and their garments. There was amazing workmanship in many of these.

This was my favorite – the Lord of the Rings shawl. Apparently there is an entire series of these shawls that you can make.

During dinner, the woman across the table asked us to blow out our candle because the scent was bothering her. Now, this was a tiny, little candle inside a glass globe that had no discernible scent to the rest of us, but we complied. After dinner the door prizes started again. They gave away even more than the previous night. The woman at our table with the sensitive nose won something. They gave away $250 knitting bags and beautiful kits. Finally, at the second to the last prize they called my name. I won a kit to make cotton dishrags! It was a crochet kit. I don’t crochet. I tried to give it to Mary Ellen, but she had no interest.

We were thrilled to see a giant bag of door prizes get dropped off at each table. Tracy was put in charge and instructed on how to pass them out. Noelle was given a beautiful set of circular needles embellished with Swarovski crystals. I thought they were cool, but she was unimpressed. Mary Ellen was presented with a giant roll of Lion brand Zpagetti yarn in a kit to make a bowl. Tracy got a kit with a very hairy yarn that made a scarf by simply knotting the yarn! I got a skein of green cotton yarn with an unattractive pattern. Hey – at least we got something. I am looking forward to seeing the knotted scarf. They let Mary Ellen swap for something a bit better.

We were feeling a bit dejected as we headed to the elevators. We knew from experience that these elevators could take forever and knitters do not know how to queue. All weekend we had women shove past us to get on the opening elevators. We elbowed our way to the front and jumped on the first one. As the doors were closing a woman ran up and said, “Is there room for two more.” Noelle said, “That depends.” I waited for her to finish that thought, but she didn’t.

Sunday

We did not sign up for classes on Sunday. We had by now settled into a routine. Tracy slept in. Noelle, Mary Ellen and I worked out in the gym and then gorged on the giant breakfast buffet. We decided that if we carried out a muffin from the buffet we could even skip lunch. I ate a few bites of the muffin at the table so it looked like I was just trying not to waste food by taking it with me, Mary Ellen decided to just blatantly snatch the muffin on the way out.

Noelle spent the day with her sister, and the 3 of us went back to the market. I swore I wasn’t going to buy any more. I then found this adorable project bag in Star Wars fabric and a handblown glass button. Now I need a project to go under the button.

Sunday was the day that they drew the grand prize winner. We each had a few entries so we decided to stay and see if we won $1000. We planned to split the prize and buy 4 kits to make mink sweaters. The man with the box of entries walked through the market leading a pack of knitters like the Pied Piper:

A woman in a neck brace won 3rd prize. We could not begrudge her. Then two other women won the remaining prizes.

Dejected once more, we made on last lap around the market. The people watching never got old.

I went back to the room to add up the damages

Sunday night was Oscar night. Noelle and her sister went to Trader Joes, bought cheese and crackers and hummus, and we had a party in their room. Mary Ellen started winding a ball of yarn that strangely took her until Best Picture to finish

Monday:

The market was closed and the classes were ending. The hotel clientele changed from chubby middle aged women to business men. We stayed on to visit some wineries.

I have never done the wine tasting thing. We picked out three wineries. Each one had a $5 tasting where they poured us 5-6 one ounce samples. Here we are just starting out:

After the first winery I could tell I had enough. At the 2nd place I tried to just take small sips. By the 3rd I was dumping most of my glass into the spit bucket. I was regretting the platform sandals I was wearing. Fortunately we had hired a limo to drive the tipsy housewives around.

By the time we got back to the hotel we were starving. We found a nearby restaurant and feasted on french fries and Reubens for a late lunch. We had to walk through a strange industrial area and traverse a field of feral cats to get home.

We met up in Noelle’s room again to watch The Bachelor. Tracy summed up the day, “I have been drunk, hungover and recovered, all before dinner.” She was also regretting her excessive wine purchases. I don’t watch The Bachelor, but I guess I must tune in next week to see who he chooses.

Tuesday

Tuesday we checked out. Winter storm, Rocky, was blowing across the Midwest. We packed our bags. I don’t know how yarn can weigh so much – but our bags were heavy and bursting.

It was sad leaving, but I was ready to go home. I couldn’t look at one more variegated shawl.

Tracy was stressing about her suitcase possibly being over the 50 pound limit. She was also stressing about the probable flight delays. I, being the only empty nester, was completely unconcerned about returning to the cold. All the baggage worry was for naught. My bags came in at 49.5 pounds (10 pounds more than what I came with) and Tracy’s at 49.

We got to the airport and learned there was about an hour delay. Southwest was doing their best to scare away passengers. They said that due to weather they might not be able to land in Chicago, and we were on our own for lodging at any place we landed. I suggested trying to just get to Vegas for a few days.

We decided to eat lunch. Mary Ellen was not sure this was necessary. Traveling with Mary Ellen is like having our mom with us. When I had a coughing attack during the fashion show, she whipped out a cough drop. She always had an endless supply of Kleenex. Mary Ellen had apparently packed up the leftover hummus and cheese and crackers from the Oscar party and kept pushing it on us. We decided on sourdough sandwiches instead.

We then spread out with our laptops and knitting at the gate anticipating a long delay. it was not to be. They suddenly started boarding the plane. We scooped everything up and ran onto the plane. There were only a handful of passengers left. We each got our own row.

This was the best flight ever. We had room. The flight attendants gave us armfuls of snacks.

It was a peaceful, but long flight. Mary Ellen perused the Skymall magazine and we discussed the pros and cons of buying the mole remover system for our age spots. We then switched to knitting. Mary Ellen was making a headband with our Scandinavian stitches. She had a ball of red yarn dangling. A young man ran to the bathroom, caught his foot on her yarn and dragged it all the way down the aisle. I thought that was pretty funny until we landed and my ball of yarn flew off my seat and rolled under the seats in front of me.

We landed, quickly got off the plane and then were told there were no taxis. I don’t know what all the fuss was about. There was very little snow on the ground from this “Rocky.”

We finally got a cab and Mary Ellen sweet-talked him into dropping us all off at our respective houses. It was a great trip, but I have purchased enough yarn to last me a decade. Our next trip I think should be a pilgrimage to Downton Abbey.

The Good Corporate Wife in Puerto Rico

Posted on February 12, 2013 by housewifery.org

It was time for another customer symposium. This one was is in Puerto Rico in February, so at least it sounded warm. From the moment I started packing I began singing West Side Story songs, and I couldn’t stop the entire trip. It didn’t help that one of the customers was named Maria. I alternated between singing Maria and America.

This was my sixth customer event and I was getting the hang of them. I no longer dreaded the “So, what do you do question?” No one really cared what I did. Most people just like to talk about their lives and families. On the Olympics trip I spent one dinner talking to an older couple about their life in Alabama and by the end of dinner I think I had promised to stay with them and go to an Ole Miss game. A few weeks after that trip, Husband got a thank you card from the couple. Here is an excerpt:

We enjoyed the meal we shared with you and your wife. Tell her she is a fine lady.

Husband thought it was hilarious and kept calling me a fine lady. I think I should get a commission for my work.

We left very early on a Tuesday morning. I approached the airport scanners nervously. They had recently changed from the virtual strip search back scatter scanners to millimeter wave body-imaging. I stepped inside and raised my arms. As usual I was flagged for a hand pat. This time they were suspicious of a lump in my sweater sleeve (which was just a bunched up blouse).

The gate area was already full of fellow employees and customers. We sat at a Starbucks with a customer couple from Chicago. This woman, who is Cuban, was wearing about six layers of clothing (including a lulu lemon hoodie that I have been coveting). She told me that she is always freezing in air conditioning. She even brought knee socks. I didn’t even pack socks. I started to worry.

The plane was completely full. I crammed into my middle seat. The woman in the window seat had an endless supply of water bottles she kept chugging. Of course, she then had to get up every half hour. I was tempted to take away her water bottles, but it was probably good for me to get up. I did leg circles in my seat hoping to avoid another DVT. Not that that helped last time, but it couldn’t hurt.

After a long flight we finally arrived. We were directed to board a bus. I stepped onto a 70′s party bus complete with black leather perimeter seating, blaring music, and overhead disco lighting. After another 30 minutes we finally arrived at the St Regis. It was a lovely resort.

We were given fruity rum drinks by smiling greeters while we waited to check in. They told us that our room was not ready because we were being upgraded. I am always happy to wait for a better room. They sent us to the restaurant. We ordered nachos. As soon as the giant heaping plate of nachos arrived, Husband answered his phone and learned that he was supposed to be in a meeting. I was soon left alone looking like a crazy gluttonous woman. I decided that sitting in a warm ocean breeze with a mountain of nachos was not all that bad.

Our room was finally ready and was worth the wait. This is the view from our balcony.

Wednesday morning I got up early. Husband went to his business meeting, and I set off in search of coffee. I soon discovered there was no coffee to be found in this resort unless I were to order very expensive room service (my coffee would cost $11 plus tip for a small) or sit down alone in the fancy restaurant. I apparently had butler service with my room and was instructed to call them for anything. Despite my love of Downton Abbey and occasional desire for servants, I just I just couldn’t bring myself to call and order coffee. How can a resort not have a coffee bar? I drank water and ate a granola bar I had packed.

I had never gone a day without coffee. I was a little worried about my ability to get through the day. I decided to start at the beach.

I sat in that lounge chair for awhile and read some of this month’s book club book: Valley of the Dolls.

Husband texted at 11:30 and said they had put the lunch out for the customers and I could sneak in and grab a sandwich – thank god.

For my spousal activity I had selected a spa treatment. I have never been to a spa and wasn’t sure if I’d like it. I selected a 60 minute anti-aging facial.

The spa was very tranquil. I slipped into my white quilted robe and rubber sandals and sipped tea in the garden with the geckos. Maritz finally came to get me and explained all the procedures she was going to perform. She then told me to take my robe off and get under the cover. I never knew you had to be naked for a facial.

Maritz started by cleansing. Then she moved on to moisturizing and wrapping a hot towel over my face. She then asked me if I was claustrophobic. I said no. She then laid a sheet of gauze over my entire face and then put warm paraffin on top of the gauze. Then she wrapped a hot towel over my face. I was left with a breathing hole about an inch in diameter through cheese cloth. I was starting to rethink my claustrophobia answer.

While my face was steeping, she worked on my legs and feet. She spread hot paraffin on my feet. I was about to scream out in pain, but the wax cooled off quickly. She then wrapped my feet in giant baggies. This would not have been a good time to have a panic attack or run from a fire as I would just slide all over the place trying to escape.

Next she put lotion on my hands and massaged them. Then she massaged my arms. It was a bit rough and I tensed every time she slammed up against my shoulder. Finally, she unwrapped my face and covered it in cool lotion. The final touch was a scalp massage. I relaxed as she started at my temples. She then vigorously ran her fingers through my lotion-soaked hair, wrapping big chunks of it around her fingers and ripping it out at the roots. I gritted my teeth and prayed she would stop.

Dinner that night was an outdoor buffet. Once the sun started setting it was getting pretty cool. I started worrying about my lack of socks.

The resort had prepared a nice buffet with chicken, beef and lobster. Then, as they apparently worried about mainlanders, they added a “beef burger” line.

The entertainment was a local band with players of what looked like giant tambourines and one trombone. They had a man in the corner hand fitting panama hats. There was also a cigar station where you could roll your own. I went for the hat.

I saw many familiar faces from our last trip and sorted out all their kids and hometowns in my head. I spotted Donna, who I recalled had dropped her only son off at a college in Scotland that fall. I sat down next to her.

Me: Hi, Donna. How did the college drop off go?

Donna (smiling slightly): fine.

Donna just looked at me with the strangest expression. I saw tears forming in her eyes, but she offered no information. Oh dear, just mentioning this had made her cry.

Me: Freshman year is hard. When does he come home?

Donna: I’m sorry. I don’t have any kids in college.

Oh good lord, who was I thinking of? I excused myself and went to roll a cigar.

On Thursday morning they had a beautiful outdoor buffet for the spouses. I was so excited to get coffee. Only two women were sitting there. I helped myself to some fruit and banana pancakes and filled my coffee cup.

As I was chatting with the women I looked over and saw half a dozen blackbirds gathering on the buffet table. They were nibbling crumbs off the serving spoons and grabbing chunks of fruit and carrying them to the nearest table. Their favorite snack was apparently the blueberries garnishing the heaping bowl of cream cheese. They returned and plucked out every berry. I just prayed that they did not like banana pancakes.

I decided to attend part of the business meeting. I slipped in the back , standing out in my capris and sandals.

Dinner that night was off the resort at a private home that could be rented for events. It was a beautiful Spanish style home with mostly outdoor rooms. Sadly, it was pouring rain. We slipped all over the tiles as we negotiated the food stations.

They had a great band that was playing to no one on the wet dance floor. There were only a few interior rooms – like this library:

It was a treacherous bus ride home on what felt like steep mud roads.

At our final breakfast, everyone was dragging. Too much food, too much alcohol and too little sleep. We also heard there was a blizzard coming in and flights were being canceled.

Husband and I went for a walk on beach with that last few hours at the resort. We ran into a customer and his wife doing the same. She had an armful of coral.

Wife: Look at all this beautiful coral.

Me: Be careful, that might be illegal.

Wife: Why? They just throw it away.

Husband looked at me like I was an idiot. I pulled out my phone and googled Puerto Rico coral. There was an entire website explaining how it was an endangered species and it is a felony to possess Dead or Alive any coral (including a $25000 fine and 6 months in jail).

We piled into buses to drive to the airport. I tried to see what life in Puerto Rico actually looked like. I was only able to get a few blurry pics.

Things move a little slower in Puerto Rico. The TSA agents were in no hurry to screen anyone. The woman watching the monitor just sat and stared at the bag in front of me for about ten minutes. She did not open it, just studied it, and eventually decided it was fine. The man checking i.d.’s was holding a conversation with someone across the room. I stopped in the restroom. There were two cleaners outside the ladies room chatting and leaning on their carts. The stalls were mostly covered in signs saying they were out of order. There were two broken hand dryers and no paper towels.

All the co-workers gathered in Air Margaritaville for some lunch. They were strangely out of fries. The waiter said we could have chips. It didn’t dawn on us until they arrived that he meant tortilla chips. Ken ran to the gift shop to buy his kids a gift. He returned empty handed.

Ken: I tried to buy a kinder egg, but they didn’t have any.

Me: Those are illegal in the US

Ken: Aren’t we in the US?

Me: I guess that’s why they don’t have any. The little hidden toys are a choking hazard.

I pulled out my phone.

Kinder eggs

Me: Each egg has a $2500 fine for bringing it into the US.

Just call me Debbie Downer, but I have saved people $27,500 in one day. That more than pays for my expenses.

We finally boarded. It was a 5 1/2 flight home. These trips are killers – 20 hours of travel time for 48 hours of relaxation. I nestled into my middle seat and continued reading what I was discovering was the original mommy porn – Valley of the Dolls. Husband kept reading over my shoulder (he can spot the word breast at 100 yards). It did help pass the time.

It was back to the bitter cold and snow and Puerto Rico was soon just a warm memory.

Me and Hillary and the DVT

Posted on January 8, 2013 by housewifery.org

I have a few things in common with the Secretary of State – we both grew up in the Chicago suburbs (she actually went to high school with my cousin) and we both seem to be prone to blood clots. Mine was not quite as dramatic as hers – there was no fainting or concussion.

My medical past is checkered. I had Hodgkin’s Lymphoma about 20 years ago and breast cancer a year ago. I have no thyroid. I have no spleen. I have no breasts. I have high cholesterol. I can carry a few extra pounds around the middle. I don’t like to exercise or eat vegetables. Strangely, I still consider myself a healthy person. I take a few pills, walk a little, occasionally cut back on carbs and do OK.

It all went downhill when I turned 50. To celebrate the occasion I went to Paris with my mother and my aunt (we were turning 50,60 and 70). The trip was great. The flight was awful – I was wedged into the middle seat in coach. I decided to not drink much (of anything) on the flight home so I would not have to use the bathroom. I don’t recommend this strategy.

When we landed at O’Hare after 10 long hours, I uncoiled my sore body and apparently (according to my aunt) I complained of a pain in my leg. I have no memory of this. I went home and got back into my routine. I went for a long walk with my friend, Beth to burn off some of the croissants I had eaten. I thought it was odd that after walking for hours a day in Paris, I was struggling for breath after a few blocks.

The next morning I had a pain in my calf that felt like a pulled muscle. I walked on the treadmill to try to loosen it up. It was even worse the next morning. As I hopped around on my other foot, Husband told me I probably just had adhesions. I didn’t even ask what those were.

The pain did not go away. Every morning it was getting worse – a throbbing in my leg that was about an 8 on the pain scale, but by evening it was always tolerable. Finally, after 4 days of worsening pain, I went to my doctor (after a lunch date and some last minute errands).

Dr F examined my calf. Nothing ever excites my doctor. He always speaks in a calm slow voice. I was wishing that I had shaved my legs more recently as he studied my calf and ankle. He felt for a pulse in my foot.

Dr. F: I just don’t think it can be a blood clot. You have no redness, no swelling. The pulse is strong in your ankle (OK I have no idea if he said that last part). It’s probably muscular. Take some ibuprofen and call me Monday if it doesn’t get better.

Me (jumping down from the table): OK

The doctor glanced through my file and apparently recalled all my dismal health history.

Dr F: You know, I have been fooled before. We had better just do an ultrasound.

I was handed an order and sent over to the adjoining hospital for an ultrasound of my leg. A technician had to be called in as it was now after 5:00. Of course, the tech turned out to be a mom from my kid’s high school. She was busy typing something into the computer at the end of the room. Without looking up, she motioned to the exam table.

Tech: Take off your pants and cover up with the towel.

I looked at the table and saw a teeny, tiny hand towel. Really? Could they not afford a sheet at this hospital. I stared at the wisp of fabric and wondered how this would work.

As the pain was in the back of my calf I assumed she wanted me to lay on my stomach. I tried to climb onto the table and simultaneously pull the towelette over my booty. She walked over to the table and looked at me like the idiot I apparently was. She shook her head – “No, lay on your back.”

Well, that was a little easier. I tried to tuck the edges of the towel around my thighs.

We chatted about things at the high school as she ran the transducer up my stubbly left leg. She told me about her son’s love of music and hatred of math.

Tech: OK, you can sit up. You have a blood clot.

She called Dr F. and then handed me the phone.

Dr F: Yeah, I think you had better spend the night so we can observe you and get you started on blood thinners.

Me: Can I go home and get some things and feed the dog?

Dr. F: Umm, no.

So, I called Noelle and Mary Ellen to go over and let my dog out. They later told me my house looked like the rapture had occurred. OK, so I did leave in a hurry, and I had not done the dishes, but at least I had the foresight to pick up husband’s dry cleaning and some dog food.

I checked in and a nice volunteer wheeled me to my room. I had been walking around with this clot for a week but suddenly I was not allowed to put any weight on it. As it was after “room service” hours and I was starving, this nice elderly Asian man, who seemed to be mute, brought in a plate of food for me. I thanked him and he nodded and left. I reached over to pull the tray closer and felt a big blob of old food on the edge. Obviously this was not the cleanest place.

I called husband. He was at a large dinner meeting that he was hosting.

Me: I have a blood clot. I have to spend the night in the hospital.

Husband: I suppose I should leave?

Me: No, please. What are you going to do sit at the foot of my bed and stare at me while I anticoagulate?

He did leave which moved him closer to husband of the year. My friend once told me of her friend, Janie who had a collapsed lung. Janie was in the hospital bed with tubes in her lung and iv’s in her arms and electrodes with monitors attached to her chest. Her husband looked at her and said, “You know, if you don’t get out of bed and start walking around they will never let you out of here.”

Husband arrived and grabbed the tv remote (I guess even in the hospital I don’t get to control this).

Husband: How did you get a blood clot?

Me: From the plane.

Husband: Did you not get up and walk around?

Me: No, but I did leg circles in my seat.

Husband: Don’t do that again.

Me: Don’t worry I won’t ever fly coach again.

Husband: What? That has nothing to do with it.

Dr F had ordered a few tests. First was the EKG. The mute man (who I had previously assumed was an orderly) came back and ripped open my gown to attach electrodes. I was really hoping he had some sort of medical training as he was now exposing me to the world.

Next was the chest x ray. A tattooed man appeared with the world’s widest wheelchair. I suppose they do now have to make them double wide as we have grown more obese. He had thoughtfully padded the chair with a pile of blankets which he wrapped snugly around me. As he wheeled me briskly through the hall I was feeling all cozy and well cared for until I noticed the strong smell of urine. I could not determine if it was from the blankets or the wheelchair, or which would be preferable.

Tattoo man parked me in the hall, outside of x ray. Another woman was lying in a gurney across the hall from me. I could not tell if the woman was alive or dead. She was flat on her back and not moving. I don’t suppose they do tests on dead people, so I presume she was at least marginally alive. As I sat there shivering in the chair I wrapped the urine soaked blankets around me and hunched over in my chair. I had a vision of my future life in a nursing home.

I was finally x-rayed and then returned to my bed.

Another person of some sort came in to take my temp. She stuck a metal probe in my mouth and then pulled it out quickly and said “Oops.” She quickly put a plastic sheath over the probe and stuck it back in. Oops? What the hell had she just stuck in my mouth? I can’t even imagine the diseases that were on that thing, but what could I do now? No wonder people die in hospitals.

Next came the nurse to start the heparin injections – a giant needle pre-filled with Lovenox that had to be injected into my stomach.

Me: Really – there is no other place? I have plenty of fat elsewhere.

I offered up my thigh.

Nurse: Stomach is really best.

She grabbed a handful of belly fat and jabbed it in

Nurse: You will have to do this yourself.

I knew I could do a better job than she just did.

Nurse: Now let’s start an IV.

She reached for my hand and I pulled it away.

Me: Why?

Nurse: Just in case anything happens we will have a line in.

Me: What could happen?

Nurse: Anything, maybe even a pulmonary embolism.

Me: Well can’t we just start an IV then?

Nurse: This will save time.

This was like husband explaining why he spent ten minutes backing into a parking spot so he could pull away quickly and safely. I explained that I just didn’t see the point of going through pain and time now just in case. Nurse Ratched finally backed down on the IV. I am normally a very cooperative patient and I didn’t even complain about the unsanitary conditions, but I hate IV’s.

Husband then went home to take care of the dog and I tried to sleep. That’s always hard when someone’s taking your vitals or giving you meds every few hours. I watched carefully to make sure that thermometer was sheathed in its protective coating.

Four hours later, the nurse returned with a fresh needle. It was time to demonstrate that I could inject myself. I grabbed a roll of fat and placed the end of the needle up to the skin.

Nurse: Go ahead, just jab it in.

Me: I’m not jabbing. I will go slowly.

I slowly applied just the tiniest bit of pressure. The nurse shook her head. I ignored her. Eventually the needle moved the tiniest bit and over the course of the next five minutes I successfully injected the Lovenox.

Nurse: It’s gonna take you all day to do the injections like that.

Me: So be it. At least it doesn’t hurt.

Dr F arrived in the morning with my test results. He handed me the chest x-ray report which I paraphrase:

“…there is an area of collapsed lung and reduced lung volume consistent with Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disorder … and metal clips in the abdomen…”

Dr F: There’s nothing there that I’m worried about.

Me: I’d hate to see a bad report.

Dr F: You do have the Factor V Leiden mutation. That means you are more prone to blood clots. You will need to take the Lovenox for about a week until we can get you therapeutic on the Coumadin and then we’ll take it from there.

He handed me my follow up instructions. I went home with a box of blood thinner and some Coumadin.

I hope Hillary had more fun in the hospital than I did. She probably had a room without dried food stuck on the tray and a wheelchair that wasn’t covered in urine. I wonder if she had to do her own injections?

I went to Google to see if she also shares the Factor V Leiden mutation. All I found were a bunch of conspiracy theorists claiming that she did not even have a blood clot. Seriously? At least I don’t have to deal with that.

Scandinavian New Year’s Eve Progressive Dinner Party – 2012

Posted on January 2, 2013 by housewifery.org

For our 17th annual New Year’s Eve Progressive Dinner Party Jeannee selected a Scandinavian theme.

The complete menu and recipes can be found at

http://aglobalgarnish.com/2013/01/04/2012-smorgasbord-menu-assembled-by-friends-of-a-global-garnish/

APPETIZERS/MAINS

Gjetost and Jarlsberg Cheeses with Knackerbrod (Flat Bread)
Smorrebrod (Shrimp and Beef Open-faced Sandwiches)
Rodbetesalad (Danish Beet Salad)
Inlagd Sill (Pickled Herring with Red Eggs and Pickled Cucumbers)
Morbra (Pork Tenderloin Stuffed with Prunes)
Farikal (Norwegian Braised Lamb with Cabbage and Tomatoes)
Fiskeboller (Norwegian Fish Balls in Horseradish Sauce)
Kroppkakor (Swedish Potato Dumplings)
Kottbullar (Swedish Meatballs)
Limpa (Swedish Rye Bread)

DESSERT

Dommekage (Danish Dream Cake)
Kransekake (Norwegian Wedding Cake)

I dropped off my Kransekake, amazingly still in one piece, at the dessert house and headed over to the first course. This year we had the main course at a beautifully furnished Zook house. It was like a fairy tale house which perfectly matched our menu.

Here is our smorgasbord. I was coveting the beautiful suede blue bench and enormous square dining table. Suzanne has amazing taste and I spent most of the night trying to take in all the decor.

No one would sit on that beautiful bench until it was covered with bath towels (we were eating beets after all).

Here is the pickled herring and pickled eggs. Sadly, Sally was too sick to join us and just sent over all her pickled red food.

Pickled cucumbers

and the final pickled red beet salad. That’s a lot of pickling.

We had some native cheeses. That dark brown thing (Brunost, which translates into brown cheese) was interesting – kind of nutty and it is not recommended to eat too big a piece at once. Apparently there is a spreadable version that comes in what looks like a toothpaste tube.

Then we had these beautiful open faced sandwiches. Elaine prepared them and then apparently had a wild car ride to the party and all the ingredients slid off. She managed to reassemble them nicely.

Of course, we had to have Swedish meatballs. As Beth is part Swedish, ours were pretty authentic.

The next “ball” was a fish ball. Jeannee bought these somewhere in Minnesota – I have to point out that our chef did not actually make her assigned dish after a hectic week (I don’t feel so bad now about not making homemade stock for Thanksgiving). I must say, these were unusual. They tasted like a fish dumpling. I don’t think I will be making these again, but they are pretty.

The first entree was the lamb with cabbage prepared by Leslie. When I asked her son earlier in the day how it looked, he just informed me that it smelled bad. Cabbage is never the sweetest smelling ingredient, but that lamb was tender and delicious.

However, I have to award the best entree prize to Susan for her pork tenderloin. Who knew prunes could taste so good?

For a side we had Cari’s potato dumplings – they were quite decadent with lots of bacon and butter. We also had rye bread made by Karla. Normally I don’t get excited by bread – but this bread recipe is fabulous!! It must be the molasses.

We finally headed over to the dessert house before midnight.

Here is the Kransekake and the wonderfully coconutty Danish Dream Cake (made by Jane who rarely makes it to midnight to taste the desserts). That is a little marzipan pig that was awarded to the finder of almond.

Another New Year’s come and gone. Another great party with great food and friends.

Our kids were toddlers when we started this tradition and now most of them are grown and away at school or even married with kids. Where has the time gone?

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