3 Sisters 7 Days

We are leaving Prague today at 2:30; I think the train ride should be about 4 hours to Berlin.

Prague is very small. We can walk most of it in no time at all. The first day here we went to Prague castle by taxi (which is about 2 miles away) and walked back. Everything here reminds us of a fairy tale. Imagine five story town homes with ornate sculptures and decorations. Each painted a completely different color. In most of the places like this that I’ve visited, the buildings like these only surround the area just outside the castle/palace, but here it goes on for street after street. Every square has Christmas decorations, shopping from little booths, food, and drinks. We’ve decided that we need to get a shop in Big Bear, and sell hot wine and kabobs on baguettes. It’s cheap and warm – perfect for the cold weather.

Prague is also COLD. We have NEVER been so cold! Before we leave each day, we do a “layer” check to see who is wearing the most. Nicole is always wearing the most amount of clothes; Danny and Peter switch off wearing the least. We’ve bought ear protection, scarves, coats, etc. all in effort to stay warm. Today wasn’t so bad, it was about 36F. Juliann – you were right; all the women here wear tights, boots, and long coats. I don’t know how they keep from slipping on the paved roads or stay warm; the wind has got to go straight through the tights! Terri – the thin layer of silk bottoms don’t work! I should have gotten the super thick ones.

I know most of the world thinks we Americans are obnoxious and rude, but I’ve got a whole other outlook. We are definitely the loudest people in the room; we walk fast, and expect everyone to speak English. But the people here have no self awareness. We’ve been stepped on, pushed, shoved, and cut in front of. Then they say “Pardon” like that’s supposed to help. Nicole was standing in line for eggs this morning at the hotel, and an entire family stepped right in front of her and ate all the eggs, leaving none for her. It doesn’t make any sense! She was standing there, plate in hand, and they just took over. I think the people here have been extremely rude! With the exception of the hotel staff … they, at least, were really, super nice and informative!

Christmas this year seemed to just come out of nowhere. I mean, last Friday I woke up and realized Christmas is in ONE WEEK! Holy Crap!  So in the past few days, I have tried to do a months worth of Christmas activities.

Christmas Cookies- started them on Sunday with my nieces and still doing them. I get on a roll, then I can’t handle washing another dish or blending another batter. The good news is that I managed to make gingerbread, sugar cookies, snowballs, peanut butter and chocolate cookies, and oatmeal cookies all from scratch. I only had one upset due to Maz wanting to join me in the kitchen for more honey to put on his toast (though I told him to not come into the kitchen and he had a enough honey), the kitchen was a mess and Maz is a big guy who, at the age of 34, still has absolutely no control of his limbs…I hear a crash and ALL the sugar cookies are crumbled on the floor. I think the look on my face showed it all. He kind of froze and grabbed a broom, but didn’t know where or how to begin the cleaning process.  He just knew he messed up big time.  We got the floor cleaned up (with the help of Sammy) without saying a word to each other.  He slowly backed out of the kitchen to eat his toast in peace. Needless to say, he never made it to the honey.

Christmas Party- Friday night we attended Maz’s Firehouse Christmas Party at a local brew pub – you know, the buffet style food and a cash bar.  I enjoyed my two glasses of wine and meeting some other volunteers and firefighters. We shared a table with a fellow volunteer and his wife who have 8 children! No joke, and they were so funny.  He was probably the most laid back person I have ever met, and she was a loud-mouthed, opinionated wife that reminded me a little of one of my sisters…thank goodness, I’ve learned to appreciate these type of people. They are really a lot of fun.  Anyway, like most Christmas parties, there was a white elephant gift exchange. We brought the ab roller we received last Christmas; this thing is so old – I think it may be from the late 80’s – that it comes apart and is a horrible blue and orange. It was fantastic because we got rid of something crappy and we received something even crappier…a talking/singing wreath!  I think it is the perfect “thank you” gift to Jeanna and Peter for the great cat fish mail box we received for our house warming gift.

Presents- I did a little bit of shopping, mostly on line, but I am keeping it simple this season. I do have a bag of gifts to wrap that my Mom sent me for my nieces.  I still need to get one more gift for Tyler, which will involve a trip to Target.  I need to pick up some stocking stuffers for myself and Maz while I am there as well.

So, if I can accomplish the trip to Target and get the cookies ready for shipping  today, I think I may almost be ready for Christmas.  Tomorrow, since I don’t want to shove everything into one day, I will attempt wrapping the gifts.  Christmas Eve will consist of cleaning up the house and making homemade sangria… hmmm we’ll see if I stick to the master schedule.

It’s said you can't go home again. Don’t believe it! I was home yesterday, and it was every bit as chaotic there as I remember it being when I left 25 years ago.

The year I moved away from home to go to college, our house was way past full. In addition to housing my EIGHT siblings and me, my parents were hosting two foreign exchange students – one from Germany and another from Japan – and one of my girlfriends was living with us too. Such an extraordinary number of bodies sharing roughly 2500 square feet is bound generate a certain degree of chaos. The thing is, though, the bedlam hasn’t waned with our absence.

It took less that 10 minutes back inside my childhood home to derail my plans to work, and work with my younger children – Parker and Olivia – while my older children attended a physics field trip to Disneyland (no, I am not joking). When we arrived, my sister Kathy Jo was leaving with her children  for park day, which yesterday featured kick ball and cookie decorating, and invited the kids to join her. In hindsight, I simply should have said, “Yes,” and walked them all to the door.

I did consider that option, but thought I’d go along to supervise my own progeny. I thought I could, at least, get my grading done while they played. This being the 21st century, all of my students’ work was submitted electronically, so I picked up my computer bag and purse, and followed my children back out to the car.

Considering my tendency to get lost, despite my GPS navigation system, the trip to the park was mercifully uneventful; however, we did have to park a block away. I parked and got out of the car, put my cell phone in my back pocket, stowed my purse under the front seat, slung my computer bag over one shoulder, grabbed Olivia’s hand and trekked to the park. We found the table Kathy Jo had tagged for us by leaving her red “diaper bag” on top, and I set up my mobile office while the kids went to play.

That didn’t last long. I’d read, maybe, two pages before Olivia was back. She didn’t want to play kickball. Nor did she want to play with the other children, including her cousin, in the sandbox because – get this – the other girls were “looking at her”! No, she wanted me to play with her. When I said I couldn’t, she insisted that she had to “go potty…reeeeally bad.” Uh, huh, that means “number 2.”

Under the best of circumstances, I’d be reluctant to visit a park potty with Princess Olivia, whose bowel movements tend to be extended productions involving substantial toilet seat coverings, prolonged and in-depth conversations about whatever’s on her mind, and a thorough, wet wipe. Yesterday’s visit would have required an additional round trip to the car and back to leave my computer and pick up the wipes. There was just no way.

“Okay,” I said, “Let’s go.”

“Where, Mommy?”

“Back to grandma’s.”

I left Parker with Kathy Jo and returned to my mother’s home, with Olivia reiterating her need to go potty more stridently with every turn. We pulled into the driveway to the tune of “Mommy, you can’t park in Auntie Kathy Jo’s spot.” I again picked up my computer bag and purse, then took Olivia’s hand as she hopped out of the car, and headed to the front door. It was locked?! So was the backdoor slider, the side door entry to the attached garage, and all of the working windows on the ground floor! My mother has lived in that house for the better part of 37 years, during which she has proved herself to be incapable of closing and locking all of the entrances to her home before leaving. “Frustrated” hardly covers the way I felt.

I called my brother, Jeff, who is living with my Mom temporarily, to see if he had any great ideas for getting in. His response? “Isn’t Kathy there?”

“No, she’s at the park,” I told him.

Following a string of expletives, Jeff informed me that Kathy Jo was supposed to be at the house waiting for the infamous Cable Guy. (Given that character’s reputation for punctuality, I completely  understand why my sister may have thought she could get out to the park and back without missing him.) He suggested I “break in” through the nonfunctional window in the living room, and asked me to wait for the cable guy.

“Okay,” I said, “but I have to leave by 1:45 PM to pick up the kids at Disneyland.” Jeff told me that he should be back about that time.

I jimmied the window open and helped Olivia to slip in behind the Christmas tree, so that she could run and open the front door for me … before dashing to the bathroom, of course.

Olivia’s crisis averted, I finally sat down to work. I read a couple of essays, helped Olivia with her math and handwriting, and read a handful of Dr. Seuss books aloud to her. Then, exhausted by the day’s events, I dozed.

My phone rang just before 2 PM. “Where are you?” Quentin wanted to know. “We’re finished and waiting at Downtown Disney.”

“Great!” I thought. It was time to pick up the kids; Kathy Jo still wasn’t back with Parker; and I could have missed the Cable Guy. I called Jeff to let him know I never saw or heard from the Cable Guy and I was leaving. I also explained that Kathy Jo had never shown up  and asked him to watch Parker until his Dad could pick him up after work. Olivia was still buckling her seat belt as we pulled away from the house about 2:10 PM.

Epilogue: We passed Kathy Jo within minutes, and dutifully stopped so that Parker could “transfer.” And the Cable Guy? He called Jeff’s wife, who rescheduled for another day.

I really didn’t think our Christmas tree luck would hold … but it was not only a breeze to select this year’s tree, but also a snap to decorate it. It took just over an hour to go from only lights and a tree skirt,  to garland, an abundance of ornaments, and a golden angel tree topper. Quentin claims that he’s the genius here. After all, he was in charge of lights and garland, and marshaled the troops for bulb duty. Then again, I teach my apprentices well .

1. Lights – “Up” immediately; it’s the only thing really visible from the street and adds to the outdoor decs. (Unplug lights later to complete decorations.)

2. Garland – Lay gently, toward the outside of the branches, but not too far.

3. Bulbs – Start with larger ones at the bottom and work toward the top, decreasing the size of the bulbs as you go; try to keep bands of bulbs by size about even and vary colors as well as location along the branches so that they’re not all drooping off the ends.

4. Mechanical ornaments – Distribute mechanical ornaments evenly over tree, and make sure you have a witness when you store the light bulbs you remove in the process.

5. Hand made ornaments – Everyone gets to put their own on the tree, if they so desire. Pull branches all the way through those with ribbon loops instead of wire hangers. Use bulb size as a guide; hang larger ornaments toward the bottom, smaller ones toward the top.

6. Redecorate – Younger children have a tendency to put all of their ornaments in one place, and there are never enough decorations in the “back” of the tree, the side that faces the street. Redistribute ornaments as necessary, stepping back frequently to check your work.

7. Tree Topper – Repair, straighten, etc. as necessary and place on top of tree.

8. Plug the lights back in and stand back to admire.

9. Check decorations daily – Cats, children, and whoever adds/subtracts gifts and/or waters the tree can cause decorations to shift. Right before turning the lights on at dusk is a good time to make any necessary repairs or modifications.

Our Christmas tree adventure didn’t go nearly as smoothly as Juliann’s. We actually went out into the woods and cut our tree down.  The details can be a little boring, so lets just cut to the chase…5 degrees outside with the wind blowing, snow falling, snow to my ankles, absolutely no feeling in my hands or feet; it was so cold, I couldn’t really focus on “the perfect tree.”  But what do you know, in a matter of 45 minutes we had chosen “the” tree, had it cut down, and got it on top of the car.  I am glad we chose that day (Dec. 6th) so we could enjoy the nice decorated tree a little longer this season.

Note to self: when getting Christmas decorations from the crawler make sure you have the essentials (lights and ornaments).

I finally dressed my tree! Only a week after we got it.  Looks great and I love it.

O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree,
Your branches green delight us.

The fir – or, in the United States, “pine” – tree has been the muse of song writers, the central character in a well-known fairy tale, and, most recently, the source of a young Russian man's bloody cough (yeah, yuck!). It’s also the raison d’etre of our Sunday quest for the perfect Christmas Tree.

Christmas tree selection is serious business in my family. We “do” real. Never artificial. I’d be sold on the scent alone, though real trees are also among the planet’s renewable and recyclable resources. For every real Christmas tree harvested in the United States, two or three seedlings are planted in its place the following spring. Over 60 million new seedlings were planted by Christmas tree farmers here and in Canada this year, each of which will produce more oxygen than older trees throughout much of their lifespan of, on average, seven years. In the weeks following Christmas, over 90% of the trees harvested for the holiday will be recycled. In contrast, while artificial trees are reusable, most contain non-biodegradable plastics and possible metal toxins such as lead.

They’re green when summer days are bright;—
They’re green when winter snow is white.

Even in lean years, the relatively pricey Noble Fir is our tree of choice. Not only famous for it’s color and overall beauty, the Noble Fir has sturdy, evenly spaced branches that are perfect for displaying ornaments, and it tends to last longer indoors than other popular Christmas Tree species. I grew up hearing stories about how our maternal grandfather favored the Noble Fir because of the way lights reflected off of the tinsel my mother and her siblings laboriously placed, strand-by-strand, along each branch. I only vaguely recall tinsel, but I do remember my mother strongly encouraging me and my siblings to space ornaments evenly along the tree’s branches, from the inside out to the tips. I tend to emphasize proportion – larger ornaments on the bottom, smaller ones up top – and balance among bulbs, hand-made ornaments, lights, and our collection of whizzing, whirring, flashing “ships.”

We do have a lot of ornaments – so many that, like my mom when I was growing up, I have to insist that my own children leave some of them in the box. This was not true, however, for our brother Craig, whose tree last year stood two stories high. It was so big that he decorated it with outdoor lights and volley-ball-sized bulbs. With the exception of Craig’s record-setting tree, our trees average eight feet in height and I don’t think anyone of us ordinarily has enough room for all the ornaments.

“Maybe we can use them next year,” I say, nodding my head and smiling sweetly. Moral: when it comes to Christmas tress, bigger really is better.

O, Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree,
Your branches green delight us!

This year, our first stop was the semi parked outside of the local Costco. Unlikely place to look for the perfect tree, I know … but eight-foot Noble Firs for under $50?! We had to check it out. The way it works is that you purchase a tree, and the attendant ducks inside the truck’s trailer to retrieve a packaged – in twine and ready for its ride home in the bed of your truck or the roof of your car – tree.

“Uh, uh,” I told my loving spouse, shaking my head in disapproval, “I’m not going to buy a tree I can’t ’see’ in our living room.”

The kids agreed and suggested we head “next door” to Home Depot, where we’d picked up our tree last year. (One stop, yes, but we must have inspected every tree over six feet; it took for-ever.) Although I honestly thought that we’d end up at the tree farm in Yucaipa, I went along. Quentin ran ahead, picked out an eight-foot tree that appeared to be – yes – perfect. My spouse held it up, turning it this way and that as I walked around it, thinking to myself that this could be “the tree.” We looked at a couple more trees for comparison’s sake and then headed for the register with the “first tree we saw.”

In much the same way Terri insists that she really does love to be outdoors (just not in the cold), I swear I really am Italian … even though some members of my family practically drink ketchup. One of them is my five-year-old daughter, Olivia. As far as she’s concerned, a generous squirt of ketchup improves any meal.

Unfortunately for her, I remember reading once that ketchup is just “sugar and salt, ” so I’ve long tried to limit her ingestion of the stuff with a given dish. “Just one, or maybe two, packets of ketchup, sweetheart, okay?” often works. Still … commercial ketchup does feature high fructose corn syrup (sugar) and salt as its third and fourth ingredients … So, when we ran out of ketchup this time, I decided to make it myself.

Homemade Ketchup, in Deceptively Delicious, by Jessica Seinfeld:

1 6 oz can tomato paste

1/3 cup carrot puree

1/4 cup water

2 tablespoons apple-cider vinegar

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 tablespoon brown sugar (optional)

1/2 teaspoon dry mustard

1/4 teaspoon salt

1/4 teaspoon allspice

1/4 teaspoon chili powder

Stir all ingredients together in a saucepan and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer until mixture has reduced to about half. (Although the recipe doesn’t call for it, I’d recommend putting the finished ketchup in the blender on high for a smoother, more “manufactured” looking product.) Cool. Refrigerate for up to 5 days. Assuming that you don’t have your own ketchup queen in residence, ketchup can be stored in the freezer for up to 3 months.

How’d it go? Pretty well, actually. Although Olivia was dubious about ketchup served from a bowl, rather than squirt out of a plastic bottle, she ate it . My older daughter and cook’s assistant said it tasted “pretty good.” I may be biased, but I think it’s as good as Heinz.

The other day, my spouse was keeping me company while I sewed in the dining room. Our eight-year-old son, Parker, was in the kitchen on the other side of the wall, warming up pizza for lunch. He called out, “Is it okay to use this plastic plate?”

“Yes,” his dad told him.

Not thinking about the pizza at all, I thought, “Why, when we have beautiful, everyday Christmas china, does everyone insist on using the faded, pock-marked (from too frequent reheating on “high”), blue Tupperware plates I bought a decade ago so the ‘big kids’ could serve themselves?”

Parker must have read my mind. What other reason could there be for his decision to use one of the gold-trimmed Christmas plates instead of a plastic one to reheat his pizza?

“Mom, Dad … there’s a fire in the oven!” he screamed.

My spouse was in the kitchen in three, maybe four, steps. I heard him throw the microwave oven open, followed by the clatter of “class” on the tile kitchen counter.

“Parker?” he asked, “Why did you use this plate?!”

“Because Mom likes us to use the glass ones …” Parker replied.

“Oh, well don’t put the Christmas plates in the microwave, okay? There’s metal on the edges.”

“Oh … okay … I didn’t know.”

When my spouse returned to the dining room, I asked him about the fire.”

“Just sparks,” he said, “He didn’t know that gold is metal.

“Right…” I thought. I know he was there for the 2009 version of my lecture on the proper use of Christmas china. It’s more likely that he did know what I was thinking, just not that I’d forgotten he was warming up pizza when he reached for that nasty plastic plate.