A month of gifts, day 13: The Gift of Sports

It’s a good thing I’m a writer, because I can barely talk this morning. My throat hurts because I spent most of the third period of last night’s Sabres game either screaming for the team or giving the refs a detailed exegesis on my opinion of their eyesight (poor) and judgment skills (even worse). It was clear that pretty much everyone else in the building agreed with me, too, which was gratifying.

(Pre-game warmups at First Niagara Center.)

My very first pro sporting event, when I was about ten years old, was a Maine Mariners hockey game with my friend Amy and her mom. We sat up in the nosebleed section and cheered wildly for Archie—I can’t remember his last name—who was basically the team goon. I don’t mind admitting that my favorite player on any hockey team is still the one with the most penalty minutes for fighting.

My friend Andy and my sister Alyssa got me hooked on baseball—mainly out of self-defense, so they’d stop making fun of me for not knowing what was going on. Those were some good times, summer nights at the field in Old Orchard Beach, or watching our beloved Red Sox break our hearts every year on channel 6. I can tell you exactly where I was in 1986 when Bill Buckner let that ground ball roll between his legs during game six of the World Series against the Mets. (I come from a family of truly epic grudge-holders, and was delighted when the Royals beat the Mets this year to take the pennant.)

 (Fenway Park, from the official Red Sox website. Someday, I will sit in that hallowed place, and yell like a maniac.)

(True confession time: I cried when the Red Sox finally won the Series in 2004. Cried like a baby, because we had been waiting SO DAMN LONG for that moment. Cowboy up!)

I’m pretty sure my first boyfriend broke up with me because I wouldn’t switch my loyalty from the Celtics to the Lakers. (Dude. Seriously?)

And then there’s football. I was lucky enough to attend BYU during the Ty Detmer years, which was a lot of fun. I can still sing most of the fight song—I learned the words to “Rise and Shout” during one epic game in which the Cougars scored seven touchdowns against the Air Force Academy.

(I know Utes fans are pissed off about this, but it doesn't seem like college football season without round umpty-jillion of the Holy War.)

After school, I kind of fell away from football . . . until I got pregnant with the twins. Since I wasn’t supposed to go out much, I spent Sundays watching football. Lots and lots of football. We were living in Sacramento, and that was the fall Steve Young (another former Cougar YAY) led the Niners in that epic Super Bowl run. If you’ve known any pregnant women, you know we can get kind of hormonal and emotional about stuff, and I was deeply invested in that team.

My loyalties have shifted a little, living here in Buffalo. I root for the Bills more than the Niners, for the Sabres rather than the Bruins. (But I will never, ever, EVER root for the Yankees, because my love of the Red Sox is more of a religious affiliation.)

Loving a sport is discouraging sometimes, what with the doping and concussions and assorted bad behaviors. But at its best, the love of sports brings out the best in people. For instance, last night there was a dad and his young son sitting a couple rows in front of us. The lady on the other side of them left a few times to grab snacks or visit the restroom, and when she came back during the third period, she handed the little boy a box of M&Ms. “Thank you for being so patient and standing up so I could get by,” she told him.

It was a great moment, even better than hollering with 18,000 other fans when Ryan O’Reilly scored that overtime goal that gave my Sabres the win.

A month of gifts, day 12: The Gift of Good Weather

(This was the alley beside the Aurora Theater last winter, after almost two straight months of below-freezing days. Brr!)

For the first time in 116 years, Buffalo has reached the second week in December without snowfall. Today it was 50 degrees Fahrenheit—practically shorts weather, as far as we hardy Northerners are concerned. With everyone I meet, weather is the leading topic of conversation, and everyone has a vaguely hunted look. The skiers and snowboarders, because precious days of slope time are slipping away . . . and the rest of us, because we know this good fortune can’t last.

Mother Nature may be caressing us with one hand, but the other hand, the one behind her back, is clenched and ready to smack us. If not today, then next week, or in January. Living here means accepting that sooner or later we’ll be snowed in, possibly for days.

(In November 2014, we got clobbered with 84 inches of snow in four days.)

And yet, I’ll be sad if we don’t have any snow at Christmas. Snowstorms muffle the sounds of the world. In the evening, when it’s falling so thick and fast I can’t see the houses across the creek, maybe not even the cars that crawl past, it’s like being in another world. Come morning, everything is fresh and new, the ugly dead lawns covered, the bare gray branches of trees decked in white.

It gets old and dingy after a while, but the beauty of that first snowy morning was something I missed every year I had to live in California. It’s hard to find my inner balance without the shift in seasons marking out time.

So here’s to snow. And to no snow.  (But hopefully not freezing rain, because I don’t think anyone likes that nonsense.)

Apropos of nothing seasonal

It's probably a sign of something dire that I've culled my inbox from 458 emails to 2. Whew!

A month of gifts, day 11: The Gift of Inspiration

(This is Lake Champlain, not Bear Lake. But it's a nice lake.)

The gentleman sitting next to me at dinner leaned back in his chair and said, “Bear Lake, huh? I was at Bear Lake the first time I saw someone drown.”

He’d been quiet all evening, listening to the rest of us telling stories, but when he spoke everyone else grew still. At that moment, the hair stood up on the back of my neck. And as he went on to tell the rest of the story, I knew I’d heard something magical, something that would become a story.

Bear Lake lies right on the border between Utah and Idaho. It’s ranch country, and a prime vacation destination for locals who like the great outdoors. My dinner companion had gone there every summer for camp, and that particular summer, one of the other campers was impossibly cool. Taller and more muscular, bolder and more handsome, he had the interest of all the girls and the envy of every boy.

He had a knack for skating around the edges of trouble, at least until that fateful afternoon. Someone dared him to swim out into the deeper part of the lake, and he couldn’t pass up the challenge. He started out . . . and then he went under.

When he surfaced, choking and waving, everyone assumed it was a prank. Then the water closed over his head, and he didn’t come back up. By the time anyone realized he wasn’t joking, it was too late.

At least, that’s the version my table neighbor told us. My writer brain was working overtime, though. I wondered if he felt guilty, for staying on the shore, or for disliking that perfect, ill-fated boy.

If you don’t think of yourself as a creative person, if you’ve ever wondered where we get our ideas, that moment is my favorite example. A year or so later, I wrote a short story called “Adrenaline Blue,” about rivalry, envy, and sleep deprivation, and it became one of the first stories I sold.  It appeared in Hadrosaur Tales magazine many years ago. The main characters were sisters rather than acquaintances, but the core of emotion I sensed at dinner remained.

I’m hoping in 2016 I’ll have more of those moments, when stories grab me by the throat and shake me. I've missed that feeling. I'm looking for the magic again.

A month of gifts, day 10: The Gift of Sweetness

This week someone asked me about my favorite holiday tradition, and I’d have to say it’s hands-down the Baking of All the Things. Every year I make dozens (like, 20+ dozen) cookies and candy, and on Christmas Eve we load the car full of treat boxes and drive around delivering them to friends.

Since Joselyn shared some of her favorite holiday beverages yesterday, I thought I’d bring you my favorite recipes for sweets today. Enjoy!

Cookie Goddess Chocolate Chip Cookies

4 ¾ cups flour

2 teaspoons baking soda

2 teaspoons salt

2 cups (4 sticks) butter, melted

1 ½ cups granulated sugar

1 ½ cups brown sugar, packed

2 tablespoons (yes, tablespoons) vanilla extract

4 eggs

4 cups semisweet chocolate chips

2 cups walnuts (if desired)

Combine dry ingredients. Melt butter thoroughly, add in sugar and eggs.  Add vanilla to butter/egg/sugar mixture when butter has cooled slightly. Mix dry and liquid ingredients thoroughly, add chocolate chips and nuts, and chill for at least 3 hours. Bake at 375 degrees for 12 minutes. Makes 5 dozen cookies.

(True story: One time I made these cookies for a funeral lunch at church. They never made it out to the bereaved. I heard later that all the little old ladies in the kitchen stuffed the cookies in their purses and made off with them.)

Dad’s Favorite Gingersnaps

¾ cup shortening

1 cup brown sugar

¼ cup molasses

1 egg

2 ¼ cups flour

2 teaspoons baking soda

½ teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon ginger

1 teaspoon cinnamon

½ teaspoon cloves

Granulated sugar

Cream first four ingredients. Blend dry ingredients together and add molasses mixture. Chill slightly. Form dough into small (about 1 inch) balls and roll in granulated sugar. Place balls 2 inches apart on greased cookie sheet. Bake at 375 degrees for 10 minutes. Makes about 4 dozen cookies.

(These, hot from the oven, are my dad’s favorite holiday treat. You would not believe the carnage that man can inflict when left unsupervised in my kitchen.)

Grandma’s Double Decker Fudge

2 cups Reese’s peanut butter chips

¼ cup butter, melted

½ cup cocoa powder

1 teaspoon vanilla

4 ½ cups sugar

1 jar (7 ounces) marshmallow fluff

1 ½ cups (12 ounce can) evaporated milk

¼ cup butter

Grease 13x9x2 inch pan.

In a bowl, combine melted butter, cocoa, and vanilla. Mix thoroughly. Add 1 cup peanut butter chips.

In another bowl, place 1 cup peanut butter chips.

In a 4 quart saucepan, combine sugar, marshmallow fluff, evaporated milk and ¼ cup butter. Cook over medium heat until it comes to a rolling boil, then boil and stir constantly for 5 minutes. Remove from heat and pour one half of the mixture into the bowl with the cocoa and peanut butter chips, and one half into the other bowl. Stir until completely blended. Spread the peanut butter mixture on the bottom of the pan, then add the chocolate mixture. Chill and cut. Stores well in the refrigerator or freezer.

Guest blog by Joselyn

In the spirit of the season, and as part of the Giftmas Blog Tour, I'd like to welcome Joselyn today. She's brought some of her favorite holiday beverage recipes. Yum!

*

Well it's December now, and with it we start decorating our homes and think about the food we will get on the 24th for Christmas Eve and all.

What I love more on Christmas will be to stay home with my family and the gifts, since I'm a book lover and a gamer I enjoy staying home reading thrilling books for Christmas and playing cool video games with my fiance.

Something else I love is going to my brother's house and drinking eggnog and sangria, so let me give you all one recipe of each so you can drink it with all your family members.

Eggnog Recipe

and for our vegan friends

Sangria Recipe

For the Apple lovers like me =)  

With these few recipes I hope everyone enjoy your parties on xmas and new years =D

and remember to come visit the blog for lots of reviews @ www.bookwormiespot.com

A month of gifts, day 8: The Gift of Music

Last week, while the Plague was practicing his cello, he called me into the office. “Look! Music really does have charms to soothe the savage beast,” he told me. I didn’t bother to correct the quote, because the beasts were both resting peacefully as he played to them. The Small Angry Cat was curled up on a pile of clean towels, and the Large Doofy Cat was sprawled atop the computer tower, both of them sound asleep. And if you’d ever heard those two creatures fight, you’d appreciate the quiet, too.

Not every practice session at my house is a beacon of peace and hope. Sometimes the cello gets played passive-aggressively. Did you know that the cello can be played passive-aggressively? I’m telling you, the things you learn when you’re a mom. But most days aren't like that, fortunately, and this week is the school orchestra concert, where I'll get to hear the Plague play all the songs he's been working on since school started. and to see the triumph in his face--that's magical. I'm glad he has that opportunity, because even if he doesn't make cello a lifelong passion, his life will be richer.

I tell people my musical talent is being a good audience. I tried clarinet and piano, but unlike writing, I never had the focus to practice. I’ll listen all the live-long day, though. Classical, bluegrass, movie soundtracks, big band, alt-rock, indy folk, trashy pop . . . Every time I tell someone I’ve found a kind of music I don’t like, it turns out there’s a band or a singer or a song that is actually pretty awesome.

Here are some more songs I love.

Yo-Yo Ma playing the prelude to Bach's first cello suite:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dZn_VBgkPNY 

The SteelDrivers, playing "Ghosts of Mississippi":

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3wRNK1cNVWw 

the Dragonborn theme from Jeremy Soule's Skyrim soundtrack:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=clcHxg9l5Bk 

and "Dante's Prayer" by Loreena McKennitt:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FDw3CyOmj20 

Tune in tomorrow, when I'll be hosting a guest blog by Joselyn. She's bringing some excellent holiday beverage recipes for you!