There are sure signs today that it is mid-Autumn here in the Northern Hemisphere.
One of the big trees in our new front yard has changed from its green leaves to a blaze of red.
There are sure signs today that it is mid-Autumn here in the Northern Hemisphere.
One of the big trees in our new front yard has changed from its green leaves to a blaze of red.
Folks, it's time for some humor.
The neighborhood kids have been here beating on my door and stealing my candy.
(Judy: "They were trick or treating for Halloween, you idiot!")
The plumber finally acknowledged payment was made for their services after trying to send their bill to an incorrect name and address.
And then last night I nearly got into a fight with a neighbor.
Today is the last day of the holiday known as Día de los Muertos or the Day of the Dead.
It comes across the border to us from Mexico where ofrendas or altars are erected, often around the graves of the departed, to welcome back their souls.
I had forgotten it until my longtime friend Diane mentioned it in an email to SWMBO.
Once years ago she had visited us where we were living in Mexico at the time of the holiday and we had taken her to the graveyard in the town of Ajijic to see the decorations.
Graves are decorated with great numbers of flowers, both real and paper, and favorite foods and drinks of the departed ones are brought to welcome him or her.
Music is played and picnics are held at the sites.
It is not so much solemn as joyous as memories are renewed and celebrated.
Here in Arizona, which has a large Mexican population, the event is celebrated in much the same way.
Once after our ex-pat years in Mexico I spotted this piece in an art gallery in Jerome and purchased it.
But someone who lives here says it gives her the creeps so it remains unhung.
UPDATE: I just discovered that Sharon has a wonderful post about the event in Phoenix on her blog today. Check it out by clicking on Phoenix Daily Photo.
How was your Halloween?
Against my wishes that the big bag of candy SWMBO bought weeks ago should remain in our possession for us to munch on, she carved a jack-o-lantern out of a pumpkin and turned on the outside lights for a few hours.
We had 10 trick-or-treaters come to the door, the first one of which was a tiny, pretty girl who when I opened the door did NOT say "trick or treat" but rather, being a modern child, said "You got any candy?"
So a slight dent was made in the candy bag, the neighborhood tykes went away happy and so am I.
Yesterday I tried to figure out why a couple of people, at least, have not been getting the notifications I send out whenever I post to this blog.
I MAY have found a solution but we'll see.
Blasted Blogger.
Or Gmail.
Or Google.
November 1st brings a new reason to celebrate a people and, no, it's not the Norwegians.
That's right.
It was first declared by George H.W. Bush back when he was the President, in August of 1990.
Actually he proclaimed it "National American Indian Heritage Month" but it evolved to the present title.
Back when I was a kid we all used to go to the cowboys-and-Indians movies at the local theatre in which the Indians were usually portrayed by Hollywood as bloodthirsty killers and the cowboys or the cavalry or the sheriff were the good guys.
And that's how we played in North Dakota in those days.
I remember one comic book character known as Straight Arrow.
But he was about the only "good" Indian we ever heard about.
In these modern new times, derogatory names of mountains and towns and sports teams have been changed, even my families' beloved Cleveland Indians.
(I'm not sure why they all liked Cleveland nor why I, and only I, was a diehard fan of the Brooklyn Dodgers.)
Now, of course, they'd all be rooting for the Minnesota Twins and the Minnesota Vikings.
WAIT A MINUTE!
Is "Vikings" now a slur on my Norwegian heritage?
Will they have to change their name to something like "the Minnesota Snowballs"?
Well, I have raved on far too much today.
So let's just remember this month the REAL first residents of this land, the Native Americans who were here hundreds, perhaps thousands of years before it was ever called America.
I had an email conversation with Robin yesterday after she commented on my baking and said she hadn't baked for a year or two.
I had to know why and she told me where she lives, in northern California, there are two great local bakeries and she has just grown to rely on their tasty products.
Well I was back at it again today.
I discovered one of my little bread cookbooks had a great solution to the rigors of baking.
Let the Bread Machine do the work of making the dough, then form it into any number of great rolls and bagels and doughnuts and cakes and whatever.
So today I made (actually the bread machine made) a Brioche dough, then I formed it into rolls and baked it in our oven.
The BRD came by for a visit (and a meal) last weekend and during the preprandial cocktail hour was reminiscing with her mother about something she remembered from her early days in Indiana.
Salt-Rising Bread!
She said she couldn't find a recipe for it but I located one easily with the assistance of Mr. Google
Or is it Miss Google?
I dunno but whoever it is they do great work.
Anyway I found the recipe, printed it out and handed it to the daughter.
It seems to me a little complicated for someone who doesn't normally bake bread but she vowed she was going to try it.
It involves making a couple of starters and takes the greater part of two days but determined she was.
And yesterday she proudly showed us her end product.