So, my grandmother has quite the recipe collection, and finally compiled and printed up a massive cookbook after my mom and aunt started arguing about who would get the mass of unorganized recipe pages eventually. In the dessert section, amongst some very tasty unhealthy treats, is a short recipe for something called snow cream. I seem to remember asking about it before, and my grandmother went on quite nostalgically about how great it is. Apparently they would make ice cream from snow on the rare occaissions there was some in Arkansas when she was growing up.
Today my mom made a cobbler since we had some extra berries. Of course, cobbler calls out for ice cream, especially when my mom's boyfriend's daughter doesn't touch fruit with a ten foot pole. So out we venture into the fresh snow, looking for a grocery store open at 6pm on Christmas Day. I was hopeful since they've stayed open through holidays and even blizzards in the past, but apparently not so late. But with all the fresh snow, we decided to try snow cream. It is simply wonderful. All it takes is a two eggs, a cup of sugar, a cup of milk and two teaspoons of vanilla mixed in a very large bowl. Then you quickly add enough fresh snow to reach ice cream consistency (the whole bowl full in our case) and eat immediately. It probably helps that we chilled mix and bowl through dinner so they didn't melt the snow on contact. It's very light and fluffy and so quick for the satisfaction. We'll be doing this again.
25.12.07
24.12.07
Kitty is alive
Well, a few days before mothers were due to arrive, Arthur decided that he no longer wanted to eat at all. He'd been rather irregular at eating the last few days, even though he had been so excited about wet food before. After probably 36 hours without any food at all, there was a stay at the kitty hospital to keep him from starving himself. Then an ultrasound that turned up possibly a really odd cancer, but eventually (after more than a day thinking we'd have to put him down) a biopsy came back as a horrible infection in the lining around his intestines. The solution: surgery to repair the source of the infection and flush it out. At this point he was so weak that he could barely walk, and wouldn't eat anything except finally a few bites of fried chicken. Surgery was on Friday night, and he finally came home this evening. Of course, in the meantime he required a feeding tube, a blood transfusion (there are kitty blood donors!), and constant vitals monitoring.
He's down at least 20% in weight after his starving time, and he was skinny to begin with, so he now gets a whole can a day of special fattening prescription food. His feeding tube is still in (under the shirt on the other side) in case he doesn't eat enough. I don't think it'll be a problem. This picture is immediately after his first meal at home: a quarter can scarfed down frantically, after which he asked for more. Now he's feeling so lively that he wants to do everything forbidden that'll pop his stitches.
20.12.07
Tell me more
Ah, what use I could have gotten out of this little device back in the day. The best part is the endorsement letter at the bottom of the page.
Weirdly enough
It turns out that if you spend all day thinking about plots, you have shockingly plot-driven dreams. I mean, sometimes even novel-length ones that actually make sense. I do have to admit that I can't figure out why the one last night ended with a funeral. It might help if I remembered whose funeral it was supposed to be. Up until then, though, it was ridiculously self-consistent for a dream.
17.12.07
I go on about books
Since I've been complaining a lot lately, both on- and offline, about disappointing books, I thought that I should be fair and mention some stand-out books that I read this last year.
A Journal of the Plague Year by Daniel Defoe
This is the most memorable of the lot this year: written in 1722, it describes the breakdown of society in plague-stricken London, 1665. Defoe includes a satisfying amount of facts and figures in with the story, which brings to life how the city experiences each stage of the plague. A remarkably modern work in many ways.
The Jeeves and Wooster books by P.G. Wodehouse
Any BBC-philes out there will recognize these characters: the '20s upperclass twit Bertie Wooster and his ever-resourceful gentleman's personal gentleman, Jeeves. The books top the movies, of course, particularly as they are told through the incredibly silly narration of Bertie himself (with a few notable exceptions told by Jeeves). There's just one succession of crazy plot after another, all meant to variously advance, dodge, or break an engagement. They're simply wonderful.
Good Omens by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman
I suspect that I actually read this in '06, but we'll sneak it in here since it seems to have gotten me started on this year's humor streak. This book is just endlessly entertaining. I am still amused picturing the demon Crowley intimidating his houseplants into becoming the most beautiful and lush houseplants ever — he read that talking to your plants is good for them, you see. It's just a great absurdly hilarious world.
The Moon is a Harsh Mistress by Robert Heinlein
Yes, yes, how did I ever go so long without reading this book? In my defense, I'll only say that the first Heinlein I ever read was a late work, so I wasn't rushing to read more of him. This, however, truly is the classic that everyone touts it as. An interesting narrative perspective and a plot so well executed and believable that you could almost take it as a blueprint for a revolution. Just read it.
Life on the Mississippi by Mark Twain
I'm an anecdote addict. I like telling and hearing them, and, of course, no one can tell them like Twain. Mostly an autobiography of his time as a pilot's apprentice learning the river, the book combines anecdote, legend, and news reports to document a culture that had already vanished by the time of its writing. I think it was this bittersweetness that's the real appeal.
Lyonesse by Jack Vance
Jack Vance is probably best known for his sci-fi adventures, which are marked by fully realized worlds and remarkably well-crafted language. I thoroughly enjoy almost any Jack Vance, but the Lyoness books are unique as a tongue-in-cheek Grail quest in which the Grail is completely and utterly trivial. The real quests are for identity and recognition. Just don't expect any depth of character in the fairy-tale villians.
The Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser books by Fritz Leiber
The original heroes of sword and sorcery — the books are really lighthearted and funny, too. They're all prime examples of buddy comedy adventure stories, each with the equivalent of Bond-girls.
A Journal of the Plague Year by Daniel Defoe
This is the most memorable of the lot this year: written in 1722, it describes the breakdown of society in plague-stricken London, 1665. Defoe includes a satisfying amount of facts and figures in with the story, which brings to life how the city experiences each stage of the plague. A remarkably modern work in many ways.
The Jeeves and Wooster books by P.G. Wodehouse
Any BBC-philes out there will recognize these characters: the '20s upperclass twit Bertie Wooster and his ever-resourceful gentleman's personal gentleman, Jeeves. The books top the movies, of course, particularly as they are told through the incredibly silly narration of Bertie himself (with a few notable exceptions told by Jeeves). There's just one succession of crazy plot after another, all meant to variously advance, dodge, or break an engagement. They're simply wonderful.
Good Omens by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman
I suspect that I actually read this in '06, but we'll sneak it in here since it seems to have gotten me started on this year's humor streak. This book is just endlessly entertaining. I am still amused picturing the demon Crowley intimidating his houseplants into becoming the most beautiful and lush houseplants ever — he read that talking to your plants is good for them, you see. It's just a great absurdly hilarious world.
The Moon is a Harsh Mistress by Robert Heinlein
Yes, yes, how did I ever go so long without reading this book? In my defense, I'll only say that the first Heinlein I ever read was a late work, so I wasn't rushing to read more of him. This, however, truly is the classic that everyone touts it as. An interesting narrative perspective and a plot so well executed and believable that you could almost take it as a blueprint for a revolution. Just read it.
Life on the Mississippi by Mark Twain
I'm an anecdote addict. I like telling and hearing them, and, of course, no one can tell them like Twain. Mostly an autobiography of his time as a pilot's apprentice learning the river, the book combines anecdote, legend, and news reports to document a culture that had already vanished by the time of its writing. I think it was this bittersweetness that's the real appeal.
Lyonesse by Jack Vance
Jack Vance is probably best known for his sci-fi adventures, which are marked by fully realized worlds and remarkably well-crafted language. I thoroughly enjoy almost any Jack Vance, but the Lyoness books are unique as a tongue-in-cheek Grail quest in which the Grail is completely and utterly trivial. The real quests are for identity and recognition. Just don't expect any depth of character in the fairy-tale villians.
The Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser books by Fritz Leiber
The original heroes of sword and sorcery — the books are really lighthearted and funny, too. They're all prime examples of buddy comedy adventure stories, each with the equivalent of Bond-girls.
15.12.07
I want Mexican food
Matt and I have been severely disappointed in the local Mexican food. The upscale stuff is all really Americanized California-style, while a lot of the mid-priced places are really bland New Mexico style. And with high rents in the area, there's really no hole-in-the-wall kind of places. I, of course, want spicy Tex-Mex — I like my Americanization in the Texan variety. Luckily there's one good family-run place within walking distance of our house that is more than adequately spicy and has pretty much become our sole supplier of Mexican food satisfaction. Unfortunately, said family is now under indictment for supposedly running a largish drug ring. All I know is that the feds better not try to seize our only fajita source.
3.12.07
I am disappointed
I just finished reading Camouflage, which supposedly won a Nebula, but I'm finding it hard to believe. The story mostly follows a changeling alien that wanders the oceans masquerading as various animals for millions of years, only coming out onto land to investigate humans in the 1930s. It spends quite a lot of time trying to understand and imitate us before it decides to start looking for where it came from. When a team of scientists unearths a strange artifact from the ocean, the alien's naturally on the spot.
The actual writing was ably executed — nothing spectacular but good. The beginning was interesting, and main character sympathetic, but the ending was foreseeable about a mile off. Unfortunately, the best part of the book was the chapter I read in the bookstore, in which the alien ends up stuck in the Bataan Death March, trying to understand this new aspect of humanity. In the end it is supposed to learn to love, which is carefully developed over a whole two scenes. It is just assumed that the immortal, multiple PhD holding, repeatedly married (and currently young and sexy) alien naturally only learns to love immediately upon meeting a middle-aged, slightly pudgy and admittedly desperate scientist. I'm willing to bet that it's old astronomy department was full of them. It's all so fast and superficial that we never see anything special, and what starts out as a story of an alien learning what it means to be human ends as an indulgent fantasy. Apparently acknowledging human suffering is so rare in sci-fi that it warrants an award even if the story is otherwise lacking.
The actual writing was ably executed — nothing spectacular but good. The beginning was interesting, and main character sympathetic, but the ending was foreseeable about a mile off. Unfortunately, the best part of the book was the chapter I read in the bookstore, in which the alien ends up stuck in the Bataan Death March, trying to understand this new aspect of humanity. In the end it is supposed to learn to love, which is carefully developed over a whole two scenes. It is just assumed that the immortal, multiple PhD holding, repeatedly married (and currently young and sexy) alien naturally only learns to love immediately upon meeting a middle-aged, slightly pudgy and admittedly desperate scientist. I'm willing to bet that it's old astronomy department was full of them. It's all so fast and superficial that we never see anything special, and what starts out as a story of an alien learning what it means to be human ends as an indulgent fantasy. Apparently acknowledging human suffering is so rare in sci-fi that it warrants an award even if the story is otherwise lacking.
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