A holiday from the holiday

The Observer is now at the home of Ms Darling, her husband, daughter, one cat and one dog Mac who is a long term visitor.

The home is on a very new estate with other houses still being built and empty lots all around.

Not a tree to be seen, but in a few years it will be lush and established as all other such estates are.

and now it's time to eat....

Matriarch Celebrates Birthday

The 80th Birthday of The Observer's mother was celebrated yesterday.

An afternoon tea with some 24 plus guests was a delighful occasion.

Cake with candles and grand children to help blow them out.

Warnes 700th

I got to see Shane Warne's 700th wicket on tv during the opening day of the boxing day test.

We have, of course won The Ashes back.

None the less these last 2 Cricket Tests are wonderful entertainment.

Warne and McGrath have announced their impending retirements so these are matches are history in the making.

And since it is holiday season not much else is being done so it's left over and Cricket for days - truely a seasonal event.

From Melbourne

In Melbourne it has been freezing...the night The Observer arrived was the hottest December night for 40 years.

2 Days later the temperature plumeted and we had a mini winter complete with much needed rain, hail and howling winds.

Having come prepared for summer this situation caused a mad scurry in an attempt to find warm clothes etc.

The heaters in my mtohers home were turned on and I walked around dressed in the strangest assortment of clothing.

Now, a few days later things are beinging to warm up and it may well be that my next post might be to announce a heatwave!
Such is Melbourne.

Birthday Afternoon Tea

Miss Molly was 5 today.

She arrived wearing her purple fairy ballerina ensemble

Tres Chic

oh dear...

looks like I will have to go clothes shopping! might warmclothes be found this time of the year??

Melbourne

Having arrived some 40 minutes late due to the thick smoke from the Bush Fires to the West, which caused poor visiability we sweltered through the hottest December night in 40 years and this is what we have to look forward to


This week in Melbourne
Saturday :
20°C
Sunday :
19°C
Monday :
16°C
Tuesday :
17°C

Leaving on a Jet Plane

Flying south tomorrow into 35 degrees

but Christmas day is to be about 21

Christmas Eve Bread

Flower Pot Herb Loaves

1 pound all-purpose flour
1 ounce fresh yeast
2/3 cup lukewarm milkPinch of granulated sugar
2 onions, chopped finely
1 clove garlic, crushed
2 ounces butter
2 large eggs, beaten1/2 teaspoon saltPinch of grated nutmeg
2 teaspoons dried dill
1/2 teaspoon ground rosemary
2 new (4-inch) clay flower pots*

Note: Purchase only clay pots made in the United States. If made outside the United States, lead is mixed in with the clay. Line with greaseproof paper - thats what I did!

Grease the flower pots.

Sift the flour into a bowl and form a well in the center.

Combine yeast, milk and sugar in a bowl and leave for a few minutes, then pour into well.

Sprinkle a little flour over, cover and leave in a warm place for 15 to 20 minutes.

Melt butter and mix with eggs, salt, nutmeg, dill and rosemary. Add onion.

Mix everything with the flour and yeast liquid and knead well, until smooth and elastic.

Cover and leave to stand until doubled in size.

Knead again lightly and put half the dough in each flower pot.
Let rise for 20 minutes or so.

Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. (204 Celcius)

Brush surface of dough with water and sprinkle lightly with aniseed or fennel, if desired.

Bake for 35 to 40 minutes.

Then get on your push bikes with your kids behind you and deliver them to your nearest and dearest!

A Christmas Story

The Tablecloth

Another Christmas Miracle.

The brand new pastor and his wife, newly assigned to their first ministry, to reopen a church in suburban Brooklyn , arrived in early Octoberexcited about their opportunities. When they saw their church, it was very run down and needed much work. They set a goal to have everythingdone in time to have their first service on Christmas Eve.
They worked hard, repairing pews, plastering walls, painting, etc, and on December 18 were ahead of schedule and just about finished.

On December 19 a terrible te mpest - a driving rainstorm hit the area and lasted for two days.On the 21st, the pastor went over to the church His heart sank when he saw that the roof had leaked, causing a large area of plaster about20 feet by 8 feet to fall off the front wall of the sanctuary just behind the pulpit, beginning about head high.
The pastor cleaned up the mess on the floor, and not knowing what else to do but postpone the Christmas Eve service, headed home.
On the way he noticed that a local business was having a flea market type sale for charity so he stopped in. One of the items was a beautiful,handmade, ivory colored, crocheted tablecloth with exquisite work, fine colors and a Cross embroidered right in the center. It was justthe right size to cover up the hole in the front wall.
He bought it and headed back to the church.By this time it had started to snow. An older woman running from the opposite direction was trying to catch the bus.. She missed it.

The pastor invited her to wait in the warm church for the next bus 45 minutes later.She sat in a pew and paid no attention to the pastor while he got a ladder, hangers, etc., to put up the tablecloth as a wall tapestry.
The pastor could hardly believe how beautiful it looked and it covered up the entire problem area.Then he noticed the woman walking down the center aisle. Her face was like a sheet..

"Pastor," she asked, "where did you get that tablecloth?"The pastor explained.
The woman asked him to check the lower right corner to see if the initials, EBG were crocheted intoit there. They were. These were the initials of the woman, and she had made this tablecloth 35 years before, in Austria.

The woman could hardly believe it as the pastor told how he had just gotten the Tablecloth. The woman explained that before the war she andher husband were well-to-do people in Austria. When the Nazis came, she was forced to leave. Her husband was going to follow her the next week.
He was captured, sent to prison and never saw her husband or her home again.The pastor wanted to give her the tablecloth; but she made the pastor keep it for the church.

The pastor insisted on driving her home, thatwas the least he could do.. She lived on the other side of Staten Island and was only inBrooklyn for the day for a housecleaning job.

What a wonderful service they had on Christmas Eve. The church was almost full. The music and the spirit were great.

At the end of the service, the pastor and his wife greeted everyone at the door and many said that they would return.
One older man, whom the pastor recognized from the neighborhood continued to sit in one of the pews and stare, and the pastor wondered why hewasn't leaving.

The man asked him where he got the tablecloth on the front wall because it was identical to one that his wife had made years ago when they lived in Austria before the war and how could there be two tablecloths so much alike.
He told the pastor how the Nazis came, how he forced his wife to flee for her safety and he was supposed to follow her, but he was arrested andput in a prison..
He never saw his wife or his home again all the 35 years in b etween.

The pastor asked him if he would allow him to take him for a little ride. They drove to Staten Island and to the same house where the pastorhad taken the woman three days earlier.

He helped the man climb the three flights of stairs to the woman's apartment, knocked on the door and he saw the greatest Christmas reunion he could ever imagine.

True Story - submitted by Pastor Rob Reid

The list for the Blog Tour as it stands at the moment!
It's still not too late to join in the fun. If anyone else is interested in joining in then we will double up on the days. Just leave a comment and we will add you to the list! I'm really looking forward to seeing what everyone comes up with!
10 December - Kailana
11 December - Marg
12 December - Jennie
13 December - Booklogged
14 December - Rosario
15 December - Cindy
16 December - Carla
17 December - Mailyn
18 December - The Observer
19 December - Elysabeth
20 December - Bookwormom
21 December - Susan Higginbotham
22 December - Chris, the button guy, posting on Kailana's blog
23 December - Melrose Plant
24 December - Carl V, Dance Chica
28 December - Ag

I'm Back and all is well.

Having had 16 roomates in the last week during a brief(?) sojourn in hospital TheObserver is delighted to be home.

Healthy, yet very tired.

Thanks to all who took are of everything that needed to be taken care of.

Tomorrow is the day for the Blog Advent Calendar Post be sure to come back and check it out.

A word that says it all

Hot chocolate is a preferred drink at the Holidazzle, an evening, 30-minute parade with a dozen floats and hundreds of characters all decked in glittering lights on downtown Minneapolis' main shopping street, Nicollet Mall.
Think Minnesotans exaggerate their Nordic prowess? The parade, in its 15th season, is only canceled for blizzards or at least minus 20 wind chill, that deadly combination of actual temperature and the speed of winds blowing in from the Canadian and Dakota plains. And of course, weather varies from year to year; the mean temperature on Christmas Day for the past five years has ranged from 34 to minus 4.

For better or for worse depending in your view of Christmas, and the beliefs you espouse Holidazzle is either a brilliant or lamentable word.

The Observer finds it Extremly Lamentable... yet seemingly inevitable

Is it a noun or a verb? What do you think?

Christmas Traditions

Christmas Wreaths

Wreaths have been used as a decorative sign of Christmas for hundreds and hundreds of years. Christmas wreaths can adorn any part of your home, inside or out. In many homes, this symbol of growth and everlasting life can be found both inside and out. It is common to find a number of wreaths on doors, over the mantle, or hung in windows.
The wreath is made of evergreens, most often pine branches or holly. They can be real or artificial. But, an artificial one just doesn't smell the same as a real wreath. It is decorated wit a variety of items including pine cones, holly berries, fruits, and just about anything you can imagine.
The wreath has significant meaning for the season. It's circular shape represents eternity, for it has no beginning and no end. From a christian religious perspective, it represents an unending circle of life. The evergreen, most frequently used in making wreathes, symbolizes growth and everlasting life. Holly branches have thorns. When used in a wreath it represents the thorn on Jesus' crown when he was crucified. Bright red holly berries symbolize Jesus' blood that was shed for us.
Today, it is sometimes hard to remember the real meaning of Christmas. We get all caught up in the hype of Santa and his arrival. The wreath over the hearth brings a warmth to our hearts as we stop to reflect upon the true meaning of this very special day.

Tis the Season...

when the elves are busy!!

Learning how....

Welcome to the part of this blog that my son fixed.

For $120 an hour he can fix yours too!

Elm Creek Website

Visit Elm Creek BOOKS & QUILTS Website.
by Jennifer Chiaverini

Book Review

The Quilters Apprentice
by Jennifer Chiaverini

Master quilter Sylvia Compson shares the secrets of her creative gifts with her young assistant, Sarah McClure. During their lessons, the intricate, varied threads of Sylvia's life begin to emerge. It is the story of a young wife living through the hardships and agonies of the World War II home front; of a family torn apart by jealously and betrayal; of misunderstanding, loss, and a tragedy that can never be undone. I was delighted to read Book One of this series. And although I had met many of the chracters before in The Christmas Quilt, it was delighful to find how life had bought them together.

Indeed quilting and quilts are wonderful metaphors used throughout these books, as the experiences and patterns of the lives of the characters peice together to be more then they were alone.

The process of quilting, a life of cooking traditions, the insight into the challenges of everyday life, of things well passed and now regretted - of developing a home and hearth; a much beloved and once cherished Elm Creek Manor where once many generations resided...Slyvia is ready to sell up when into her life come Matt and Sarah.

Book Review

THE CHRISTMAS QUILT
By Jennifer Chiaverini

'A heartwarming novel filled with the memories and traditions of Elm Creek Manor's indomitable master quilter, Sylvia Bergstrom Compson. Infused with wisdom and rich with the flavors of the holidays, THE CHRISTMAS QUILT is a timeless tale that Elm Creek Quilts devotees are sure to cherish.
With her eight Elm Creek Quilts novels -- which the Dallas Morning News has deemed "classics of their kind" -- New York Times bestselling author Jennifer Chiaverini has inspired a legion of devoted readers by blending old-fashioned storytelling with a celebration of traditional women's arts. Chiaverini gives her fans a long-hoped-for holiday-themed story in THE CHRISTMAS QUILT, a homespun novel filled with the memories and traditions of Elm Creek Manor's indomitable master quilter, Sylvia Bergstrom Compson.

I picked up this book because the cover and size of the book were attractive to me.

Also, The Chef is now a Quilter, and an extremly Talented one if I may say so.

I found the book well written and comfortable. I felt like I was at home from page one. The characteers, traditions and wisdom the story contain held me enchated all the way through. It was wonderful to find there was a series....

I need to Learn ....

how to do that 'more..' thing so that only the first few lines of very long entries are showing...

can I learn it before my week in hospital?

I am babysitting #3 TNG Wednesday and Thursday night and then out Saturday Night at A christmas Dinner/Party.

hmm well we will see.....

Blog Tour Christmas 2006 Advent Calendar

Marg at Reading Adventures & Kailana are co-hosting a Christmas Blog Tour...

what a great idea...check it out, you can join in or visit the Blogs each of the days listed....

GIFT Challenge #1 Christmas Story

THE GIFT OF THE MAGI

by O. Henry

One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty- seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.
There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.
While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad.
In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James Dillingham Young."
The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, though, they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good.
Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling--something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim.
There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pier-glass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art.
Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.
Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.
So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.
On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.
Where she stopped the sign read: "Mne. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie."
"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.
"I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it."
Down rippled the brown cascade.
"Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand.
"Give it to me quick," said Della.
Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present.
She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation--as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value--the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.
When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends--a mammoth task.
Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically.
"If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do--oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty- seven cents?"
At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops.
Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit for saying little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please God, make him think I am still pretty."
The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two--and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves.
Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.
Della wriggled off the table and went for him.
"Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It'll grow out again--you won't mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say `Merry Christmas!' Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice-- what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you."
"You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor.
"Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?"
Jim looked about the room curiously.
"You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy.
"You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you--sold and gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?"
Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year--what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.
Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table.
"Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first."
White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat.
For there lay The Combs--the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rims--just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.
But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!"
And them Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!"
Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.
"Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it."
Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.
"Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on."
The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.

G I FT CHALLENGE

GIFT Challenge

Carl V over on Stainlees Steel Droppings has come up with a Great Idea!!
Instead of being a time of unusual behavior, Christmas is perhaps the only time in the year when people can obey their natural impulses and express their true sentiments without feeling self-conscious and, perhaps, foolish. Christmas, in short, is about the only chance a man has to be himself.~Francis C. Farley
Why is it that it seems easier somehow to give of oneself during this time of year? Why is it acceptable, especially for men, to bask in nostalgia, tradition, and love for your fellow man during the month of December and not in the heat of July? I’m getting a bit off track here. It all comes back to giving and sharing, which is the point of this latest challenge.

Christmas - that magic blanket that wraps itself about us, that something so intangible that it is like a fragrance. It may weave a spell of nostalgia. Christmas may be a day of feasting, or of prayer, but always it will be a day of remembrance - a day in which we think of everything we have ever loved.~Augusta E. Rundel

The 2006 G.I.F.T. Challenge. Giving Inspiration, Fostering Tradition.

What you agree to do, if you choose to participate, is to partake of and/or post on any 4 of the following:
Christmas movies
Christmas novels/short stories
Christmas songs
Christmas poems
Christmas traditions
Christmas memories

For whichever 4 things you choose you will post about them. That is where the giving comes in. Giving of yourself for the shared edification and inspiration of others. Your favorite Christmas movie, story, song, etc. may just inspire others to try it out. At the very least we will share in your joy and enthusiasm as you give us a glimpse into who you are by sharing memories, traditions, and favorites..

“Where is the challenge?”, you may ask. The challenge comes in here: two of your 4 choices must either involve something completely new to you or something you haven’t read or watched in an inordinately long amount of time.

Parsley after the shock

what a little TLC will do.

Evidence of some success.

Tooth Update

The cardiac surgeon has stepped in and Monday's scheduled event will not now occur.

A brief sojourn in hospital is now planned.


A lot safer.

Is this worth knowing?

Dentistry is the art and science of prevention, diagnosis, and treatment of conditions, diseases, and disorders of the oral cavity, the maxillofacial region, and its associated structures as it relates to human beings. A dentist is a doctor qualified to practice dentistry. In most countries, several years of training in a university (usually 4-8) and some practical experience working with actual patients' dentitionare required to become a qualified dentist.

The patron saint of dentists is Saint Apollonia martyred in Alexandria by having all her teeth violently extracted.

arrrgggHHHH!!!