Our personal Easter Bunny, Albert, and the rest of the Dillon Family would like to wish everyone a very happy Easter filled with rebirth and renewal.
We here at Rancho Laurena are enjoying the new life with which we've been blessed and hoping for Charlotte to repeat last Easter's performance by gifting us all with more lambs. 
(Otherwise, we're going to have to paint Goodyear on her sides and have her officiate sports events, poor girl.)
I have a recurrent fear of constantly repeating myself. This is due to my dear departed paternal grandmother who, well, constantly repeated herself. She told the same stories over and over and, since we all loved her more than life itself (well at least I did), we never called her on it. Also, she told them in such an entertaining manner, particularly when sharing cocktail hour with her best friend Hunna, that no one truly minded.
So here it is my birthday again and, for the life of me, I can’t think of what I’ve told you and what I haven’t. Yes, I could look it up but I’m too lazy. I have a nasty cold/flu (a generous present from my husband who received it from his co-workers, the gift that keeps on giving, you might say). My lymph nodes are swollen from singing feliz compleanos (it’s a little known fact that lymph nodes are heavily into important days, hence all the sickness that accompanies holidays and other special occasions and also they sing only in Spanish).
Risking repetition, here is some Lauren’s birthday trivia:
Did you know that March 4th is the only day with an action, i.e. March Forth!?
This marching forward birthday is shared by Antonio Vivaldi, John Garfield, Patricia Heaton, Chastity Bono, Emilio Estefan, Miriam Makeba, Catherine O’Hara, Steven Weber, Knute Rockne, and James Ellroy.
The first tavern in Boston was opened on March 4th, 1634. I think this explains a lot.
Also on this day in history :
1766 The British Parliament repeals the Stamp Act, the cause of bitter and violent opposition in the colonies
1789 The first Congress of the United States meets in New York and declares that the Constitution is in effect. (I think this means my birthday should be a national holiday, don't you?)
1791 Vermont is admitted as the 14th state. It is the first addition to the original 13 colonies.
1792 Oranges introduced to Hawaii
1793 George Washington is inaugurated as President for the second time. Shortest speech (133 words) (I think he just wanted to go home to Mt Vernon and make whiskey, the poor guy.)
1797 Vice-President John Adams, elected President on December 7, to replace George Washington, is sworn in.1796: The First Real Election.
1801 Thomas Jefferson becomes the first President to be inaugurated in Washington , D.C.
1809 Madison becomes 1st President inaugurated in American-made clothes
1825 John Quincy Adams inaugrated as 6th President
1829 President Jackson gives his "just policy for Indians" speech today
1849 Mormon pioneers establish the State of Deseret in what is now Utah , with Salt Lake City as its capital.
1861 Lincoln 's first presidential inauguration
1861 The Confederate States of America adopt the "Stars and Bars" flag.
1861 President Lincoln opens Government Printing Office
1863 Battle of Thompson's Station, Tennessee
1863 Territory of Idaho established
1881 California becomes 1st state to pass plant quarantine legislation
1901 William McKinley is inaugurated president for the second time. Theodore Roosevelt is inaugurated as vice president.
1902 American Automobile Association (AAA) founded in Chicago
1908 The New York board of education bans the act of whipping students in school.
1909 President Taft inaugrated as 27th President during 10" snowstorm
1913 Woodrow Wilson inaugurated as 28th President
1913 1st US law regulating the shooting of migratory birds passed
1914 Doctor Fillatre of Paris , France successfully separates Siamese twins.
1917 Jeannette Rankin (Representative-Republican-MT) becomes 1st female member of Congress
1921 Warren G. Harding is sworn in as America 's 29th President.
1921 Hot Springs National Park created in Arkansas
1929 Herbert Hoover inaugurated as 31st President
1929 Charles Curtis (R-Kansas) becomes the first Native American to be Vice President of the U.S.
1933 FDR inaugrated as 32nd President, pledges to pull US out of Depression & says "We have nothing to fear but fear itself"
1938 Toothbrush bristles are changed from badger hair to nylon
1944 Berlin is bombed by the American forces for the first time.The U.S. 93rd Bomb Group.
1952 North Korea accuses the United nations of using germ warfare.
1970 Fifty-seven people are killed as the French submarine Eurydice sinks in the Mediterranean Sea.
1970 Jacksonville is 1st college basketball team to average 100+ points per game
1975 Queen Elizabeth knights Charlie Chaplin.
1977 Earthquake in Romania, kills 1,541
1979 US Voyager I photo reveals Jupiter's rings
1979 200th episode of "All in the Family"
1987 President Reagan takes full responsibility for the Iran-Contra affair in a national address.
Because I am sick, and therefore stupid, I cannot think of anything clever to say. Maybe at the least we have learned a thing or two together to forget later. Happy Birthday to me, Woohoo!
Before you begin reading this dribble, stop what you are doing and make sure you have your black-eyed peas cooking on the stove (no, not the group, that would be silly plus they wouldn’t fit in the pot). You must cook them today, not tomorrow, nor a week from yesterday. This is a rule that must not be broken; our new year depends upon it.
That said, how was your Hogmanay? After writing yesterday’s post, I looked up Edinburgh’s Website touting their oh-my-could-this-be-more-fun raucousness, shared it with Hunky Husband, and we have collectively set a goal to celebrate the next new year there! Honestly, where else can one march through a river of fire, set a Viking longboat aflame, and burn a giant willow stag? 
So 2008-2009 Hogmanay in Edinburgh it shall be where we will celebrate “A guid New Year to ane an' a'!” (Now to just come up with that pesky matter of funding the adventure but I’ll think about that tomorrow, Scarlett. It’s New Year’s Day!)
Dreams of Edinburgh notwithstanding, we had a wonderful evening two doors down (where they were laughing and drinking and having a party). Got that song in your head? Good. The food was wonderful as was the company. We actually behaved ourselves considering the occasion (I’m saving rampant misbehavior for next year) and I had just enough to drink to get to that point where, for some unfathomable reason, I think I can dance and also think I look damned good doing it. My dear friend Karen and I share this phenomenon.
Plus, “The Clash” was blasting “London Calling” on the stereo; it is a not-to-be-broken Lauren rule that I must shake my moneymaker to “The Clash” and/or the “B-52’s.” (As an aside, wouldn’t it be nice if the shaking of one’s middle-aged posterior would generate capital? It would definitely help with trip expenses.) Anyway, here I was in a room with about 20 people dancing all by myself (didn’t want to be but I was all by myself anyway, Eric Carmen) when, unaccustomed to wearing the heels that bedecked my feet, I unsuccessfully navigated the fringed border between the rug and the carpet and fell flat on my ass. Not only did I fall, mind you, I landed in such a manner that a pine side table cupboard smacked into my head with a deafening crack. Yup, there I lay, Mrs. No-Longer-Dancing Fool. Awesome.
You would have thought a bomb had gone off. The room went silent and all heads turned my way. Hunky Husband, Knight in Shining Armor that he can be, rushed to my side, sure I had given myself a concussion whilst our worried hostess filled a gianormous Ziploc bag with ice, wrapped it in a towel, and literally ran across the room to me. I, in my goose-egg-growing state, didn’t really think it was that big a deal. Hey, I made it through the eighties and fell down plenty of times during that decade. Why the concern now?
Today, though, I have to admit I am feeling the effects of my misadventure. Due to our recent viewing of the “Johnny Cash Show” on DVD, a show which ran from 1969-1971, I am experiencing an obsession with hot rollers. That female keyboardist must have put at least five rats in her hair to get it to puff up that high and damned if for some insane reason I am totally wanting that look right now. We have two functions to attend today, a casual corned beef and cabbage luncheon at favorite neighbors Tom and Michelle’s followed by a New Year’s Day Open House at the Candee’s (I’m secretly hoping for shoes) and, no matter how much the pine-damaged portion of my head hurt, I was damned if I wasn’t going to put those rollers in my hair and shove those medieval torture sticks around them to hold them there. Beauty, albeit totally-retro-bordering-B-52’s beauty, before pain, dang it.
I will now end this tale of humiliation and woe. I hope, by sharing it, the rest of you feel just a wee bit better about yourselves and know, that no matter what you do, I alone am the fool on the floor.
Tomorrow, the revolution begins.
What a better occasion to re-enter the blog world, Hogmanay, yet another pagan holiday (mostly from the Scottish Highlands) usurped by humanity at large and made its own. Auld Lang Syne was adapted from a Robert Burns poem and the Times Square illuminated ball originated from the fireballs (contraptions of chicken wire, tar, and paper attached to ropes) marched through the streets on this night and swung high until cast into the harbor or other body of water. And yes, the crowds this custom gathered rivaled those in New York City (can anyone say New York City without thinking about that salsa commercial? I can’t.)
So Happy Hogmanay to everyone. May a handsome guest cross your threshold at midnight bearing gifts of salt, coal, shortbread, and whiskey. Feed him well and offer him great hospitality and the upcoming year shall be one of great fortune and health. Hey, I’ll try anything at this point.
Leap back one week and we find ourselves where I last left you, wishing you a Merry Christmas and unsure whether the tree would get decorated, the presents wrapped, or a holiday-worthy meal prepared. Well, it all happened somehow. 
Somewhere in the fog of the 23rd and 24th, I pulled out my one anal retentive quality and trimmed the tree.
Felina was not happy about this. She was digging her new arboreal lifestyle. In retribution, she proceeded to break some of my ornaments. This is not a good thing, Martha. She received no turkey or plum pudding on Christmas Day even after she so insincerely meowed “God Bless Us Everyone” while balancing a crutch under one leg. The Poser.
Thankfully, my favorites made it (knock on wood). Papa Snowman taking his wee snowson on an adventure.
Our token black Santa (I mean this in all unseriousness)
Our heavily underbitten bulldog
And, of course, the dear wee baby Jesus, made by local Native American artisans.
We even have a pickle on the tree. It’s a Scandinavian good luck charm. I’ll hang ram nuts on the tree if it will bring us good luck.
The presents were wrapped as well, though their looks began to suffer as the Scotch tape began poisoning my bloodstream. I particularly loved it when, thinking I was finally finished, Hunky Husband plopped down his business associate gifts in front of me and looked at me imploringly. Yup, I wrapped them, too.
In the end, it was all worth it. Even the napkins I sewed (and no, I did not finish all three sets though I did fall asleep at the sewing machine trying) became holiday fodder. 
No Christmas cracker hats for us, not when the opportunity to play pirate presents itself.
The best part? Watching the holiday through the eyes of a three-year-old whose excitement at opening each and every gift expanded upon itself until I thought he would bubble over. “My toys, my toys!” he shouted with glee. Even the pajamas and jacket he received were greeted with such joy that, at that moment, nothing could be more perfect.
Yes, Christmas offered me a memory strong enough to hopefully push back my sometimes glass-half-empty nature even when faced with illness and hardship and for that, I will be forever thankful. Granted, I am hoping the whole 2008-rhymes-with-great fortune is a true one and we will not endure another year like the one that just passed, at least farm-wise. We’d be plum out of livestock and then what would I call this mess I write?
Oh, and if you were wondering? Next Christmas, I'm leaning more toward Cordelia's way of celebrating the holidays. It would definitely cut down on the stress level.
From all the critters at Rancho Laurena
Especially the human ones.
Have a wonderful holiday. I'll write again when I remember how to sit down.
Today marks the beginning of a new era, a good era, filled with happy children and healthy farm animals and coyotes who know their place in the world, i.e. not in our farmyard. I feel it in my bones.
First of all, it is the Winter Solstice, the shortest day, light-speaking, of the year. For the next six months, it can only get brighter from here. I love those days when the light lingers far into the evening, bringing out the badminton set and the archery equipment. Not that I am good at either of those things, I am about as coordinated as an amoeba. No one stands anywhere near the target when a bow is in my hands for fear of looking like Steve Martin in his early stand-up routines. It’s still fun, though.
Today also marks Seinfeld’s “Festivus for the Rest of Us” so those of you who don’t participate in any of the myriad holidays that not-so-coincidentally fall at this time of year can pull out that aluminum pole, air your grievances, and display feats of strength. I’m a big believer in celebrating as many events as possible so, although we have no pole to set up (thankfully) and we air grievances on a daily eye-twitch-creating basis, we do have a family wrestling match which takes care of displaying those feats of strength (or weakness if one is referring to me). Hunky Husband always wins, of course, but he teases us enough to make us believe we could take him down before he puts the final kibosh on us all. Yup, not only is he handsome, the man is as strong as the proverbial ox.
The final and most convincing-to-me reason that a new positive era has begun happened early this morning as the Pint-Sized Farmer and I were doing our farm chores. (David is serving jury duty. When I told him he could probably get out of it, he told me it was his civic responsibility which made me feel like a gutter crumb for suggesting he skate in the first place. If you’re keeping track, that’s handsome, strong, and ethical. I did well.)
Pint and I were spreading scratch for the chickens, both astonished at how large the now-pullets-and-cockerels are getting, when one young bird looked right at me and crowed. It was a small crow, almost silent and very high-pitched, but it was a crow nonetheless. I haven’t heard one of those since the Great Coyote Massacre of 2007 and it was sweet music to my ears. Our little farm is reawakening to a better-than-ever time and I am blessed to be a witness to it. Once again, life is good.
Let it be heard throughout the land; I’m taking the day off (as much as someone raising a three-year-old can do such a thing). We had a wonderful time last night and, although I am not the least bit hungover today (surprise!), I am tired and I don’t think I will even do one load of laundry. Yes, the washer and dryer deserve a day off, too; they’ve been working hard after all. People don’t have enough empathy where appliances are concerned.
The party favors were a hit. As you can see, they are nice silver framed ornaments anyone would be happy to hang on the family Christmas tree. We added a little gag though and took out the anonymous photos that came in the frames and replaced them with pictures of Jon and Curt, the CEO and President, respectively, of Jon Wayne Construction. Everyone got a chuckle out of it and Jon and Curt were particularly pleased that the photos turned back time ten or so years.
This is what they look like now. Jon and his always lovely wife, Teresa.
And Curt with his equally beautiful partner Jill. Honestly, I think they all look great, years, schmears.
When we arrived home, we found this lovely ornament in the mail. My amazingly talented mother-in-law Carolyn (remember Pint's quilt?) made the covering for the ornament on her fancy dancy embroidery machine. It now holds the proud honor of sole ornament on the tree. Thanks, Mom!
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a day off to begin. Clean-the-refrigerator-out-stock-that-will-be-soup is spreading its homey scent throughout the house and a sofa and blanket are calling my name. What’s that? They’re getting lonely without me? Gotta go, I’d hate to upset the housewares.
By the power vested in me by copious amounts of coffee and diet Mountain Dew, what absolutely had to be done by today is done.
I managed to finish one complete set of Christmas placemats with two choices of napkins, eggplant (I know I should just say purple but it is a dining room table after all and eggplant is food.)
Or pomegranate (same reasoning).
The fudge was finished as of last night. I, as always, used the recipe off the back of the marshmallow crème jar with the only adjustments being no nuts of any kind as fudge is not allowed to contain nuts in my household and no Baker’s squares because fudge is only as good as the chocolate it contains. 
This year I used a half and half combination of Ghiradelli semisweet and bittersweet chips. Yum. Oh, and I don’t measure the vanilla; I just glug a LOT into the fudge. (Yes I bought some vanilla but I’m not drinking it. Yet.)
The party favors are assembled and purty. I shall reveal the contents at a later date as I don’t want to spoil the surprise.
I ordered the cute little cardboard gingerbread house boxes from good-thing Martha’s website. Don’t blame me; it was Angry Chicken’s fault. She had them on her blog and I fell in love with them so much that I volunteered to be in charge of the party favors. Yes, that criminal Martha Stewart drove me to temporary insanity. Bitch.
Finally, the bosses’ special gifts are adorned for presentation. The tags say “I totally want to get one of these for myself so let me know if you don’t want it.” A girl can try, can’t she? If you want a gift tag that says this and other irreverent quips, that amazing Angry Chicken has them here.
Now all I need is my fairy godmother to come wave her magic wand. It’s 2:50 pm; I’m still wearing what I was clad in when I rolled out of bed; and I have no idea what I can fit my big fat arse into what I am going to wear. Add to that the fact that I have this huge sore on my lip/chin and also that, after all this work, I am way too tired to actually go to the party.
Although the fatigued part is real, I'm truly looking forward to tonight (as long as the restaurant is dark and my concealer effective). Daniel is making butternut squash ravioli just for me. Maybe he'll even put white truffles on top! As an extra plus, I get to choose the wine. Omigosh, I think I just drooled on myself. I think it's time for that shower now.
Just a quick note to reassure everyone that I am doing peachy and finding my inner so-far-hidden efficient self. The must-have-for-fudge-making candy thermometer conveniently broke possibly making this the first year in 20 that I have not made fudge for Hunky Husband’s bosses. Then, Aunt Flo came unexpectedly and uninvited for her now more-than-monthly visit this morning and she brought her friend humongous cold sore who plopped herself just under my lower lip. It was nice for them to arrive the day before one of the few nights a year I have the opportunity to get dressed up and go out for a nice meal. I needed accessories after all.
Then, during this morning's shower, I put what I thought was conditioner in my hair (Jessica gave it to me last night because she didn't want it; I think she was trying to get back at me for something). It turned out to be a glaze of sorts meant to be applied to dry hair in very small amounts, sort of like the old VO5 cream that came in tubes. Since after multiple rinsings and blow dryings, I still looked like Antonio Banderas on a bad day, I had to break down and wash my hair under the spigot in the tub. The bathtub is now slicker than San Francisco Bay. Otters beware.
The high tech computer, disguised as a “sewing machine,” is also keeping me company. We’ve mastered loading the bobbin, threading the appliance (it’s a good thing I still remember cat’s cradle from childhood), and sewing a straight stitch so far and, in six hours’ time, we’ve completed eight placemats and six napkins. Apparently, we’re aiming for that hot dogs and buns mismatch. Pint is being very helpful, sitting on my lap while I push the launch buttons and yelling, “Work!” either to me or to the machine. Every once in a while, he stares at me and asks, “Broken?” and this time I’m pretty sure it’s Gramma he’s referring to.
Oh, the joy of the holidays. And if you were wondering how the tree decorating was going, Pint has that under control. He is throwing carrots and/or pull-ups at the tree and naming it according to its adornments. Just hearing the words “diaper tree” just gets me in the spirit; how about you?
